Page 48 of The Paradise Problem

I stand up, do a few circles in place, not sure what to do with my hands, my feet, my face. Excitement is helium in my bloodstream; I feel jittery, high, floating outside my own body.

Where is West? Did he go and sacrifice a virgin on my behalf? If so, it was not necessary but so appreciated. This is not the kind of email one wants to receive alone! This requires celebration, shouting, maybe some hot making out—no, Anna, stop that. At the very least, I need a high five.

I high-five myself, and then type out a quick reply.

I’m out of town but will make sure my roommate is there to meet the courier. This is so exciting! The price sounds perfect. Thank you, Mel!

xo

Anna

I text Lindy and ask what time she can be home tomorrow and whether she can bring the three paintings to the living room. She replies immediately, and I forgive her for eating my tagine. Ladies and gents, things are looking good for Anna Green!

With West still MIA, I have nothing to do but venture out to the beach to potentially get accosted by a member of the Weston family or get dressed for the cocktail welcome party tonight. Everyone will be excited for their first day here, so I decide to go all out.

By the time West’s footsteps sound along the bridge, I’m finishing the final curl in my hair. My initial primping enthusiasm has worn off and now I fear my vibe is less “beachy hot” and more “desperate D-lister on red carpet.”

He rounds the corner, already speaking. “Sorry! Sorry. I got caught by Blaire—she slapped my ass three times when I—” West stops abruptly when I step out from behind the half wall behind the bed. “Holy fuck.”

“It’s overboard,” I agree immediately. “I went overboard, right? With the curls? And the winged liner? And who needs lips this pink? Definitely not me.” I turn to go grab some toilet paper to wipe it all off. “This is not a beach vibe.”

“Don’t you fucking touch the lips,” he says, voice hoarse. “You look amazing.”

“Oh.” Suddenly, I am hot all over. “Thank you. You’re good at this game.”

He drags his attention from my toes, up my legs, over my breasts, along my neck, to my eyes. My dress reminds me of something a flapper from the 1920s would wear: square neckline, thin black straps, falling straight to midthigh and covered in long, rectangular silver sequins that shake like fringe when I boogie. “Yeah. This is a good look for you.”

“You have horny eyes,” I tell him.

“Yeah? Well.” He squeezes them shut.

“I will need you to zip me up, though.” I turn around, pulling my hair forward and looking back at him over my shoulder. “Please?”

He takes a deep breath. “Sure.”

Am I imagining that the air warms when he steps up behind me? I feel the slightest touch at the base of my spine as he reaches for the zipper, and then the slowest, softest, graze of his thumb as he pulls it all the way up.

“There.” Another deep breath, and when I face him, he turns toward the closet. He looks winded. “I can change really quick.”

“Don’t go changing,” I sing, “to try and please me.”

“Well done.” West rifles through his clothing options. “You’ve doused the horny fire by singing my mother’s favorite song.”

“I just want you to know that unlike some roommates of this bungalow, I’m here to serenade whenever you feel the need.”

“Noted.”

“Okay. I’ll step outside while you change.”

“It’s fine,” he says, and looks back at me. “You were right. At some point, we just have to say fuck it, I think. Besides, there’s no mystery left after that bikini.”

He’s right. But I still want to pretend to be respectful. I spend the next ten minutes studying my notes on Dani, Patrick, and Nicola. I am ready for these bigwigs.

A hand comes over my shoulder, and I turn to see West in a crisp white shirt and heathered gray pants he’s rolled at the hem. I didn’t think a man could dress up for a beach party without looking like a knob, but West has done it.

Also, those pants do amazing things for his…

Goddamn.

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