Page 29 of The Placeholder
“Well, that’s unexpected,” I say, watching my usually reserved brother—the same man who once refused to participate in our family talent show—dip Liana dramatically,his confident hands steady at her waist. “When did that happen?”
Axel chuckles, his breath warm against my temple. “Apparently, at your birthday dinner last month. Felix called me at midnight, pacing outside your apartment building, asking for advice on how to ask her out.”
My brother asked you for dating advice?” The thought sends a warm flush across my collarbone and up my neck. My practical, buttoned-up brother Felix, who color-codes his sock drawer and reads investment newsletters for fun.
“He said I must know what I’m doing to have landed you." Axel’s eyes darken to the deep blue of twilight as they hold mine, his pupils expanding until only a thin ring of color remains.
The music swells around us, violins rising above the steady thrum of the bass, and Axel guides me into a spin, his fingertips firm against my palm. The silk of my dress flares out before he pulls me back against his chest, the subtle notes of his cedar cologne enveloping me.
“You’re such a great dancer,” I say, following his lead effortlessly, our bodies moving as one across the polished floor.
His response is to dip me suddenly, his strong arms creating a cradle of muscle and warmth beneath my arched back. When he pulls me up, his stubble grazes my cheek as his lips brush my ear, sending shivers down to my toes. “We’ll still be dancing when we’re old and gray, you know.”
Something in his voice—a certainty, a promise—makes my breath catch.
“Is that so?” I manage to ask.
He pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, his gaze intense and unwavering. “Absolutely. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
The band transitions to a faster song, but we stay locked in our slow dance, swaying gently as couples twirl energetically around us.
“Two days,” he whispers. “Two days until I have you all to myself in paradise.”
I think of the new bikinis I bought, the sheer white cover-up I packed on impulse. “What exactly do you have planned for this trip, Mr. Warner?”
His fingers tighten on my waist. “Swimming, snorkeling, sunsets...” His lips curve into a wicked smile. “And making you forget your own name at least once a day.”
Heat pools low in my belly. “Ambitious."
“I’m a goal-oriented man.” His hand slides lower on my back, still decent but possessive. “Speaking of which, I have something for you.”
He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small velvet pouch. For a heart-stopping moment, Betsy might have been right about a proposal, but when he tips the contents into my palm, a delicate gold anklet with tiny seashell charms spills out.
“For our beach vacation,” he explains, his fingers brushing mine as he takes the anklet and kneels to fasten it around my ankle, his touch sending shivers up my leg. “The first of many.”
The promise in those words, in his touch, in the heat of his gaze as he rises to his feet again—it all tells me that while this might not be a proposal yet, Axel Warner is a man with a plan. And somehow, despite the caution thatseven years with Jared had instilled in me, I find myself eager to discover exactly what that plan entails.
As he pulls me back into his arms, I realize with startling clarity that I was never the placeholder. Jared was just the space I had to outgrow before I found the man who was made for me.
EPILOGUE: FOUR DAYS LATER
AXEL
Ifloat on my back, letting the warm turquoise water support me as I stare up at the cloudless Maldivian sky. Three days into paradise, and I still can’t believe we’re here. But the real view isn’t above me—it’s on the wooden pier extending from our overwater bungalow.
Della lies stretched out on a plush towel, her brown hair cascading around her shoulders, those long legs gleaming with coconut oil in the afternoon sun. Her white string bikini leaves little to the imagination, though my imagination has been working overtime since we arrived.
I swim closer, water lapping against my chest as I approach the pier. “Enjoying the view up there?” I call to her.
She peers down at me over her sunglasses, a slow smile spreading across her face. “I could ask you the same thing."
“Can’t complain,” I say, treading water. “Though it’s getting hot out here.”
"Poor baby,” she teases, sitting up on her elbows. The movement causes her breasts to strain against the thin fabric of her top. “Need some shade?”
Before I can answer, her fingers move to the tie at her neck. With deliberate slowness, she undoes the knot, then the one at her back. The white triangles of fabric fall away, exposing her perfect breasts to the sun—and to my hungry gaze.
“Della,” I warn, my voice dropping an octave.
