Page 53 of Bride on the Dotted Line

I’m away from it all, even for a short time. Charters, Harwood Restaurant Group, Victor, the PI.

I’m with him.

And it’s so much like the fantasies I’ve had of my one-day honeymoon—coconuts and sand and burning sun—I have trouble remembering it’s not real.

Nick guides me through the airport with a hand at my waist, his touch as effortless as if we’d been doing this for years. Someone in line snaps a photo of us, and he pulls me closer, rubbing circles into my back. My body sways toward his like he has gravity.

A driver in a crisp white uniform meets us outside the terminal, ushering us toward a black car. He loads our bags into the trunk while Nick thanks him, his voice smooth and polite, his easy charm making the man beam.

“I drive a lot of honeymooners,” the man says, smiling at us in the rearview mirror, “but none of them look as in love as you two. You’re made to last, Mr. and Mrs. Harwood.”

Nick and Iaww, exchanging knowing glances. I hope I don’t look as unhinged as I feel.

The drive is quiet and blue, the sounds of the ocean lapping against sand following us through the approaching dawn. Nick bumps my knee with his, pointing out beaches he loved as a kid and cafés for us to visit. When we finally pull up to our villa, my back straightens, eyes trained out the window.

It’s breathtaking.

Soft golden light glows from lanterns lining a winding stone path. A private infinity pool stretches out toward the horizon, its surface rippling under the lightening sky. Beyond it, the ocean shimmers dark and endless, waves rolling lazily onto the shore.

I can feel Nick looking at me as we get out of the car. Our driver hands him a key and welcomes us warmly before disappearing down the road, leaving the pathway in perfect silence.

“Not bad, huh?” Nick says, leading me between the rows of lanterns. The villa is open and airy, white linens draped across wide balcony doors. Inside, I catch glimpses of high wooden ceilings, a sunken living area, and a massive couch covered in pillows.

I drop my bag by the door, taking a slow turn. “This is ridiculous,” I murmur, my voice hushed as if speaking too loudly could break the spell.

Nick steps up beside me, his hands sinking into his pockets. “My parents and I used to stay at a place down the road. I’d always look at this building from the car window and wonder what it was like.”

“We’re staying at your childhood dream villa?”

“You could say that.”

I’m not sure how to respond. I just nudge him with my elbow, ignoring the warmth that flares low in my stomach when he catches my arm, his fingers wrapping around my wrist for a second longer than necessary.

He lets go. “You want to explore a bit, or are you too jet lagged?”

I rub my fingers into my neck, yawning. "Exploring later. Nap now."

Nick holds my eyes for a second, then gestures down the hall. "Your room's at the end. Mine’s over there, around the corner. If you need anything.”

I stare at him—his dark lashes, his defined jawline—and I should be relieved we have different beds. I should say something breezy, make a joke about how much Lena and Mason don’t trust us, how they need to make sure we stay apart. But instead, the weight of our marriage contract settles over me, twisting my gut.

It’s getting harder to deny the way he makes me feel. Every tiny piece of information about him, even the simple fact that he wanted to stay in this villa as a child, is like an iced mocha after days of going without coffee. Helpless desire is one thing, butjoy—the pure, simple pleasure of being around Nick, of having him all to myself—is another.

Should I savor it? Should Iuseit?

Oh, Nick! I never thought I’d see you here, in your dream Fijian villa on our fake honeymoon. I’m so happy when I’m around you. Would you like to stretch the rules of our contract with me again tonight?

Exhaling, I walk down the hall, close my bedroom door behind me, and press my forehead to the cool wood.

I’ll give it a few days. See what comes up. Then I’ll do something I haven’t done for years: call my mom for advice.

Chapter 18

Nick

Being in paradise with her is like learning to cook for the first time.

Every moment is fresh and exciting, new flavors to discover, new techniques. Sienna and I watch the waves roll in on the villa’s deck in the mornings, sipping coffee and enjoying a newfound, quiet togetherness. She works through her emails with her feet curled under her, stealing glances at me when she thinks I’m not looking.

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