Page 29

Stella

There’s something off with Thomas.

I hate that I realize it. And I hate that I’m desperate to do something about it. I wasn’t lying when I told him I like him better when he’s smiling, even if it’s for my own selfish reason of never wanting to see him upset, because I…like him.

Unfortunately, as I’ve come to realize over the past week, I am absolutely sprung for this man, saddled with a crush that can’t be swatted away like an annoying fly. It’s a devastating truth, but being with Thomas nearly every waking minute has shown me everything about him up close and personal.

My rules were supposed to prevent the development of any sort of feelings for him, but maybe I should have added Don’t look at me, don’t talk to me, and certainly don’t smile at me to the list. Because even without sex, with limited intimacy and my attempts to focus mostly on work, he’s still found his way under my skin and planted roots.

I just hope I can rip them up without damaging myself when the time comes.

He’s quieter than usual through dinner, speaking only when spoken to and nursing his whiskey on the rocks. I want to shift closer and ask what’s going on. It likely has something to do with whatever he wanted to talk to me about earlier, and I’m kicking myself now for insisting we head to dinner instead of staying to hear him out.

Then again, I think I might have an idea of what he was going to say, because the same thing’s been on my mind too.

Whatever this is between us is unignorable now, but I have to push it aside. Things will be easier once we’re back in London and back to our lives—back to reality and all the reasons why we need to keep this marriage strictly platonic. The reasons might be escaping me now, replaced by butterflies and sparks every time he laughs, but they’ll come back. I just can’t make any mistakes until then.

Amara declares that it’s time for dancing the second our plates are cleared away. Soon my hand is in hers as she drags me from the restaurant and out to the beachside bar, where a DJ and wide dance floor are set up on the sand. There are a few dozen people here already, most drinking, some dancing, and all enjoying the warmth of the night and the soft breeze that curls around us. It’s the perfect way to say goodbye to the past year and ring in the next.

When the boys catch up, Thomas tries to slip to my side, but there’s something in his eyes that makes me step back. I can’t put my finger on what it is, but it’s…heavy. Too heavy for the night that I want to have.

I hook my thumb over my shoulder in the direction of the bar. “I’m gonna go get drinks!” The music is loud, but I still say the words at an unnecessary volume. “You guys go grab us a place on the dance floor before it fills up.”

Amara loops her arms around Thomas and Joshua with a grin, and I suck in a much-needed breath as I turn away. Thomas and I can’t have whatever conversation he’s keen on cornering me for—not now and certainly not later when we’re alone in our bungalow. We only need to survive two more days of this unbearable pull between us before we can escape. We can do that, can’t we?

Slipping onto a stool, I lift a hand to signal to the bartender, who nods at me as he finishes up with his current patron. I keep breathing deeply as I wait, trying to bring down my anxiety, but it feels like a lost cause. I’m nervous . All because I can’t trust that I’ll make the right choice if Thomas confesses he feels the same way I do.

“You okay?”

I glance to my right at the question, finding a man leaning against the section of bar next to me. He’s tall enough that I have to lift my chin to look up at him. Handsome enough too, but he doesn’t hold a candle to—

Nope. Don’t do it.

“Totally fine, thanks,” I answer, polite but dismissive as I look away.

I haven’t opened up any avenues for conversation and yet he shifts closer, his cologne tickling my nose. I don’t care for the scent.

“You look tense,” he comments, eyes flicking up and down over me. To his credit, his gaze doesn’t linger on my pushed-up tits and his frown seems genuine, as if he cares that this strange woman at the bar is uncomfortable. “This place is too beautiful to be anything but relaxed.”

I fully fucking agree, and I would be chilling if I wasn’t so worried about Thomas.

I spare the man another glance and find him still staring at me in that earnest way. Ah hell, what’s the harm in entertaining a quick conversation while I wait? Maybe it’s the distraction I need.

And then he says, “Come on, baby, give us a smile.”

I let my eyes slide shut for a moment, because of fucking course . Of course some man is telling me to smile, because what else are they supposed to do? Inquire into what has a woman upset? Listen attentively and nod in understanding? Actually care ?

You mean all the things Thomas did when you met?

