Page 27 of Forbidden Fruit

“There you are,” Jack calls, his voice carrying that entitled edge that sets my teeth on edge. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”

“Just showing Rebecca the coastline,” I reply, keeping my tone professionally cordial as I secure the boat.

Jack slides a possessive arm around Rebecca’s waist. “Next time, let me know before you disappear with my girlfriend, old man.”

I catch the flash of embarrassment on Rebecca’s face before she composes herself.

“It was just a quick boat ride, Jack,” she says quietly.

“Whatever.” He kisses her temple in a gesture that seems more about marking territory than affection. “You should rest before dinner. Mom says Miguel is setting up dinner for us on the beach.”

Rebecca nods, casting me an apologetic glance before allowing Jack to lead her back toward the house. I watch them go, noticing her shoulders tense slightly under his guiding hand.

I finish securing the boat, taking longer than necessary. My hands move automatically through the familiar motions. At the same time, my mind replays Becca’s smile as we skimmed across the water—so different from the carefully composed expression she wears around Jack.

As I return to the house, my feet leave wet prints on the weathered planks. I need a cold drink and some distance from what just happened. That moment on the water felt dangerous—like standing too close to a precipice.

Casa Azul rises before me, its white walls glowing against the cloudless sky. I built this place as a sanctuary, but with Kay, Jack, and Becca all under its roof, it feels more like a pressure cooker. I take the stone steps two at a time, eager to shower off the salt water and sort through my thoughts.

Miguel, my groundskeeper, nods respectfully as I pass through the open-air living room. “Señor Bishop, the bar is stocked for this evening. And I’ve arranged for the beach dinner as requested.”

“Thank you, Miguel. Everything looks perfect.”

Becca

The evening air feels cool against my skin as I slip into my red strapless maxi dress. It flows around my ankles like water, the semi-sheer fabric catching the golden light from the bedside lamp. I twist my hair into a loose knot, letting a few tendrils frame my face. Tonight needs to be perfect. Jack has been dropping hints about something special happening on this trip, and after five years together, I can only hope it means what I think it means.

I give myself one last look in the mirror. The dress is perhaps a bit much for a casual dinner at the villa, but Kay had texted earlier saying we should “dress for the occasion.” Whatever that means.

“Jack?” I call out, hearing the shower still running. “I’m heading out to the pool. Meet me there when you’re ready?”

No response, of course. I sigh and grab my small clutch, slipping my feet into strappy sandals before making my way through the sprawling Cozumel villa. The marble floors feel cool beneath my feet, and the smell of salt water and tropical flowers hangs in the air.

As I approach the pool area, I hear voices—low and tense. I slow my steps, not wanting to interrupt what sounds like an argument.

“This is ridiculous, Kay. You can’t orchestrate people’s lives like they’re pawns in your social chess game.” Clive’s voice carries across the night air, deeper than usual, slightly slurred.

I pause behind a large potted palm, feeling suddenly awkward. Eavesdropping isn’t my style, but neither is walking into the middle of an ex-spousal dispute.

“Don’t be dramatic, Clive. Jack loves her, and her family connections would be invaluable for his future. It’s a perfect match.” Kay’s voice is sharp and defensive.

“A perfect match?” Clive laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “He treats her like she’s an accessory. Have you ever seen him look at her the way—” He stops abruptly.

“The way what?” Kay presses.

“Nothing. Just—Rebecca deserves better.”

I should leave. I really should. But my feet seem rooted to the spot.

“I’m going to find Jack,” Kay announces after a moment of tense silence. “Try not to ruin everything with your sentimental nonsense.”

I hear the click of her heels retreating and quickly compose myself, pretending to have just arrived as I round the corner to the pool area. Clive stands at the edge, a tumbler of whiskey in hand, staring at the darkening horizon.

He turns when he hears me approach, and something flashes across his face—something that makes my chest tighten in an unfamiliar and thrilling way.

“Rebecca,” he says, his eyes traveling from my face down the length of my dress and back up again. “You look... stunning.”

My cheeks warm instantly. I’m used to compliments—polite, expected ones—but something in the way Clive says it makes it feel different. Real.

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