Page 13 of Forbidden Fruit

“It’s still going to be amazing,” I say, trying to recapture my excitement. “Four days in paradise is better than no days, right?”

Holly shakes her head but doesn’t push it. “Right. So the red dress is for Saturday, and the white bikini is for the beach... what about shoes?”

We spent the next hour finishing my packing, and the conversation mercifully shifts to lighter topics. By the time Holly leaves, I feel more settled, my suitcase packed, and my expectations...well, managed. Sort of.

I feed my cat, Mr. Darcy, before crawling into bed. He jumps up beside me, purring as he kneads my comforter with his paws.

“What do you think, Darcy?” I scratch behind his ears. “Is this finally it?”

He blinks at me slowly, which I interpret as feline approval.

My phone buzzes again. I expect it’s Jack who may explain more about the shortened trip, but it’s an unknown number. I open the text.

Rebecca, it’s Clive Bishop. Kay gave me your number. Wanted to check if you have any dietary restrictions for the trip. The chef is preparing menus.

I stare at the text, surprised. In five years of dating Jack, his stepfather has never contacted me directly.

Hi, Mr. Bishop. I’m allergic to salmon, but that’s it. Thank you for asking! I hesitate, then add: Thank you for hosting us at your villa.

The response comes quickly:

Call me Clive, please. And you’re welcome. Looking forward to having you there.

Something about his formal politeness makes me smile. I can almost hear his deep voice through the text.

Another message appears:

Also, if there’s anything special you’d like to do while in Cozumel, let me know. I know some places off the usual tourist path.

I consider this. Jack hasn’t mentioned any plans beyond lounging by the pool. And if we’re only staying four days now...

I’d love some recommendations. I’ve never been to Mexico before.

First time? We’ll make it memorable.

I find myself staring at those words longer than necessary. There’s nothing suggestive about them, yet something in my stomach flutters. I decide it’s probably just excitement about the trip.

Thank you. Looking forward to it.

Goodnight, Rebecca.

“Rebecca,” I say aloud to Darcy. “Not Becca.”

Everyone calls me Becca. My parents, my friends, definitely Jack. Only my grandmother ever used my full name, and she’s been gone for years.

I set my phone aside and turn off the light, but sleep doesn’t come easily. My mind cycles through Holly’s warnings, Jack’s shortened trip, and, oddly, Clive’s text messages. The consideration in them—asking about dietary needs and offering recommendations—strikes me as unusually thoughtful.

Jack hasn’t even asked what I want to do in Cozumel.

I push the thought away. This trip isn’t about sightseeing. It’s about our engagement. Our future.

By the time I drift off, I’ve convinced myself again that everything will be perfect. Jack will propose, I’ll say yes, and the next box in my carefully planned life will be checked.

But as I slip into dreams, it’s not Jack’s face I see, but blue eyes watching me with an intensity that follows me into sleep.

Becca

Iwake to my alarm blaring, a text already waiting:

---