Page 82 of Fake Engaged to the Enemy

I turn the hot dogs over our beach fire. The driftwood we collected earlier sparks in hues of blue and green.

The whole thing is magical.

“Katherina told me that she doesn’t understand why we would want to camp on our own property for our honeymoon,” I tell George as he rejoins me.

George chuckles. “What did you tell her?”

“That this is our mini-moon, and we’ll be going around Europe later in the year.”

George puts his arm around my shoulders, and I rest my head against his shoulder. The ocean rolls in and out, a calming sound.

“I’m not going to lie. I think this might just be the best honeymoon we could have,” I sigh.

George takes the hot dogs off the fire to check them. The skin is bubbling, but not quite enough.

“Better than Europe,” I continue. “Just you and me here, on the beach. We have so much privacy here, away from our neighbors.”

“What neighbors?” George laughs. “We have a lot of privacy all the time.”

I pull slightly away from him. “Yeah, but here we can make love in the ocean and on the beach. You can’t do that in the city.”

“I never thought about trying it in the city,” George quips.

I kiss him, cupping his chin with my hand. “Thank you.”

“For this beautiful fire?” he asks, quirking one eyebrow up.

“For everything you’ve done these past two years.” I comb my fingers through his strawberry-blond hair. “Absolutely everything.”

He grins and takes the hot dogs off the fire. Then he tackles me.

We fall into the sand, laughing. George rolls over me, kissing me up and down.

“If anyone is thanking anyone, I’m thanking you,” he growls. “You’re the one that took a shot on me.”

I sigh, enjoying the sensation of his body so close to mine. My eyes slide shut. The fire crackles nearby, with the scent of the hot dogs reminding me that I haven’t eaten in hours.

Reluctantly, I remind George of this.

He groans and rolls up, then helps me sit. We make ourselves food.

“Huh. Lynn forgot to pack the champagne I asked for,” George says as he rifles through the cooler. “All she sent was sparkling apple juice.”

My eyes widen. “She knows!”

“Knows what?” George starts to open the apple juice.

I chew my lip, a new excitement washing through me. “Well… that it’s a good thing your company has good parental leave for employees.”

George stops.

He carefully sets the glass bottle aside. His green eyes are alight as he turns back to me. “Catherine?”

“Yes, George?”

“Is there a specific reason that’s a good thing?” The hope on his face makes me want to laugh.

So I do.

---