Page 79 of Britta & the Beach Boy
Archie’s got his reasons for not wanting to stay there. If he wants Britta to know them, he’ll tell her. She looks between me and Archie a few more times before seeming to understand there’s some history that justifies Archie’s reasons for living in a basic apartment instead of his own house.
“Don’t be a dummy, Britta,” Stella says without looking up from her magazine. “Live in the posh beach house.”
Britta turns up her palms in surrender. “Okay.”
The rest of the trip goes by quickly, with no turbulence, which is a bummer. I enjoy holding Britta’s hand. I like Britta. A lot.
This is a problem. We haven’t been married forty-eight hours, and already I can’t stop thinking about waking up with her in my arms. It was hard enough just holding her on our wedding night. My willpower was stretched to the limit. I don’t seem to have any left to help me redirect my thoughts away from her.
The curve of her full lips. The way her hair sweeps across her forehead, highlighting her blue eyes. The way my thumb fits perfectly in the groove between her waist and hipbone. The way…
“Dex?” Archie stares at me, and I come back to myself. “You coming, mate?”
Everyone else is filing out of the plane—including Britta—while I’m sitting here daydreaming about her.
How am I supposed to focus on surfing if all I can think about is how to break all her rules about no touching or kissing?
And now, here we are… about to move in together.
I push myself up and grab my bag from the overhead compartment, then follow Archie out the door. Britta is ahead of us, holding back her blonde hair to keep the wind from wreaking havoc with it as she walks the stairs to the tarmac. Her wide-legged jeans show off the length of her legs, and the t-shirt tucked into them emphasizes her slim waist.
When she glances over her shoulder and smiles at me, my breath catches. I smile back, but not before she turns back around, loops her arm through Stella’s and bends close to tell her something.
“Dex?”
It’s Archie. I’ve stopped moving again.
I lift my chin, then hurry down the last of the stairs while he waits. A black SUV waits for us—Rhys, more specifically—and the girls climb into the backseat.
“What are you thinking, mate?” Archie asks, like he doesn’t already know the answer.
The driver closes the door to the SUV, and Britta disappears from my view.
“Being fake married is already heaps harder than your no-dating rule.” I’m still staring at the spot where Britta stood a few seconds ago.
“Yeah. I thought it might be. Think you can keep it together until our Azores trip? You’ll get a few weeks’ reprieve there. Maybe we make time for Pipe, too.” He looks at me and raises his eyebrows.
I nod.
Archie can tell I’ve got a problem.
Britta has become the distraction she wasn’t supposed to be.
Chapter twenty-nine
Britta
Two days after I become Mrs. Dexter (or Thomsen-Dexter…possibly Dexter-Thomsen—we’re still workshopping it), I put a down payment onAnnie’s—in cash, thanks to Dex.That same day, Stella and I wheel our suitcases into the white marble foyer of Archie’s dad’s beach house—he and Dex close behind—then try not to trip over our jaws when they hit the floor.
I stop in the middle of the entrance, tip my head back, and gaze into an array of crystals hanging from a giant chandelier. Sunlight pours in from the window that frames the chandelier, hitting the crystals before being reflected into a thousand tiny rainbows to dance in its rays.
“Archie?” Stella’s voice wobbles beside me, where she stares at the same thing I am.
“Yeah?” There’s a hint of nervousness in Archie’s tone, and I suspect we both have an idea what’s on Stella’s mind.
“How rich are you?” She rotates to face him, and I do the same. As impolite as the question is, I want to hear the answer.
“Like I said, this is my dad’s place.” He shifts my duffle bag he’s carrying from one shoulder to the other and doesn’t meet our eyes.
