Chapter 21
DEX
We get through the rest of the evening without any more drama, though I look around for signs of that entitled prick, but I don’t see him.
Oscar Ramos. There is more to this man and his story with Daniela, and I intend to find out exactly what the hell it is.
The rest of the night goes well. The wedding reception is flawless, a perfectly orchestrated spectacle, just as expected.
Daniela and I make our rounds, shaking hands, smiling, playing the role we’ve been assigned, of the happily married golden couple. She’s a natural at this, slipping effortlessly between Portuguese and English, charming guests, introducing me with that well-practiced grace of hers.
When we reach the Knights’ table, Cari stands to hug Daniela. “We must get together and do something,” Cari says warmly. Brooke tugs at Daniela’s dress, beaming up at her. “You look really pretty.”
Jett offers a firm handshake, murmuring his congratulations. The rest of them all follow suit, Zach, Matteo and Enzo.
“Where’s Rio?” I ask, seeing the empty chair.
“Having fun.” Matteo points casually to one corner of the room. Rio is deep in conversation with Raquel. Sonofabitch didn’t waste much time there.
My father clears his throat. “Wonderful, wonderful reception. Beautiful wedding,” he announces, his voice cutting through the hum of conversation. Beside me, I sense Daniela’s shoulders stiffen. I don’t blame her. Compliments from my father always come with strings attached.
“And now, I’d like to announce a surprise gift for you both,” the old man continues, brushing imaginary lint from his sleeve.
“A surprise?” I don’t like the sound of this one bit.
My father keeps talking. “Such a beautiful wedding. The least I could do was arrange a beautiful honeymoon for you both.”
A what, now? What the hell is he talking about? He specifically stated there was to be no honeymoon.
“A honeymoon?” Daniela whispers. She places her hand on the back of a chair, her fingers gripping tightly.
“I thought we were going back to New York,” I snap.
My father shakes his head. “No, no. You newlyweds deserve and should enjoy your honeymoon.”
We will? I almost ask him to repeat himself. He’s changing the plan, the same plan he laid out in explicit detail through an email, the one that had clear instructions: there was to be a wedding, a brief reception, and then we all return home.
We were supposed to have breakfast tomorrow with Daniela’s family, before flying back on the private jet. This was always supposed to be a lightning-fast trip, despite the distance, but things have now changed.
Now, there’s a honeymoon.
I’m completely blindsided. And suspicious, too. My father doesn’t do anything because it’s a nice gesture. He’s motivated by greed and I have to wonder, how does he stand to benefit from this?
“Why?” Daniela asks, a slight tremor in her voice. I suspect it for the same reason I feel unnerved. Neither of us had a honeymoon on our radar. My father gives her a long, unreadable look. “It’s a wedding, Daniela. And honeymoons always follow.”
That smile, it sends a chill down my spine. I know that smile. It means he’s holding back information, making moves behind the scenes.
“We were all supposed to return home together,” I say, forcing my voice to stay level. I don’t like the way my father has suddenly changed the terms. In answer, he just smooths his hand over his tie. “My assistant will have emailed you a copy of the resort. It’s private, and exclusive. Take time off, enjoy yourselves. We’ll speak later.”
Daniela looks at me, and I want to reassure her, because, just like that, our plans have been rewritten. We’re not going home. Instead, we’re stuck here, trapped in a luxury honeymoon we never planned,.
I don’t like surprises.
And I don’t trust this one.
***
DANI
We reach the small private villa my parents arranged for our wedding night. I wish they hadn’t. Between them and Paul Knight, it seems our parents aren’t making it easy for us.
The driver has already dropped off our overnight bags and now as we walk inside, this is all too real. We’re here, alone, just the two of us.
The villa is an open-plan space, modern yet intimate, with soft lighting and wide glass doors leading to a terrace. The centerpiece of this place is a massive four-poster bed, draped in sheer, billowing fabric that catches in the warm night breeze. Romantic and clearly designed for newlyweds.
But we aren’t newlyweds. Not really.
Exhaustion and frustration cling to me like the heavy beading of my wedding gown. Dexter, however, looks annoyingly unbothered. The second the door clicks shut, he yanks off his tie and tosses it onto a chair, rolling his shoulders like a man who just closed a deal and is already thinking about the next one.
