Page 30 of The Paradise Problem

In reality, this trip should be very simple. Anna and I need to be in attendance, passably social, and not discuss our inane cover story anywhere in earshot of anyone but Jake. I realize she’s nervous about how well she’ll pull off her role, but what I told her was true: Anna could just smile on my arm and it would be fine. The fact that she’s here should be enough to get my self-obsessed father off my trail.

So the last thing I need to do is add more fuel to the emotional fire. The last thing I need to do is notice her.

But when she steps out onto the deck of our bungalow, dressed for the night’s cocktail party, there’s no escaping it. The dress is black silk, landing high on her upper thigh, and with only a delicate silver chain holding it up over one shoulder. Another crosses her chest, connecting to the opposite strap and, when she turns around and goes inside to grab her small purse, I see the view from behind is even worse: low-cut, with two of those same tiny sparkling chains draped together diagonally across the width of her back.

I hear the creaking, choked sound of my own surprised inhale. The only thing I see is skin.

So much skin, and legs. Legs for days.

“Okay,” she says, returning to the deck and running her hands down her sides, unaware of the way my eyes rake over her. “If this isn’t the right vibe, tell me. Vivi put about twenty dresses in that trunk, and this feels… like, weird to wear barefoot? But I think they’d all be weird to wear barefoot? Honestly, I don’t know why the dress code for everything wasn’t ‘beachy’ but here we are. In silk.”

Finally, she looks up at me, brows raised as she waits for the verdict. I have no idea what my face is doing, but I work to get my voice to come out steady. “That dress is fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. “It’s a cocktail party.” I point a finger attached to a very sweaty palm. “That’s a cocktail dress.”

“Okay. I just—” She pauses, fussing with the hem, which, no matter how much she tugs at it, is never getting longer. “Do you have a recurring dream? Mine is that I wake up and plan to wear a new, cute dress that I like but which I haven’t worn yet. But by the time I leave the house, it feels shorter than I remember. Then I get to school—high school, because nightmares are always about high school—and the dress barely covers my ass, and I start to feel really self-conscious. By the time I walk into my classroom, I realize what everyone around me already knew, which is that I’m wearing a shirt and only thought it was a dress, and I’m basically walking around with no pants on.”

“That’s not your nightmare, Anna, that’s you just lounging around your apartment.”

She grins. “Touché.” Another hem tug. “Okay, and also? I didn’t take the tag off this, so you can return it after the trip.”

“That’s not necessary.”

She cups a hand to the side of her mouth. “West. This dress is Givenchy. It was like twenty-five hundred dollars.”

I smile at her and cup a hand to the side of my mouth, whispering, “It’s okay.” Truthfully, I love that she thinks about this. I love that she’s horrified by that price. I’m horrified, too. It’s a good thing Anna isn’t my real wife; I would constantly worry that my proximity to this world would destroy her.

We head back inside so I can cut the tag off for her—it looked like a flat rectangle on her ass, she wouldn’t have fooled anyone—and make our way along the softly lit private bridge to the wooden path, and then to the beach where we can begin to make out sounds of the party in the distance.

From my perusal of the map left in our bungalow, there are a handful of large guest structures on the main island: Two restaurants, two bars, an enormous infinity pool and pool house, a reception hall, the gym, a spa, a learning pavilion for classes and activities, a retail shop, and a greenhouse where guests can help plant, tend, and harvest some of the plants and herbs used on Pulau Jingga. According to the information in our room, the restaurant where tonight’s party is held is known not only for the amazing menu but also for its custom as well as classic drinks, a long list of zero-proof cocktails, and a heavily curated list of top-shelf and very expensive wines and spirits. The itinerary said that dinner will be a mix of drinks and various small dishes prepared exclusively for our party. So, a quick meal and enough alcohol to plow through the night. I can do this, I think. We can do this.

But as we near, the sound of my father’s braying laugh makes a chill crawl up my spine. As if she senses the tension rising in me, Anna slides her arm through mine and squeezes. “We’ve got this.”

“We just have to get through it.”

“Get through—?” Beside me, she stops abruptly. “Look around you. Look where we are! We can do more than just get through this! This is literally paradise.”

I look past her, out at the crashing surf, the swaying palms. Just moments from dusk, the lip of the sun still clings to the horizon, melting like spilled paint into the sea. She’s right, I think, looking over as the last rays of sunlight wash her in gold. Even being this tense means that my father wins, again. “Okay.”

“Is your whole family here?” she asks.

“They should be.”

“You gave me advice about how to handle your mother,” she says, turning to adjust my collar, tucking it under the lapel of my sport coat. “I’m going to give you some advice, too: Put your hand on my lower back when we’re together. It makes you look physically comfortable and a little possessive, which is hot. Kiss my shoulder when you think someone is watching.” She runs her hand down my chest and then lifts her gaze to mine. “Gaze into my eyes when I’m speaking to you, like I’m the only person in the room. Try to remember what it felt like the first time you were truly, madly, insatiably in love. Look at me like that.”

Unconsciously, my eyes flicker briefly to her lips. They’re full and soft, shiny with a tiny bit of gloss. Legs and lips. My weaknesses.

“Perfect,” she says quietly.

“And what will you do?”

The hand on my chest slips down to my belt where her fingers rest on top of the buckle. “Look at you like I adore you. Like I want to consume you. Like I want you to take me back to the bungalow to rip this dress off and ruin me.”

I swallow, my throat dry.

“Is this William Albert?” a voice booms, and I turn to see Jake approaching with three small glasses in his hands. “And Anna motherfucking Green?”

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