I swallow back what I really want to say to this man, things Mika would applaud me for but that might get me thrown off the resort property. The bartender thankfully chooses that moment to come over, and I order two double bourbons. One of them might be for Thomas if it doesn’t end up in this guy’s face first.

“I’m sorry,” he says, laughing as if he knows the line was bad but not caring. “I just can’t stand to see a gorgeous woman upset.”

“Literally never said I was upset,” I deadpan, back to staring straight ahead.

And then he has the nerve to put his hand on my shoulder, smoothing his palm down my arm. “I could just tell. You want me to cheer you up?”

The bartender sets the drinks down in front of me. Sorry to Thomas, but he’s not getting this whiskey and I might be getting a one-way trip to a Maldivian jail cell.

I curl my fingers around the glass, ready to lift it.

“I’d advise taking your hand off my wife.”

My head snaps up to find Thomas standing beside me. He’s intimidatingly calm, giving off the kind of energy that has me setting the glass down in surprise. Even the man hitting on me draws his hand back with a quickness, blinking at Thomas like he’s shocked to find him there. I know I am.

“Sorry, man,” the asshole says, taking a step back. “I didn’t know she was spoken for.”

I lift my left hand to give him the finger—and to show off my ring glinting under the fairy lights. Before I can speak, though, Thomas inserts himself between me and the man, preventing me from throwing the punch I was considering. Still, the idea of my diamond causing some damage sends a thrill through me.

Thomas says something to the man that I don’t quite catch, but it has Mr. Give Us a Smile nodding rapidly and stumbling away.

I scowl at Thomas’s back. “I was handling it myself.”

“I know you were.” He turns around, taking up the spot the man just vacated, but this is a much better view. “I was saving him from the medical bills you were about to inflict.” He nods to the rocks glass. “That for me?”

I nudge the bourbon in his direction, a reluctant peace offering. As he sips, I watch him from the corner of my eye, curious about something.

“Why did you come over?” I ask, then jokingly tack on, “Were you jealous seeing me with another man?”

“Of course I was.” He doesn’t hesitate to say it. “You’re my wife.”

I grab my drink, my reaction to the first half of his sentence tempered by the second. “That doesn’t actually mean anything,” I mumble into my glass. “This is fake.”

Thomas doesn’t say anything as I take a swig of whiskey, forcing myself not to wince as it burns its way down. When I look back at him, he’s staring out at the dance floor.

“You know, I’ve never understood it,” he says.

I squint at him as he sets his drink back down. “Understood what?”

“Men who are assholes to women and then expect them to fall to their knees with lust. It’s bullshit.”

It’s always thrilling to hear Thomas swear, like my English gentleman has taken a little break. Still, I don’t quite understand the shift in conversation, but I shrug anyway. “Some women like a bad boy.”

“There’s a difference between being a bad boy and a complete fucking knobhead.”

Not the word I’d use, but I guess the sentiment stands.

“Now, this?”

I almost jump when his hand lands on my thigh, but I freeze when his touch slips under the hem of my dress.

“ This is being a bad boy.”

I’m sucking in a sharp breath before I can stop myself. Heat spreads over my cheeks and rushes through my bloodstream, notching up a degree with every millimeter higher his fingertips creep between my thighs.

“We’re in public,” I remind him, but the words are incriminatingly breathy. And I don’t try to stop him.

“Isn’t that part of your rules?” he murmurs. He’s moved so that my legs are blocked from the crowd’s view, giving us the tiniest bit of privacy. “That all of our affection has to be in public?”

When his touch ghosts over the lace of my panties, a whimper escapes me. “You’re not wrong.”

“Doesn’t have to be that way, though.”

Yes, it absolutely does, because otherwise things will go further than this. This is already more than enough, and yet not even close to what I really want.

His free hand cups my face, and he traces my cheekbone with his thumb. “You’re blushing.”

I blush harder. “I’m not.”

“I can see it.”

“No, you can’t.”

“Yes, I can.” His fingers lightly explore across my face. “The bridge of your nose. The tips of your ears. The little spots at the tops of your cheekbones.”

It’s hard to keep breathing, but I’m somehow managing it. “You’ve really been looking hard at me.”

“Of course I have, Stella. I want to learn every inch of you.”

I swear I’ve just been sucker punched, every ounce of good sense knocked clean out. “You can’t say things like that, Thomas.”