I stand in the center of the room, still in my gown, watching him unbutton the top of his shirt.
Waiting.
For what, I don’t know.
He doesn’t say a word.
Instead, he heads straight to the minibar and pours himself a drink, quickly draining the glass dry. He lets out a deep sigh. “I needed that.”
“Our wedding day was that stressful for you?”
“On the contrary, I quite enjoyed it. You?”
“It was an unforgettable wedding day.”
Silence falls and stretches out like a lazy yawn.
“Are we going to talk?” I ask, wanting to know what’s going through his head, this mercurial man who seems to like playing games.
“About?” He pours himself another drink then lifts his glass, taking a slow sip before finally turning to me, that lazy, insufferable smile back in place.
This isn’t the man who danced with me, and held me, then kissed me in front of our guests. Not the man who held firm and possessive when Oscar Ramos came over and made my stomach turn.
He seems casual and unbothered.
My stomach twists. Is he serious?
“About the surprise honeymoon your father has unexpectedly gifted us,” I snap. I have been preparing myself for life with Dexter when I move in with him in New York. I’ve calculated that he’ll be in the office for most of the day, and I’ll work from home. We only have the evenings and weekends to navigate, but I plan to visit Raquel a few times, maybe even arrange a few girlie weekends away. I also want to get to know Cari better. But the thought of this honeymoon, and nights cooped up with this man makes me nervous.
“My father is a man who makes many unexpected moves. Get ready for it Daniela. And, welcome to the family.”
Something sharp pierces through me. He keeps on saying that. I already feel like I’ve stepped onto a field filled with landmines, and now I’m terrified that every move I make is laced with the threat of my next move blowing up in my face. “What is that supposed to mean?”
He moves closer, swirling his amber-colored drink around in his glass as he stands before me.
“It means …” His voice dips lower, “that this is a business transaction and we must play the part. My father is doing this for optics. Nothing more. Maybe your father also needs things to look right, which might be why we’re here.” His arm sweeps around the room. “This is all probably part of the act, too. Just play along with the charade. I am.”
I lift my chin. “Are you?” I’m not so sure. That kiss at our reception was as unexpected as it was passionate. It also didn’t need to happen, so, why did he kiss me? I need to find out. “What was with the kiss, when we were sitting on the thrones? It wasn’t necessary.”
“We had to play the biggest part today, when all eyes were on us.” Dexter’s voice is as infuriatingly smooth as ever. “Kissing you and making it believable were all part of the act.”
It stings when he says the words out aloud.
Part of the act.
He leans against the wall, watching me with a glint of amusement. “Just go along with the pretense. Unless…” He sniffs under his arm, then lifts his hand to his face, inhaling dramatically. “Do I repulse you or something?”
He’s baiting me, and I refuse to take it.
“Not repulsive, Dexter. Just annoying.”
His gaze narrows and he watches me, tracking every shift in my expression like he’s reading something between the lines. Then, with infuriating ease, he reaches out, dragging a single finger down my bare arm. A slow, deliberate touch. I feel a spark, a sizzle, and try hard to hold firm.
“Just annoying,” he muses. “I’ll take that. After all, we barely know each other.” His eyes flick toward the bed, hard-to-miss and the cause of my palpitations. “And now… we have to sleep together.”
“Share a bed,” I correct, ignoring the way my skin still tingles from his touch.
“Sleep together,” he echoes, his tone laced with suggestion.
He’s toying with me. Enjoying himself. The second glass of scotch has loosened his restraint further, making him bolder.
I let out an exhausted sigh. “This is purely a transactional arrangement, Dexter.” I lick my lower lip, and I see the way his gaze hooks and holds my mouth. He notices everything.
“I know that.”
“I’m exhausted. Sleeping with you tonight will be…” I hesitate, struggling for the right words.
“Easy?” he offers, with an annoying grin. “Because you’ll fall asleep in seconds?”
I scowl, but my stomach tightens at the lazy rasp of his voice. “I can doze off within seconds. I expect I will.”
He chuckles, low and smug. “You sure about that?”
