Chapter 10

10

Ezra

I find Millie on the lanai the next morning, barefoot and resting her elbows on the railing. Before she notices me, I steal an opportunity to ogle her plump ass, and when I finally join her, I’m met with a double rainbow arched over the ocean. The gorgeous sight hits me in the solar plexus, stealing the air from my lungs.

“Morning,” I say once I’ve regained the ability to breathe.

Millie startles, sloshing hot coffee over the side of her mug and onto her hand. “Shit. Ouch.” Shaking her hand out, she glares. “You scared me.”

Teeth gritted, I drag her by the wrist into the kitchen and flip on the faucet, letting the cold water soothe the sting. “Are you all right?” On instinct, I rub light circles over her soft flesh.

“I’m fine.” She yanks her hand back, as if my touch is hotter than the coffee, and wipes it on her white sundress. It’s linen and similar to the one she wore to my apartment, but this one hits mid-thigh and dips into a V in the middle, making it hard for me not to overtly ogle her again.

I take a step back and stuff my hands into my pockets. “If we’re going to convince my dad we’re married, you can’t pull away when I touch you.”

“I wasn’t. I—” The words die on her lips, and she gives me a one-shoulder shrug.

“You look really nice, by the way.”

She adjusts the top of her dress, and her breasts rise and fall. Her tits are much bigger than they were in Greece. I was hoping the stupid pillow dam would self-destruct and I’d get a glimpse of them in the middle of the night, but no such luck.

Dammit, she’s talking to me, but I’m halfway to a hard-on and haven’t heard a word. “What’s that?”

“I said that I wore white, hoping it sends a subliminal message of matrimony. Newly wedded women love to wear white, don’t they? Or is that just a reality TV thing? Plus,” she says, holding out a tin of tea bags, “didn’t you tell your dad that this trip is a sort of honeymoon for us?”

“Right. Yes. Honeymoon.” I select a black tea and fill a mug with hot water from the kettle. The water instantly turns an oily reddish-brown. I hold back a sigh and make a mental note to pick up better quality tea while we’re out today. “You look very pretty.”

Shit, didn’t I already compliment her?

Her lips tip up on one side. “Look at you. Nailing this husband thing already.”

My chest goes tight at her assumption that I’m acting. “I—that wasn’t?—”

She spins away and pours herself another cup of coffee.

Giving up on my explanation, I pull a bowl of fruit from the refrigerator and set it on the counter.

Millie sidles up beside me, sipping her coffee, and plucks a piece from the pile, examining its dark purple skin. “Is this a plum?”

“No, it’s a passion fruit. ”

“Hmm. What’s it taste like?”

I take the fruit from her, our fingers brushing in the process. “I’ll cut it open, and you can try it.”

After slicing it in half, I scoop the goopy seeds with a spoon and hold the utensil out.

When she slurps it into her mouth, her face puckers. “Too sour.”

I disagree, but then again, this woman takes a splash of coffee with her cream and sugar.

“Here.” With a thumb, I swipe at the juice running down her chin and on instinct lick the sweetness from it.

As I pull my hand away, the air grows heavy, and her eyes narrow on my mouth.

Stomach dipping, I clear my throat and take a step back. “We better get going.”

When my dad’s bungalow comes into view, I’m hit with a wave of nausea.

“You okay?” Millie rubs a hand on my thigh, keeping the touch close to my knee.

Still gripping the steering wheel, I focus on my breathing. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. Just like my therapist taught me. “Mm-hmm.” I turn to her. “I just need this to go well. My relationship with my dad is complicated. One minute he’s kind of rude, the next minute he’s spoiling me and praising me. He gives me whiplash. But he’s my dad, you know? I shouldn’t let his opinion affect me so much, but I can’t help it. I’m still working on it.

“Not only that,” I say as another thought hits me like a smack to the face, “but I’m meeting my brother for the first time.” The word feels foreign on my tongue. “What if he doesn’t like me?” My chest tightens, making my button-down feel restricting. Instinctively, I go to roll the sleeves, only they’re already cut off at my biceps. I undo an extra button at the top instead.

With a hand on my chest, Millie draws circles against my exposed skin. “Breathe,” she commands, her voice barely audible over the pounding in my ears. “He’s going to like you.”

For a moment, I focus on my breathing, and when it’s mostly steady, I ask, “How do you know?”

“I don’t,” she admits. “He could hate your guts.”

A laugh rumbles out of me. “Gee, thanks. You’re really making me feel better.”

She grins, her apple-green eyes alight. “Listen.” She brings her hand to rest against my forearm, her fingers twitching. “If Kane doesn’t like you, that’s a him problem not a you problem, got it?”

“Mm-hmm.” I wipe at the sweat around my temple, wishing I could pull my hair back with an elastic right now, but Millie encouraged me to keep it down.

She jostles my arm, then reaches for her door handle. “You ready? We’ve got all our stories straight, yeah?”

I dart a hand out to stop her. “Wait. We haven’t kissed yet.”

“Hmm?” She whips around, her eyes wide.

“We, uh…” I scratch at the back of my neck. “We haven’t had a practice kiss. What if we have to kiss in front of my dad, and it’s all awkward? We need to be convincing.”

She huffs a laugh. “Unless your dad is a voyeur, I think we’ll be fine. No one’s going to expect us to kiss in front of them.”

“I don’t know. Wouldn’t it be suspicious for a newlywed couple not to be all over each other?”

Humming, she scrutinizes me. “Fine. I’ll sit on your lap and hold your hand. And the occasional quick kiss is okay. Happy?”

“What about an ass grab?” I tease .

“There will be no ass grabbing in front of your little brother.”

