Page 37 of Forbidden Fruit

I watch her leave, her slender form disappearing up the staircase. When I'm alone again, I let out a long breath and press the ice more firmly against my knuckles, welcoming the sharp cold that numbs the ache.

Tomorrow, Jack and Kay will leave. Tomorrow, Becca will wake up in a new reality. And I'll be there, trying not to hope for something I have no right to expect.

Becca

Isit on the edge of the guest bed in Clive’s west wing, my hands trembling slightly as I listen to the commotion from upstairs—raised voices, Jack’s angry protests, and the firm, professional responses of Clive’s security team.

“You can’t just throw us out! This is our family home, too!” Kay’s voice rises, shrill with indignation.

“Ma’am, Mr. Bishop has instructed us to escort you and your son from the premises,” a security guard calmly replies.

Jack’s voice follows, slurred and hostile. “Tell that bastard I’m not finished with him! Or her!”

I wince at the venom in his voice. Last night’s disaster still feels raw—Jack’s decision to ditch the proposal and ask that I financially support him instead. The humiliation stings, but what hurts more is how long I’ve wasted trying to please someone who never truly loved me.

Heavy footsteps move across the foyer – Clive’s security team, no doubt. They’re discreet but efficient, former military guys with earpieces and polite but unyielding demeanors. More shouting from Jack, something about “embarrassing him” and “ruining everything,” then Kay’s high-pitched complaints about “our agreement” and “that girl.”

That girl. Me.

I stay frozen until I hear car doors slam and engines start. Only when the sound of tires on gravel fades does my heartbeat begin to slow. I count to sixty, then rise from my awkward position on the cool tile floor.

The house feels different with them gone – lighter somehow. I pad barefoot down the sweeping staircase, the Mexican limestone cool beneath my feet. The Cozumel house has always been my favorite of Clive’s properties, with its open design embracing the turquoise sea just beyond the infinity pool.

He turns at my approach, his blue eyes softening when they meet mine. “They’re gone,” he says simply.

“I heard,” I reply, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “That was... intense.”

Clive’s mouth quirks up in a half-smile. “Kay never did know how to make a quiet exit.” He studies me for a moment. “Are you okay?”

I consider the question. Am I okay? The relationship I’ve invested five years in just imploded spectacularly. I should be devastated. Instead, I feel oddly... liberated.

“I think I am,” I say, surprising myself with how true it feels. “Or I will be. What happens now?

“That depends.” Clive leans against the counter, studying me. “What do you want to do, Becca? I can have my team arrange a flight home whenever you’re ready. Or you can stay here with me.”

The question catches me off guard. What do I want? No one ever asks me that.

“I’m not ready to go home yet. I think I’d like to stay.”

Clive nods, then gestures toward the expanse of ocean visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Well, we have the rest of the week. The boat’s ready, the weather’s perfect. What would you like to do, Rebecca?”

The way he says my name—like it matters, like I matter—makes something flutter in my chest. For once, someone asks me what I want instead of telling me.

“I’d like to go snorkeling,” I blurt out. “If you’d still like to take me.”

Something flashes in Clive’s eyes—surprise, maybe even approval.

“Snorkeling it is,” he says with a genuine smile. “The boat’s ready whenever you are.”

Thirty minutes later, I’m standing on the back deck in my white bikini, a sarong tied around my waist. I feel strangely vulnerable yet liberated. Jack constantly critiques my swimwear—it’s too modest, not modest enough, and the wrong color for my complexion. But when Clive looks at me, his gaze is appreciative but respectful, and I feel beautiful for the first time in years.

You look...” Clive’s voice trails off as his eyes sweep over me, and a warm flush spreads across my skin.

“Pale?” I offer, suddenly self-conscious.

He shakes his head, his expression serious. “Radiant.”

The simple word steals my breath away. I’ve heard a thousand compliments from Jack over the years, each one calculated to get something in return. Clive’s single word feels different—honest.

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