Page 73 of The Sexy Ex's Brother
We walk slowly across the tarmac, the breeze playing with my hair, the hum of the engines still vibrating faintly in my chest. A sleek black limo waits near the edge of the hangar, its polished surface gleaming under the Caribbean sun. As we approach, the driver steps forward and opens the door with a slight nod. Jack touches the small of my back and guides me inside, our hands still linked. The cool interior wraps around us, the leather seats soft and inviting, a chilled bottle of water tucked into the console. We settle in, our knees brushing, eyes meeting in the hush that follows the thrill of arrival. as I take in the view. The airport behind us gleams white and modern, but ahead, it’s all palm trees and blue sky and the kind of stillness that promises escape. My fingers brush Jack’s, and he catches them instantly, lacing his hand through mine like it’s instinct.
That spark is still there. That low, unmistakable heat beneath the surface. He looks down at me, and it’s not just love, it’s hunger, too. A question and an answer folded into one shared glance.
“I can’t believe you pulled this off,” I murmur.
He grins. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
I let myself look at the ring again, huge, brilliant, utterly him, and I remember every terrifying second before he slid it onto my finger. The way I thought he’d chosen someone else. The pit in my stomach, the spiraling fear, the silence that followed my own footsteps out of his life. But I also remember the way he kissed me when I showed up at his door. The way he looked at me like he hadn’t exhaled in days. Like I was home.
Now we’re here. In the Bahamas. Engaged. Laughing. Surrounded by sun and sea and the kind of impossible, spontaneous magic I never let myself believe in before him.
I turn toward him, lift onto my toes, and kiss him, not because it’s expected, but because I can’t not. He pulls me in,warm hands at my waist, and for a moment, I forget the flight, the past, even the heat. All I feel is him.
“Ready to see where we’re staying?” he asks, low and close.
“Only if it’s got a bed,” I tease.
His answering look is nothing short of sinful. “Oh, it does. Several.”
And just like that, I’m breathless again.
I glance at him, so unshakably sure, so completely mine, and I remember what it felt like to think I’d lost him. That night I saw the photo. The way my stomach turned. The way I ran instead of asking. The way I didn’t trust what I knew of him, what I felt every time he looked at me like I was his entire world. I thought he’d chosen someone else. And the worst part wasn’t the jealousy. It was the fear that I hadn’t mattered as much as I hoped.
I let the silence stretch between us as we walk, sunlight wrapping around our joined hands. Then I say, quietly, “I thought you were with someone else.”
He looks at me sharply. “That day?”
I nod. “Sienna saw you with a woman on the street, and I assumed the worst. I didn’t know she was the planner you hired, not until we showed up at your place and found her there, and you explained.”
Jack turns to face me. “I would’ve chased you, Ivy,” he says, but there’s something behind his eyes now, a flicker of the panic he must have felt, the desperation of not knowing where I was or if I was ever coming back. His jaw tightens as if the memory alone could drag him under.
“I didn’t care where you went. I would’ve turned the city upside down to find you.”
“I know.” I swallow. “I just… I need to say this. I should’ve trusted what we had. I should’ve come to you sooner. And next time, if there’s ever another moment like that, I will. I promise.”
His jaw clenches, not in anger, but in something that looks like restraint. Then he lifts my hand and presses his mouth to it. Slow. Firm. Certain.
“There won’t be a next time,” he says. “But if there is, you come to me. No running. No shutting down. Just us. Talking.”
I nod, blinking back something behind my eyes. “Okay.”
He studies me for a beat longer, then smiles, this soft, unguarded thing that makes my chest ache.
“Let’s go find that bed now,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.
His smirk is immediate. “God, I love you.”
The words wrap around something tender inside me, like a salve on a wound I didn’t realize still ached. After everything we’ve been through, all the silence, the doubt, the longing, he says it like a truth that’s never wavered. My throat tightens, but not with sadness. With something closer to relief. To wonder.
“I know,” I whisper.
***
The limo pulls to a smooth stop in front of the hotel, and a uniformed valet opens the door with a crisp nod. Jack steps out first, offering his hand with a crooked smile. I take it, letting him help me out as the warm breeze rushes over us again. We walk up the marble steps, our fingers still linked, past towering palms and water features that sparkle in the late afternoon light. As we enter the lobby, a wave of cool air welcomes us, scented faintly with jasmine.
The receptionist greets Jack by name, and we’re offered chilled towels and a welcome drink while our bags are discreetly whisked away. We arrive at the hotel minutes later. It’s not just luxurious, it’s art. Sleek lines, marble steps, turquoise pools framed by palm trees, soft music drifting through the open-air lobby. A cool towel and chilled drink are offered as we check in. Jack’s hand never leaves mine.
We’re led through winding garden paths to our suite. The door opens to reveal floor-to-ceiling windows, white linens, a private plunge pool, and the ocean stretching just beyond the glass.
