Page 44 of If the Ring Fits

My heart pumps too much blood in the wrong direction at the thought of lying beside her all night, our bodies mere inches apart. I swallow. “If you’re okay with that, I’m fine, too.”

She nods, biting her lip. “It’s a big bed. We’ll just stick to our sides.”

“That is if you feel comfortable sharing with an international art thief.” I attempt to lighten the mood.

Her bright smile is my reward. “As long as you don’t also steal all the covers, we’ll be fine.”

“Deal.”

Rowena springs into action, rummaging through her duffle bag. She grabs a bikini and slips into the attached bathroom. “Be right back!”

She closes the door behind her.

While she changes, I strip out of my suit and pull on my swimming trunks. I’m tying the drawstring when I hear the bathroom door open.

I turn expectantly, but nothing could have prepared me for the vision that emerges. Rowena is an absolute smoke show in a blush pink string bikini speckled with tiny blue flowers. The triangles of fabric barely cover her ample cleavage, and the low-slung bottoms reveal her toned thighs and flat stomach, not yet showing any signs of the baby.

My mouth is literally hanging open, and I’m blatantly staring at her incredible body like an ogling teenage boy. Quickly, I avert my eyes, heat rising up my neck. When I chance a glance back at her face, her cheeks are flushed pink. She definitely caught me gawking at her.

“You, um, you look great.” Trying to recover, I give a small, awkward cough. “That color suits you.”

She smiles shyly, her eyes flickering downward. “Thanks. I wasn’t sure everything would still fit with the pregnancy.” Rowena chuckles nervously. “I swear my boobs have already grown a size…”

I turn away and close my eyes briefly not to be tempted to stare at her chest again. “Oh yeah, definitely. Everything fits… snug, I mean, well.” I cringe inwardly at how unsmooth I sound.

Rowena glides past, drawing a sheer blue sarong from her bag and securing it with a casual knot at her hip. The see-through fabric does little to conceal her long legs. “One of the many perks of pregnancy, I guess.” Her tone is lighthearted but there’s a glimmer of uncertainty in her eyes, like she’s second-guessing bringing up her changing body.

She has nothing to be self-conscious about. I step closerand take her hand. “Rowena, you look beautiful. Pregnancy suits you.”

Color blooms in her cheeks again but this time she holds my gaze. “You think so?”

“I know so. You’re stunning, inside and out. Any man would be lucky to have you on his arm.”

Including me, I realize with a jolt. I’m going to have zero problems playing the role of doting boyfriend this weekend.

“Oh, okay, because I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Preston and his wife look like life-sized Ken and Barbie dolls—so perfect it was almost creepy.”

“I suspect Preston gets his hair highlighted.”

“Maybe it’s a wig,” she jokes. “His mop looked so unflappable I wondered if it were a plastic helmet.”

I laugh and I’m still smiling as we make our way downstairs to the pool area, where Preston, Ella, and Dominic are lounging on chaise chairs while the kids splash around in the water, their laughter mingling with the crash of waves beyond.

“Even their kids look unreal,” Rowena mouths to me as we cross the lawn. “I’m already getting comparative parent anxiety.”

I lean down and whisper, “I’m sure you’ll be an amazing mom.” Then I guide Rowena to the last free beach lounger, my hand placed on the small of her back—its new favorite position. The warmth of her skin seeps through the thin sarong, sending tingles up my arm.

As we sit side by side, Ella turns to Rowena with a friendly smile. “So, Rowena, what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a software engineer,” Rowena replies, fidgeting with the string of her bikini in a way that’s too distracting. “You?”

“I work for a non-profit that promotes youth literacy.”

“Oh, wow, that is an amazing mission.” Rowena’s handunconsciously drops to her still-flat belly. “I’d love to also get more kids into coding from an early age.”

“You work at a toy company?”

“No. I wish. I used to be on Wall Street.” Her mouth twists into a line that, if not exactly disgust, is close. Then she looks at me and her face brightens—I’m not sure if it’s part of the act or not. “Where I met this guy. But I recently left my job to focus on… other things.”

---