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“He’s ensuring that there are no other guests for me to flirt with.”
My heart sinks. “Of course,” I say flatly. Flirting with other guests? I’m reminded of his reputation—the one in the gossip rags I’ve never believed was true. If he does flirt with anyone else, I will commit high crimes.
“But what the king didn’t realize is, now I have free rein to run amok without the judgmental gaze of the media, of him, of anyone. Well, except yours, of course,” Etienne teases.
“Precisely.” Gods. And just when I thought he was sweet.
My husband rubs his hands together and mutters to himself. “The man has no idea. He just gave me the greatest gift ever without even trying.”
Right.
Because forcing us to marry was decidedly not a gift.
And it’s best I keep my head about me and remember that fact.
15
Etienne
One minute we’re making out on the beach, and the next minute, we’re having a nearly silent breakfast in a cabana.
The table between our two lounge chairs is filled and refilled with fresh-cut fruit, wine, crackers, and cheese—and anything else Kala’s heart requests, and the interruptions from staff are both annoying and a relief from Kala’s silent treatment.
“Are you okay?” I’d asked over breakfast, watching her gorge herself on mango while I ate a spicy fish sandwich that Steffen assured me was the perfect cure for hangovers, even though I hadn’t asked for such a thing.
“I’m fine!” she’d said, smiling around a mouthful of fruit, then dabbing the juice off her chin with a linen napkin. How very uncharacteristic. Perhaps the sun exposure relaxed her unyielding table manners.
That’s about all she said to me for most of the day. She seems content to read, occasionally looking up to gaze at the Pacific. Twice she’s arisen out of that chair to wade into the surf, look for shells, and bask in the sun, only to return to the cabana minutes later to resume reading her book.
All day, she weaves in between silence and overly bright and chirpy.
I thought she’d been pleased when I brought her cover-up to the beach. And I mistakenly assumed that when I found her skimpy lingerie while rooting around for her beach cover-up, she was interested in more than pretending we were enjoying each other on our honeymoon.
And then, I stumbled upon the concierge with his hands all over her.
Jealousy pulsed through me like never before.
Then, when I kissed Kala, it was real. I’d meant it. I hadn’t meant it for show. There was no one watching us anyway.
“You’re not fine,” I try.
Kala sets down her book after placing her bookmark between the pages, then peers at me over her sunglasses. “You called me friend, and then you talked about flirting with other guests and running amok…I don’t know. It felt weird.”
“So, we’re not friends?” I ask.
“We can be, yes. But not friends with benefits.”
“But the lingerie…”
Kala sits up straight in the lounge chair. “I had to make it look good for housekeeping, didn’t I? Had to make it look like we were on a real honeymoon, remember?”
Oh. Housekeeping…well, shit.
“So, you… don’t want to fool around?”
Kala sighs and goes back to her book. At first. I think she’s exasperated, but when I see her fling a tear away from her cheek, I know I’ve fucked up.
There’s something she’s not telling me.
