Page 7

Ivy

"So, how's the honeymoon suite treating you two lovebirds?"

The question hits me like a splash of cold water.

Mrs. Whitmore—Dane's mother—is watching us over her mimosa, eyes sharp despite her practiced society smile.

We're gathered on the resort's main terrace for the scavenger hunt briefing, the morning sun already fierce enough to make me wish I'd worn lighter clothes.

Dane's hand finds my lower back, steady and warm. "Actually—"

"We requested separate rooms," I cut in smoothly. "My family's quite traditional."

It's not entirely a lie. My family would be traditional—if I had any family left besides distant cousins who send Christmas cards two months late.

"How... quaint." Mrs. Whitmore's smile doesn't reach her eyes.

"I respect my future in-laws' values," Dane adds, and I have to bite back a smile at his perfect delivery. We hadn't even discussed this lie, but somehow we're in sync. Like we've been all week.

The past few days have been surreal. After the bride and groom left for their honeymoon in Greece, the rest of us settled into an easy rhythm of beach walks and resort activities.

Dane and I have been inseparable—partly for show, partly because it's just..

. easier. Natural. His company feels familiar in a way I don't want to examine too closely.

We've successfully avoided Marcus and Jessica, though I occasionally catch them watching us. Dorian's been the perfect friend, giving us space while running interference when needed. Even Dane's mother has been too busy networking with local "royalty" to pay much attention to us.

It's been nice. Dangerous, but nice.

"Well," Mrs. Whitmore says, "I suppose that's... admirable." She glances at someone over my shoulder. "Oh, Hortensia, darling! Have you met the Vandermeres?"

I wait until she's out of earshot before exhaling. "That was close."

"Too close," Dane murmurs. "We should probably..."

"Yeah."

We'd been avoiding this conversation, but now it's unavoidable. The resort's nearly full with wedding guests, and people are starting to notice we're not actually sharing a suite. Questions will lead to suspicion. Suspicion will lead to calls. Calls will lead to Sarah finding out, and—

"I'll take the couch," Dane says quietly.

I blink. "What?"

"In my suite. It's bigger, has an ocean view. The couch is practically a bed anyway."

"I can't kick you out of your bed."

"You're not kicking. I'm offering." His thumb traces circles on my back, probably for show, but it sends shivers down my spine. "Unless you'd prefer to share?"

The heat in his voice makes my chest tight. "The couch is fine."

"For me, or for you?"

"Does it matter?"

His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I forget we're surrounded by people. Forget this is all pretend. Forget everything except how blue his eyes are, how his hand feels on my back, how easy it would be to—

"Teams!" A voice booms across the terrace. "Gather 'round for the Island Quest briefing!"

The spell breaks. Dane's hand drops from my back, and I immediately miss its warmth.

"Ready to crush the competition?" he asks, his voice lighter now.

"Always."

We join the growing crowd around the event coordinator, a peppy woman named Brittany who's wielding a clipboard like a weapon. Five couple-sized gaps have been marked on the terrace with tape X's, and she's directing teams to their starting positions.

"Axel and Victoria, position one."

Victoria towers over everyone in tiny white shorts and a razor-cut crop top that somehow screams both money and menace. Axel can’t take his eyes off her—and neither can anyone else.

"The Hendersons—two!" They're wearing matching visors and holding hands. It's disgustingly adorable.

"Dane and Ivy—three!! Claude and..." Brittany checks her clipboard. "Hortensia? Four!"

I bite back a laugh as Claude trudges to his spot beside Hortensia, who's telling him about her summer in Monaco.

"You owe me," Claude mutters to Dane as we pass.

"Noted."

"Marcus and Jessica—five!"

My stomach drops. I hadn't noticed them arrive. Marcus looks annoyingly good in salmon-colored shorts, and Jessica's somehow making athleisure look couture. They're both wearing matching baseball caps with their initials.

"Couples," Brittany announces, "welcome to the Island Quest! Today's challenge will test your teamwork, problem-solving, and—" She grins. "—tolerance for your partner under pressure."

"Each team will receive a series of clues," she continues, waving color-coded envelopes. "These will lead you to challenges across the resort. Some physical, some mental, some... creative."

Hortensia starts explaining her extensive experience with escape rooms in Dubai to Claude. His expression suggests he's contemplating escape of a different kind.

"First team to complete all challenges and reach the final location wins.

" Brittany pauses for dramatic effect. "The grand prize? A private sunset yacht cruise with champagne dinner. Second place gets a couples massage at the resort spa, and third place wins dinner at La Mer, our five-star restaurant. Everyone else gets sand in their shoes.”

That gets a round of enthusiastic claps and a few playful whoops from the crowd. The Hendersons exchange excited glances. She whispers something that makes her husband blush.

"Rules are simple," Brittany says. "No phones. No separating. No sabotage." She looks pointedly at Marcus, who's already trying to peek at another team's envelope. "And most importantly—have fun!"

Dane leans close, his breath warm on my ear. "Think we can take them?"

"Please."

"Cocky. I like it."

His voice sends heat straight to my core. We've been doing this all week—toeing the line between pretense and flirtation. It's getting harder to remember which is which.

The first envelope sends us to the beach. We fall into step easily, like we didn't meet in a bathroom four days ago.

"So," he says as we navigate the sandy path, "about the sleeping arrangements..."

"Not now."

"We should probably establish some ground rules."

"Like what? No snoring?"

"I was thinking more like 'no walking around naked.'"

I nearly trip. "Why would I—"

"Just setting expectations." His grin is wicked. "I sleep hot."

"You're impossible."

"You like it."

I do. That's the problem.

We find our first challenge set up: a complicated rope course suspended between palm trees. Teams have to cross together, tied at the wrist.

"Ready, partner?" Dane holds up the rope, and something in his voice makes me shiver.

"Just don't drop me."

"Never."

He ties our wrists together with practiced ease that I definitely don't find attractive. His fingers brush my pulse point, and I pretend not to notice how my heart rate spikes.

We watch Victoria and Axel tackle the course first—they're surprisingly graceful, though Victoria's legs seem to go on forever which probably helps. The Hendersons take it slow but steady, giggling like teenagers when they wobble.

Then it's our turn.

"Trust me?" Dane asks quietly.

"Do I have a choice?"

"Always."

Something in his tone makes me look up. He's watching me with an intensity that has nothing to do with the challenge. For a moment, I forget about the competition, the other teams, everything except how blue his eyes are.

"I trust you," I say, and I'm not sure we're still talking about the rope course.

His hand tightens on mine. "Good. Now, on three..."

We move like we've done this before. His strength complements my balance. When I stumble, he steadies me. When he needs to adjust his grip, I anticipate it. We don't need words—just subtle touches, shared glances, the kind of synchronization that usually takes years to develop.

"Show-offs!" Axel calls from the finish line, but he's grinning.

We complete the course in record time. As Dane unties our wrists, his fingers linger on my skin. I tell myself it's just for show—we have an audience, after all. But the way he looks at me...

"Next challenge?" I ask, my voice embarrassingly breathy.

He holds up the new envelope, and I definitely don't notice how his forearms flex. "Ready when you are, partner."

Behind us, Hortensia shrieks as Claude accidentally-on-purpose swings them too wide. Marcus and Jessica are already arguing about technique. The Hendersons are sharing a victory kiss that's simultaneously sweet and mildly scandalous.

And I'm trying very hard not to think about sharing a suite with Dane tonight.

I'm failing spectacularly.