“Why not?” he challenges. “Didn’t we agree to not keep secrets from each other?”

He’s got me there, but his taunting is infuriating. Instead of answering, I turn my head so his touch falls from my face, but I don’t push away the hand that’s still up my dress.

Walk away, Stella. Don’t entertain this.

Thomas watches as I lift my drink with a trembling hand. His fingers trace small circles on the skin of my inner thigh, waiting for my final answer. I knock back the rest of the bourbon instead.

He starts retreating, fingertips slowly trailing back down, but I grab his wrist before he can get far. It’s the answer I can’t say aloud yet.

As much as I shouldn’t, I want this. Want him . I don’t know what exactly that entails, but I want to feel him, want to close my eyes and listen as he whispers all the things I’ve been desperate to hear. I want to stop pretending there’s no sexual current running wild between us.

But I’m not ready to admit or acknowledge all the feelings behind these desires. I can’t confess how much I’ve grown to care for him, or how my new biggest fear is that I’m already too attached to ever say goodbye. My brain is screaming at me to keep this surface-level, even if my heart has let him burrow in deep.

I can’t go another night without discovering all the things I’ve deprived myself of with my rules. I have to do what feels right—no matter the consequences.

“I know I’m breaking the rules,” Thomas murmurs when I still don’t say anything, seeming prepared to make an argument for why we should break them a little more.

But before he can utter another word, I stand abruptly from my stool. He’s about to take a surprised step back, but I cup his jaw to keep him there and declare, “Fuck the rules.”

I drag his face down to mine until our lips meet, rough and crushing, letting him taste everything I can’t put into words. He must understand, because his arms wrap around my waist without a beat of hesitation, as if he’s been waiting for this—as if all that’s been holding him back has finally snapped.

My body ignites as he pulls me flush against him, and I revel in the way we meld together, simultaneously hating myself for dodging and avoiding all the moments when I could’ve so easily had this. And as his mouth moves against mine, tongue sweeping across my bottom lip, I can hardly remember why I kept pushing him away. Why would I ever pass up a chance at this slice of heaven? Why would I act like this was anything other than inevitable?

I can’t go back to my rules after this. Whatever tether I had to them is gone and I don’t know if I can get it back.

But Thomas won’t let me forget them, even if I want to act like they never existed. He reluctantly breaks the kiss, lips lingering by the corner of my mouth.

“You don’t mean that.” His hands slip from my waist to my hips, gripping hard. “Tell me you don’t, Stella.”

I nod, mind made up. “I mean it. No more rules.”

But I don’t know what their dissolution means or where we go from here. This first step is terrifying enough.

“God, I’ve been waiting for you to say that.” Thomas exhales shakily as he stares down at me, searching my gaze. “You weren’t wrong to put them in place, though. I know you did it to protect yourself. And I’m not…I’m not going to ask you to break them forever.”

I frown, my pounding heart sinking like a stone. Is he rejecting me? Is this what I get for finally laying out my desires for him to see?

Thomas squeezes my hips before I can dive headfirst into a spiral of doubt. “What I mean is…I think we owe it to ourselves to finish what we started back in Vegas. But only for tonight.”

“I don’t—” I’m still not quite following what he means. “I don’t understand.”

“I want a night with you,” he says. “The night we were supposed to have before we decided to rush off and get married. After that, we go back to following the rules. But I think we need this. There’s this…”

“Tension,” I finish for him. “And it’s fucking suffocating.”

“It is.” He brushes his nose against mine, eyes closing for a moment. I can imagine the ache settling heavily in his chest, because it’s doing the same in mine. “Do you want that, Stella?”

I hesitate. Not because I don’t want it but because my heart has decided it wants more than that. But it’s not allowed to run the show, and he’s given me a solution to the problem that’s been driving me mad.

We can both get what we want without suffering the consequences of entanglement. It’s a get-out-of-jail-free card, a no-strings-attached agreement. Tomorrow, we’ll have this out of our systems, the need to find out what could have happened that night finally satiated. The novelty will be gone and we can move on from it. It’s a perfect plan.

At least, that’s what I tell myself, even though it rings as a lie.

“One night?” I repeat, but my mind’s already made up.

Thomas nods. “One night.”

I take a breath and slip my hand into his. “Then we’d better make it count.”