Page 7 of The Ex-Girlfriend Agreement

"That's not what I asked."

Our eyes meet, and there's an intensity in his gaze that makes it hard to breathe. For a moment, I consider telling him the truth—that New York is exciting and fulfilling and sometimes overwhelmingly lonely. That I've dated but nothing has stuck. That sometimes I wake up reaching for him.

Instead, I say, "Yes, I'm happy."

Something shutters in his expression. "Good."

The taxi pulls into the resort's circular driveway, a sprawling paradise of white buildings with red tile roofs nestled among tropical gardens. A doorman in a floral shirt opens my door with a cheerful "Aloha!" and I step out, grateful for the interruption.

The resort lobby is open-air, with soaring ceilings and views straight through to the ocean beyond. Everywhere I look are flowers—vibrant hibiscus, delicate orchids, birds of paradise standing proud in massive arrangements.

Dean appears beside me with our luggage, and I'm suddenly, acutely aware that this is it. The performance begins now.

"Ready?" he asks quietly.

Before I can answer, a familiar squeal cuts through the lobby.

"Brooke! Dean! You're here!"

My sister Taylor hurries toward us, resplendent in a flowing white sundress, her skin already golden from days in the Hawaiian sun. Behind her is her fiancé, James, grinning broadly.

"Oh my God, look at you two!" Taylor throws her arms around me, then Dean. "I've missed you both so much!"

"Hey, Taylor," Dean says, and the warmth in his voice is genuine. He always did like my sister. "Congratulations."

"Thank you!" She beams up at him. "I'm so glad you could get away from the ranch. Brooke says you've been swamped."

"Wouldn't miss it." Dean's arm slides around my waist, his hand resting lightly on my hip. It's such a natural gesture, so familiar, that my breath catches. "Right, sweetheart?"

The endearment almost undoes me. He used to call me that all the time, his voice low and intimate in my ear. Now it's just part of the act.

"Right," I manage, forcing a smile. "We wouldn't miss it for the world."

Taylor's gaze bounces between us, her expression softening. "You two are still so cute together. What is it now, four years?"

"Four years, three months," Dean says smoothly, squeezing my hip. "Not that I'm counting."

I stare at him, surprised he remembered so precisely.

"You guys check in, freshen up," James says, his arm around Taylor's shoulders. "Welcome dinner's at seven in the beachside pavilion. Most of the guests are already here."

"My parents?" I ask, dreading the answer.

"Arrived yesterday. Mom's already reorganized the welcome bags twice." Taylor rolls her eyes affectionately. "Dad's at the golf course with James's dad."

"Great," I say weakly. "We'll see you at dinner."

Taylor hugs us both again before she and James head off toward the beach. As soon as they're out of sight, Dean's arm drops from my waist, and I feel the loss like a physical thing.

"That wasn't so bad," I say, trying to sound casual as we approach the check-in desk.

"It's just the beginning." Dean's voice is low. "Your parents will be harder to convince."

The receptionist—a cheerful woman with a plumeria tucked behind her ear—checks us in efficiently. "The Callahan-Bennett wedding party! We have you in one of our ocean-view suites, Mr. McAllister and Ms. Callahan."

I freeze. "One suite?"

"Yes, the Orchid Suite. King bed, private lanai overlooking the beach. Very romantic." She winks.

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