Page 46 of Perfectly Wedded

“Yeah, about that...” Sloan jumps to her feet and immediately starts cleaning up. “Do you think we should just skip it? Imean, we could have a reception and letThe Star Reportcover it, and I can tell everyone we’re not interested in renewing our vows.”

“Are you nervous about the wedding?” I touch her arm to get her to stop moving. I can see that she’s having second thoughts, because whenever she gets nervous, she avoids eye contact and busies herself.

She shakes her head. “It’s one thing to have tied the knot in Vegas already. It’s another to stand in front of everyone we know and fake our vows.”

“Sloan,” I take her shoulders gently so she’ll look at me. “We can’t solve everything right now. We’re only on the first day of our honeymoon. I know we’re doing everything backward. But maybe this trip is our chance to pretend that the rest of the world doesn’t exist for a few days—that it’s just us and nothing else.”

Her shoulders relax. “You’re not nervous about it?”

“The wedding?” I shake my head. “No, because my first goal is to get you to relax this week and forget about everything in our real lives.” I turn toward the ocean. “I bet the water feels fantastic. Are you ready to take a swim?”

She looks up at me and cringes. “So soon after dinner?”

“Are you worried about swimming after eating? I think that’s an old wives’ tale.”

“No,” she says quietly, looking down. “It’s not that. It’s just... I’m not ready for you to see me in my swimsuit.”

I blink, taken aback. “Are you kidding me?” Then I hold up the blanket we used for the picnic. “You could be wearing this, and I’d think you were hot.”

She lifts an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “Well, the blanket might be an improvement. At least it hides everything.”

“You don’t need to hide asinglething,” I say.

“I don’t believe you. Not when you look around at all the beautiful women on the beach.”

I scan the beach. “I don’t see any, except for you.”

She points at a woman in a bright pink bikini, the size of a few dinner napkins. “How about that girl?”

I shrug, looking back at Sloan. “Maybe you think she looks attractive, but I don’t.”

She scoffs. “How could you say that?”

I step closer, keeping my eyes locked on hers. “Because she’s notyou.”

Sloan’s mouth opens, then she shakes her head. “You’re not serious, are you?”

“Dead serious.” I reach for her hand. “I don’t care about anyone else on this beach. Whenever you’re ready, Sloan, I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere.”

SEVENTEEN

Sloan

Even though Vale’s words nearly knock me off my feet, swimming is still out of the question. Part of me was hoping I’d suddenly feel courageous enough to rip off my dress and run into the water like aBaywatchlifeguard. Then I remembered I don’t look like Pamela Anderson, despite what Vale insists. He’s just giving me a confidence boost so I won’t be embarrassed to be seen by him in my swimsuit.

But there’s something else going on too. Instead of acting like we’re married onlywhen people are around, it’s like he wants to flirt with me when we’re alone too. I almost get the feeling that he enjoys being with me—as more than his friend.

Which leaves me wondering:Is this still pretend?How can I believe that when his hand brushes mine as we walk the beach, or when I catch him staring at me like I’m the only one here? It’s not like he hasn’t seen me a million times. But it’s the way he looks at me, his eyes darkening, landing on my lips for a split second too long. And then he asked me to date him, which left my body zinging with fireworks and my heart more confused than ever.

When we get back to the hotel, Vale opens the door to our room and gives me a hesitant smile. We both drop our eyes. The moment feels too weighty. This is the first timewe’ve been alone since we eloped. We’re stuck together in a romantic honeymoon suite with a stunning view of the ocean. The whole scene feels like the perfect setup for a night to remember.

If Vale even showed the least bit of interest, I’d fold like a house of cards and jump into his arms. But that would also be a massive mistake. Because if I do, I’ll start hoping this could actually work. And logically, I know better. This was never supposed to work, not when our whole relationship is built on a business agreement.

My eyes land on the couch. Vale looks at me, and shakes his head. “I know what you’re thinking, and you need to stop.”

“What?” I say innocently.

“You feel guilty for taking the bedroom.” He settles on the sofa and flips off his sandals. “I’ve slept on plenty of couches in my lifetime, and a few left me feeling like I needed a tetanus shot afterward. This is not one of them.”

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