Page 13 of Marrying the Enemy

“This was arranged last year, before they knew there’d be a storm,” Eve overheard someone say while she was flicking through the sarongs. “They thought everyone would be swimming and snorkeling all day then dancing on the beach until sunrise. The band will perform at the resort tonight instead.”

At least there was a portable loo. Eve used it before heading out with Logan across the island.

Logan was hungover after the stag party on the mainland last night. There’d been a hen party for the bride at the resort, but Eve had been happy to stay alone in the suite, catching up on reading after she composed a blistering email to her brother asking him to read her most recent proposal and give her the promotion she deserved.

She was taking out her frustration with Dom’s imposing presence on her brother, sure, but she wasn’t wrong.

Whether Dom had joined the stag party, she didn’t know. He had looked fresh as a daisy when he had waded in from one of the other boats. He wore loose swim shorts in shades of blue with a white surf shirt that hugged his torso so lovingly, she could count the muscles in his six-pack.

Disgusted with herself for noticing, Eve set a grumpy pace along the trail to the far side of the island. The track climbed up through the rainforest then across the top of a hill that opened into grassland. When they arrived at a lookout, they paused to photograph the stunning views of empty islands surrounded by swirls of white sand and turquoise waters.

The track then descended toward a bottle tree and a sign that marked a split in the track. One read Spit, the other Turtle Bay.

They chose turtles and descended to a private beach of powder-white sand with a sea turtle sunning itself in the lapping surf.

“This is beautiful.” Eve stayed well back from the creature, but used the zoom feature on her phone to snap a photo of it.

“I think I’m going to be sick.” Logan braced his hands on his knees. His face glowed with perspiration. “This isn’t normal behavior for me,” he assured her as he looked to the scrub at the edge of the beach. “Just old friends behaving like we’re still in college. Oh, I meant to ask you...” Logan straightened to take out his electrolyte drink and sip it. “I picked up a text from your brother before we left. He asked me if Dom is upsetting you. Is he?”

“What? No. Why would he?” She lowered her phone, growing prickly. From the heat.

“I don’t know.” Logan shrugged. “Nico said you sent him an email that sounded bitchy. His word.” He held up a staying hand as she snapped her spine straight.

“That doesn’t make it okay to repeat! And wouldn’t you be bitchy if you were being held back every second of every day?”

“He’s not holding you back.” He took another pull off his drink. “He’s being realistic.”

“In what way?” Why was he taking her brother’s side?

“I’m not trying to insult you, Eve.” His tone said, calm down.

“Yet you’re managing to.” She strained to sound ultra-reasonable instead of incredibly irritated, which she was. “I think it’s very realistic that, after four years of dedicated service, my brother give me more responsibility in the family company. When Jackson was twenty-five, he was given all of Europe to oversee. Christo has the Pacific Rim. I’m not even head of marketing yet.”

“Because Nico knows that you claim you want a top position in the business, but that will change once you’re married and have children.”

“I’m not claiming to want it. I know what I want.” And she was affronted that Logan seemed to doubt that. “A husband and children could be years away. I don’t know how I’ll feel when that happens so how could Nico?”

“Years?” Logan’s brows crinkled with a patronizing aren’t-you-cute? expression. “Darling, we have to marry within the year so I can hit the ground running with the next campaign cycle. If you want to put off children for a short time after that, I suppose I can agree, but voters prefer family men, not power wives who put their career ahead of their husband’s. I think you’ll find that between raising our children and keeping up with the duties of a congressman’s wife, you won’t have time to spare for Visconti Group. Which is what I told your brother when you and I started dating—”

“Oh, my God,” she cut in, putting up a staying hand. “Was that your marriage proposal to me just now? I respectfully decline.”

“Eve.” His mouth tightened with dismay. “Don’t be like that.”

“I’m not saying that with hard feelings, Logan. Honestly. I’m glad we’ve established that we want different things.” In fact, she was profoundly relieved. “I’ll go back to the landing beach where I will catch a lift with the first boat willing to take me to the hotel. Then I’ll pack and leave you to enjoy the wedding and the rest of your life with whoever wants to dedicate her life to being your wife and only your wife, because that woman isn’t me.”

“Wait, stop. Come on. You can’t leave. What would I tell people?” He put out a pleading hand.

“Say I had a family emergency.” She paused in starting toward the track. “My brother will definitely need surgery to remove the job I’m about to shove up his—”

Logan cursed and clutched his stomach, then staggered toward the weeds.

What a catch.

“Bye, Logan.” She spun to push herself up the winding incline with such force, her thigh muscles burned. She was impelled by anger at Logan and his assumptions, and her brother and his sexist dismissal of her, and her whole family for only seeing she had value as a wife, not as an employee. Not as a person.

She was panting and sweating as she arrived at the bottle tree in time to hear Dom and Cat on the lookout above her, taking photos.

Ugh. He was the last person she wanted to see when she was ready to burn down the patriarchy with the sheer force of her glare.

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