Page 15 of Forbidden Fruit

My phone buzzes as I’m saying goodbye to the newlyweds. I expect it’s my assistant confirming tomorrow’s handover details, but it’s a text from Kay:

Kay: See you in tomorrow morning, sweetie. It’s going to be a memorable vacation!

I text back a quick thank you, my excitement building again. Memorable? Is this further confirmation that I’m getting a ring on Saturday?

As I wait for my Uber outside the hotel, my phone rings. Holly.

"Hey," I answer, "what's up?"

"Last-minute packing crisis?" she asks.

"No, actually. Just finished the Webster wedding. Everything went perfectly."

"Of course it did. You're the best at what you do." There's a pause. "So, I've been thinking about our conversation yesterday."

I sigh. "Holly?—"

"Just hear me out. I love you, and I want you to be happy. If Jack is what makes you happy, then I'm all for it. I just want you to know that you’re my best friend and I wholly believe that my bestie deserves to spend her life with a man who worships her. That’s it. I know I’m a broken record.”

"I know you mean well," I say, watching for my Uber, "but I'm not settling. Jack and I have history. We've been through a lot together."

"History isn't the same as happiness, Becs."

I spot my ride pulling up to the curb. "My Uber's here. Can we table this until I get back from Mexico? Preferably when I have a giant diamond to blind you with?"

Holly laughs. "Fine. But promise me one thing?"

"What's that?"

"If he doesn't propose this weekend, really think about whether this relationship is giving you what you need."

I hesitate, then say, "I promise." The words feel heavier than they should.

"Good. Now take lots of pictures of that villa. And maybe a few of Clive in swim trunks for me," Holly adds with a laugh.

"Holly!" I exclaim, but I'm laughing too as I climb into the Uber.

Back at my apartment, I finish packing with meticulous care. Three bikinis, cover-ups, sundresses for dinner, one semi-formal outfit in case we go somewhere fancy. I fold my new white linen dress – the one I secretly hope I'll be wearing when Jack proposes – and place it carefully on top.

Mr. Darcy watches from the bed, his tail twitching with displeasure.

"I know, buddy. I'll miss you too." I scratch behind his ears, and he purrs despite himself. "But it's only a week."

My phone lights up with a notification

Clive: Weather forecast for Cozumel shows perfect conditions all week. 85° and sunny.

I smile at his thoughtfulness. Jack has never once checked the weather for one of our trips.

Me: Thanks for the update! Can't wait!

I reply, then immediately worry my exclamation points seem too enthusiastic.

I'm zipping my suitcase closed when Mrs. Feldman knocks. At seventy-two, she's spry and sharp-witted, with a collection of colorful caftans and an endless supply of cat treats.

"Becca, dear," she says, sweeping in. "All packed for your romantic getaway?"

"Just finished," I say, handing her my spare key. "Mr. Darcy's food is in the cabinet above the fridge. Two scoops in the morning, two at night."

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