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“Would you be happy at Adamsville?” asks Sophie. “You said it was an all-girls’ school, full of girls you don’t have anything in common with anymore.”

“Which is exactly why I’m thinking about other options,” says Harper, ruffling Sophie’s glossy black hair.

“Quit it,” says the girl, a hint of whining in her voice. “You know I hate when you do that.”

I allow my attention to return to the laptop, letting their conversation fade into the background. The words on the screen blur, and I realize it’s hopeless. I can’t concentrate. I planned to finish this project before we landed on the island, so that I could fully enjoy this vacation, but the girls are so distracting.

I snap the laptop shut and turn to stare out the window of the Satyros jet. In truth, it’s not the girls who are distracting me. It’s Harper. Harper, who is most definitely not a girl. Her body with its new soft curves, the full breasts that could so easily fit into my palm. Her messy bun, which she put up carelessly and still fell so perfectly around her face. Her flaring hips, her round ass in the soft blue jeans she wears.

I imagine running my fingertips over the soft seams of her back pockets, as I pull her close. Maybe grip her belt and jerk it against me so she can feel how hard I am from just looking at her. Her green eyes would darken with passion just before I press my mouth to hers to taste those sinfully full, pink lips.

I groan softly, doing my best to wipe the images from my mind. It’ll never happen. Harper will never be in my bed, because she treats me with friendly distance and nothing else.

My wife.

I brood about that word. It’s maddening. Sure, Harper is my wife in name only, but for months now I’ve been wondering how stupid I was for marrying her when I can’t touch her. I can pinpoint the exact night when I suddenly realized my wife was an attractive, desirable woman: we were at a party for some charity function, and she was wearing a stunning red dress. The silk caressed her curves, making me notice just how much she has changed in the three years since we were married. Harper went from an unsophisticated college girl to a polished, poised woman. My woman.

Except she’s not my woman. Our marriage is going to end in three months. The end of summer. Sophie will head off to university, and Harper and I will go our separate ways. The whole goddamned plan was my idea, after all. We even signed a contract, to make everything official.

What a moron I’d been.

Harper, unsurprisingly, is preparing to move on. I’ve known for a while now. In fact it’s hard to miss, with various college catalogs appearing here and there around the apartment. She’s checking property in the boroughs, and I even watched over her shoulder one night as she surfed Craigslist and other proper furniture stores, adding different things to her wish list.

She clearly has no doubts about ending this farce of a marriage. For me, the business deal is simply coming to a close. She fulfilled her part, and I have to do the same.

I groan softly again, but this time it’s at the idea of letting her go. I never go back on my word, but the idea of letting Harper walk out of my life pains me. She’s my wife. And I’ve finally figured out what I wanted from her, just in time for her to become my ex-wife.

No.

I won’t allow it. I want her. I want the wedding night we should have had, the one I deprived us of, along with three years’ worth of lost nights.

Somehow, I have to find a way to make Harper want to stay.

Chapter 2

Harper

This is the first summer anyone from Jayson’s family came to the island since the jet crashed three years ago. It’s been even longer since I set foot on the soft, white sand of the beaches here, but it’s Sophie I worry about. On the flight to the island, she was calmer than either I or Jayson expected. The last time she’d flown that route, the plane crashed. And poor Sophie was the sole survivor.

I’ve been trying to keep her attention focused anywhere but the travel. Being on the island has to bring back overwhelming memories. How could it be any different?

Our conversations mostly revolve around college, because Sophie’s so excited about it. I’m excited for her too, of course. I’m happy knowing she’s not such a little girl anymore. But if I’m honest, it does hurt a little knowing I’m not needed for much longer.

Sure, I might be too young to be Sophie’s mother, but I’ve acted the role for the past three years. Some of it has sunk in.

The one shining light about Sophie becoming more independent is that this means

the sham marriage to Jayson is coming to an end.

Finally, I can get on with my life and build a new one. I just want to find a man to hold me in his arms at night and warm my empty bed. I might even have babies of my own, one day. The thought of that, at least, lessens the sting of Sophie growing up.

I ignore the small voice in the back of my head that whispers a suggestion for the as-yet-unknown husband. Someone with nearly black eyes and the longest lashes ever. I turn my attention to Sophie, putting my arm around her waist. She’s too tall now for me to sling an arm around her neck like I used to do. “Are you okay?”

Sophie nods and smiles bravely, though there are traces of sadness on her face. “I’d forgotten how beautiful the island is.”

“Me too.” A collection of elegant, ancient buildings line the hills of the island leading up to the summit, where one villa stands alone — the Satyros home. Together, we walk across the sand from the landing strip, toward the waiting car. The villa is a couple of miles away, but even from this distance, it’s visible. Up close, it’s even more magnificent, with pale walls and a red tiled roof. The grounds are immaculate, and I can’t wait to explore it and dig my fingers into the earth. I miss the feel of soil between my fingers, though Jayson’s never been too keen about me gardening. When I asked about making a small garden at his New York home, he coldly pointed out more duties to keep me busy, leaving no time for such things. A few indoor houseplants in my room had to do. Succulents, a leggy pothos, and an orchid that I was waiting to bloom had to be enough.

Sophie slides into the car first, and I go after her. A sound of surprise escapes me when Jayson sits down beside me, instead of taking the seat across from us. When he makes no move, I scoot closer to Sophie. He follows. Gritting my teeth, I tell myself the ride will be over quickly.