“Oh, so you’re saying there will be some ass grabbing when he’s not around?”

With a groan, she shoves my shoulder. “C’mon, big guy.”

My mom calls me that sometimes, but from her mouth, the term of endearment makes my dick twitch. Fuck, what is that about?

Before I even have a chance to knock, the door swings open. As if on cue, Millie grabs my left hand and threads her fingers through mine, the warmth of her palm instantly bringing me comfort. She’s already nailing this fake marriage thing.

“Ezra, my man,” my dad booms. His voice is as big as he is. He’s about my height and strong, but with a hard extra layer packed around his muscles from years of drinking. He pulls me in for a hug, but I refuse to let go of Millie, so we end up locked in an awkward half embrace, with her being pulled alongside me.

“This must be your wife.”

“Yes.” I clear my throat. “This is Mil?—”

“Come,” he interrupts, guiding us into the house.

I’m gearing up to call him out for being rude, but the words are stolen the moment I catch sight of a tall, lanky blond boy standing in the middle of the living area.

“This is Kane,” Dad says, his tone flat.

Fuck. I’ve seen him introduce his car with more spunk.

The urge to embrace Kane is pretty powerful, but worried I’ll freak him out if I get too touchy-feely, I settle on offering my hand instead.

“Hey, I’m Ezra. It’s really great to meet you. ”

As he reciprocates the gesture, a small yet genuine grin paints his adolescent face. “Yeah, hi. Nice to meet you.”

We stare at one another, silent, until Millie tugs on my arm. “Oh, right. This is my wife…” I clear my throat. “Millie.”

Releasing my grip, she steps forward and embraces Kane with zero hesitation.

“Your name’s Millie Miller ?” my dad guffaws beside us.

Millie pulls back from my brother, her wide, panicked eyes immediately locking on mine.

Shit . We went over so many details but clearly did not think through the last name part.

“She, uh,” I stammer. “I, uh… I took her last name.” Shoot, what’s Millie’s last name again? Oh, yeah. “Greer.”

My dad shakes his head, his lip curled up on one side. “The woman’s supposed to take the man’s last name, son.”

My gut twists. Fuck. We’ve been here three minutes, and he’s already acting like a chauvinistic asshole. I don’t know why I’m surprised.

“Why?” Millie challenges, chin lifted high.

Normally a woman who speaks up is a total turn-on, but dread coils in my chest as I assess her because I’m worried about what may come out of my dad’s mouth next.

“Why? Because he’s the man , that’s why.” His tone isn’t rude when he says this; he really believes it.

But judging by Millie’s expression, she’s about to belt out Taylor Swift’s “The Man” in the middle of this living room.

“That makes absolutely no sense.” She huffs. “What if two men—or two women—married each other? What then?”

“That’s funny. You’re funny.” He turns to me, absolutely not catching on that this is no laughing matter. “Your wife’s funny.”

Millie’s jaw drops, and she takes a step forward, but I wrap an arm around her waist and sweep her in close before she can lose it on him. It’s a total man move, but Kane looks wildly uncomfortable, and this is not how I want introductions to go.

“Let’s talk later,” I whisper in her ear.

She sighs but otherwise stays quiet.

When she doesn’t fight to be released, I turn to Kane. “How do you like Oahu?”

“S’fine, I guess.” He shrugs. “Different from Maui.”

“Food’s on the grill,” my dad announces before I can dig deeper into his short answer.

One by one, we file out the glass doors and onto the deck, where he pops the top of a local beer and hands it to Millie.

She grimaces at the can as she takes it.

Biting back my own disdainful look at my dad, I take the can from her. “What can I get you?”

“There’s sparkling water in the fridge,” Kane pipes up. “Lime flavored.”

With a shake of his head, Dad scoffs. “I don’t know why he drinks that fluffy stuff. I told him he’s welcome to a beer.”

“Dad.” My hackles raise in irritation. “He’s fifteen. He can’t drink.”

He lets out a derisive chuckle. “Take the stick out of your ass and live a little.”

Millie catches my eye, her lower jaw nearly detached from her head. Rather than refute the statement, she turns to Kane. “Sparkling water would be great, thank you. Lime’s my favorite.”

“Me too.” With that, he slips inside. When he returns with two cans, my fake wife and my new brother tap their drinks together in a toast.

Though my dad frowns at them, I ignore his ire and spend the next hour focused on getting to know Kane.

Millie and I offer to clean up after lunch, leaving my dad and brother behind on the deck.

“He’s the absolute worst.” She shoves paper plates into the trash can with so much force the whole thing nearly topples over. “I don’t think I can do this. We’ve been here for barely an hour, and I already want to toss him into the Pacific.” She strikes a hand through the air. “Tied to a thousand-pound anchor.”

I turn to the closed sliding glass door to make sure we’re still alone, then clasp my hands over my chest. “Please don’t leave,” I whisper. “I don’t know how I’ll make it up to you, but I promise I will. If not for me, then for Kane. He just lost his mom, and this is who he has to live with now. Please, Mills.”

I’d get on my knees right now if it meant she’d stay. Not that I’d mind the view.

She exhales in response, cutting into the visual forming in my mind. I shake that image off faster than a dog after a bath.

Stepping so close I’m practically looming over her, I unleash my best pleading face, hoping like hell the expression and my comment about Kane and his mom tug at her heartstrings.

“Fine,” she grunts.

Instantly, my shoulders sag.

“ But .” She jabs a finger into my chest. “I will take payment in foot rubs and tacos, thank you very much.”

“Feet and tacos. Got it.” I salute.

“Not feet , you goof.” Head tipped back, she laughs. “Unless you have a foot fetish?” She quirks a brow.

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