Page 54 of A Flighty Fake Boyfriend
“I could piggyback you to the suite.”
“No.”
“I could have security bring one of their golf carts. You could ride back.”
“No.”
He got to his feet as if he were grace personified, damn him. “In that case, let’s go take that walk so you can light up because what good is arthritis without some sort of lung disease to go with it.”
* * *
Epic followedme through the gardens and out onto the beach without speaking. Normally, I’d have felt it necessary to make small talk on the way. With anyone else, I’d have remarked on the temperature or the stars, but with Epic, it wasn’t necessary. He was taking it all in too, and he had his own thoughts.
When his hand wrapped around mine, it felt natural and right. I had to swallow the fear of how I’d feel when I went home again because I knew the closeness we shared couldn’t—wouldn’t—last.
At the end of the long beach pathway, I lit my cigarette. The flame briefly illuminated Epic’s features. I worried he was thinking the same things I was. I wondered whether it would hurt him when we parted as much as I feared it would hurt me.
Perhaps that’s why we weren’t speaking, and it wasn’t comfortable at all but simply a way to put off the inevitable.
We sat on the seawall together while I smoked. Our shoulders brushed. From a few feet away, I heard footsteps, and sure enough, as though some dramaturge had staged it, Luis materialized from the shadows again.
“I’d say you planned this if I didn’t know you better,” he said.
“I didn’t.”
“I know. Admit it, you’d have broken your leg to avoid running into me by chance.”
I stubbed out my smoke. “I’d have pretended to break my leg, maybe. Not now, though. It has been good to see you again, Luis.”
“That’s nice to hear.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Sorry to interrupt. I was taking the evening air and saw you sitting here.”
“We were just going in.” I stood.
Epic squeezed my hand. “Thank you again for inviting me to the party last night. I really enjoyed it.”
“You’re welcome.”
Awkward, running into Luis on the night before his wedding. I tugged Epic to his feet. “We should probably—”
“I’ll walk with you.” Luis spread his hands amiably. “I need to get back anyway.”
If the walk to my smoking spot was natural and free of anxiety, this was the antithesis. The three of us walked together stiffly, followed by a hundred invisible thought balloons—things we could say, things we shouldn’t say, things I might have been foolish enough to get off my chest, except for the warmth of Epic’s hand in mine.
At the place where our pathways should have diverged because he was in the Bungalow, and our suite was nearer the front office, Luis followed us into the dense garden. I had only a few moments to realize he had some ulterior motive before William stepped into the pathway before us.
“Hello, Ryan.” He smiled widely. “I knew Luis would find you. Do you have a minute to talk?”
I hesitated. “About what?”
William turned to Epic. “May we speak to Ryan privately?”
Epic eyed me, and I knew he wanted me to refuse. But Luis and William had gone to a lot of trouble to make this happen, and I frankly wanted to know what they were up to.
“It’s all right, Epic. I’ll meet you in our suite in a few minutes.”
“Are you sure?” Epic eyed me with concern.
“I’m sure.” Because what could they have to say? Luis probably wanted to clear the air about some past nonsense, and who was I to begrudge him that?