My breath catches. There it is. The charged undercurrent neither of us wants to name. I lift my chin. “I think you’re more affected by this than you want to admit.”
“I could say the same for you,” he throws back. Then I see it; a flicker of raw emotion behind his cool, confident exterior. Then, just as fast, it’s gone. He steps back, shaking his head like I’m amusing.
Like I’m wrong.
“Sweetheart,” he says smoothly, “I don’t believe in love.”
It should sting. But it doesn’t. Because I see him. I smile, slow and knowing.
“Maybe not,” I retort.
His frown deepens. I know this game isn’t over. It’s just beginning. I turn my back to him. “Help me out of this, please. I can’t reach all the buttons.”
He does nothing and I give him some time. Because this dress is a masterpiece of silk and lace, fitted through the bodice, the back lined with a trail of impossibly tiny buttons. A design meant for a bride on her wedding night. A dress meant to be unfastened by a husband.
“Jesus,” he rasps, his tone laced in irritation. “Y-you want me to undo all these?”
I glance over my shoulder, letting my gaze drop to his hands. Big, strong. Completely ill-suited for the delicate task ahead.
“This is a purely transactional arrangement,” I remind him, teasing. “It should be easy for you. Like assembling a boardroom deal… or fixing a broken cabinet.”
He mutters a curse, but his fingers brush my skin near my shoulders and a jolt of heat zips through me. I brace myself, to not flinch from his electric touch. To not react, but his touch is slow and careful. My breath hitches when his knuckles keep skimming my bare skin. I bite my lip, willing myself to ignore the way my stomach tightens.
“How the hell did you even get these done up?”
“I had help.”
“Who?” He fumbles with the buttons, his fingertips grazing my back as he works down. I laugh, because he sounds a little, dare I say it, unhinged ? Jealous even. I love it.
“Raquel.” I feel the need to put him out of his agony.
“Who is Oscar Ramos?” he asks suddenly.
I stiffen. “A businessman.”
“I didn’t like the way he looked at you.”
I stay quiet.
“Is there something I should know?”
“No.”
“I didn’t like the way he looked at you,” he repeats. I wait for more questions, but he doesn’t push, and I respect him for that. He just keeps going, undoing button after button, his movements growing slower. More deliberate. His knuckles graze my spine again, and I shiver.
His fingers still.
The last button is undone.
I exhale, about to step away, when the dress slips, sliding off one shoulder. I turn slightly, catching the expression on his face. Knowing full well what I’m doing.
Dexter Knight is never at a loss for words. But right now? He looks like he’s been struck dumb. His gaze tracks the silk and my naked shoulder.
His jaw tightens.
My stomach clenches.
I should tease him. Tell him to put his tongue back in his mouth. But the way he’s looking at me makes my pulse pound in my throat.
“Thanks,” I murmur, my voice husky as I fix the shoulder back on. Then I step away, moving toward my overnight bag in the corner of the room.
And then it happens.
I lean down to grab the bag, and the dress, delicate, weightless and with all buttons now undone, slips off entirely and pools at my waist, exposing my champagne-colored satin bra. A soft gasp catches in my throat.
Before I can react, he’s there. Close. His body heat pressing against my bare back. My insides sizzle with want, and when Dexter’s fingers brush mine and I suck in a breath. My heart pounds so loudly I’m sure he can hear it. I make the mistake of turning around and his gaze rakes in my bra, before flickering over my breastplate and to my mouth.
My breath hitches and in that instant we’re frozen, caught in the weight of something dangerous. Something electric. Something that pulls us together like magnets.
“I’ll get that,” he says roughly, breaking the spell. He steps back, muscles flexing as he lifts the bag. And just like that, the moment shatters.
But the tension still lingers.
“Thanks,” I manage to say, scrambling to hitch my bodice up to preserve my dignity. I look around wondering where I’m supposed to get changed.
As if he’s just realized my dilemma, he says, “I’ll give you some privacy. I’ll be outside.”
This place, with everything in one room, the windowed shower unit in the corner, all beautifully done, but so … naked. He can see me having a shower. See me getting dressed. Thankfully, the toilet is behind a partition. At least he can’t see me …
For most newlyweds this place would be perfect.
For me and Dexter? It’s like an escape room we’re stuck in.