Double Booked in Paradise

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Sienna

My left knee won’t stop bouncing. It vibrates like it’s auditioning for a drum solo, rattling the tray table so hard the flight attendant has already side-eyed me twice.

I feel like I’m one rogue twitch away from an official reprimand.

We’re thirty thousand feet above the Pacific Ocean, hurtling toward my twin sister’s destination wedding. And my brain, never one to miss an opportunity for catastrophic thinking, is hosting a TED Talk titled: “All the creative ways this plane could kill me before I even reach the open bar.”

Engine failure. Sudden decompression. Projectile vomiting on the stranger in front of me or vice versa. The pilots passing out and nose-diving us straight into the ocean. The visuals keep coming, vivid and unhelpful.

With a shaky breath, I clamp both hands on the armrests until my knuckles turn white. I try to channel calm as I visualize a serene beach, gentle waves, and cocktails that don’t taste like regret…

It lasts exactly three seconds because seat 14A exists.

The man beside me is stupidly, offensively attractive in that unfair, shouldn’t-be-legal way. Dark hair that looks artfully tousled, even though I’m sure he’s never used the word “artfully” in his life. A sharp jawline shadowed with stubble that twitches whenever he grinds his teeth.

His shoulders stretch the navy button-down he’s wearing in a way that suggests he has a gym membership he actually uses—unlike certain people who treat their Peloton like an expensive clothing rack. Totally not talking about me.

He’s typing on his laptop with the grim determination of someone who believes deadlines can be outrun if you just glare hard enough.

I’m dying to lean over and tell him we’re flying toward turquoise water and bottomless cocktails, and to put the damn laptop down and stop worrying about real life.

But I don’t.

Mostly because every time my traitorous thigh clips the shared armrest, he lets out a martyred sigh that makes me want to apologize profusely and elbow him in the ribs.

The silence stretches as my knee keeps tap-dancing, and his sighs grow louder.

I can’t take it anymore.

Leaning into his personal space, I lower my voice. “You do realize this is a flight to paradise, right? Not a hostage negotiation with your laptop.”

He doesn’t lift his eyes from the screen, but his fingers pause on the keys. “Some of us have responsibilities that don’t evaporate the second we hit cruising altitude.”

“Responsibilities,” I echo, lips twitching. “Adorable. Let me guess—you alphabetize your spice rack and bring color-coded spreadsheets to bed?”

That finally earns me a look. Cool gray eyes flick over me like I’m a mildly diverting insect that wandered onto his keyboard. “And you… what? Just wing it and hope for the best?”

“Winging it is my entire personality,” I say with a charming smile. “I’m Sienna. And you are…?”

He closes the laptop halfway, reluctantly, like he’s granting me the bare minimum of attention. “Milo. And no, I’m not switching seats.”

“Didn’t ask,” I scoff lightly. “I’m perfectly happy right here, enjoying the front-row seat to your quiet suffering. It’s weirdly… meditative, like watching a volcano pretend to be a mountain.”

He snorts. It’s the tiniest sound, barely audible over the engine’s hum, but it’s there. “Well, aren’t you a delight?”

“I try so hard.” I press a mocking hand to my chest, lashes fluttering.

Which is, naturally, the exact moment the plane decides to yeet itself fifty feet downward in half a second.

The water bottle I’ve been clutching for the past hour launches itself and lands with devastating accuracy… right in the center of his lap. Clear liquid blooms across the front of his pants in a perfect, damning circle.

I stare in abject horror.

He stares in abject horror.

Do not look at the wet spot, Sienna.

Do not apologize in a way that makes it worse.

Why is he still stupidly attractive when drenched?

NAPKINS! DEPLOY NAPKINS!

I lunge for the stack at the edge of his tray, practically vaulting the armrest. “Oh my God, I just baptized your crotch! I’m so sorry. Here, let me—”

Our hands collide mid-reach. His fingers close around my wrist for one electric heartbeat, and heat shoots straight down my spine. I pull back as if I’ve touched a live wire, but as I do, our heads collide with a solid thunk.

“Ow—fuck!” I hiss, clutching my forehead.

He recoils just as fast, one massive palm rubbing the reddening spot on his own head. “Personal space,” he growls, low enough that only I can hear. “Which I’m assuming you’ve never heard of?”

“Personal space is a luxury for people who don’t accidentally commit beverage assault,” I fire back, cheeks burning. My forehead throbs in time with my pulse. “Also, in my defense, turbulence is basically the sky flipping us off. Take it up with physics.”

His gaze drops to the dark stain spreading across his lap, then to my hand already blotting at his crotch.

I didn’t even realize I’d started doing that.

A slow breath escapes through his nose, like he’s counting to ten, before he snatches the napkin from my hand and starts blotting himself. “You’re a walking liability.”

“And you’re a very dignified Wet-Pants-Wonder,” I snap, heart hammering. “It’s giving action-hero-after-the-car-chase-through-the-river.”

His eyes close briefly, then lock onto mine. “I genuinely hope this is the first and last time our paths cross.”

I flop back into my seat, my pulse still racing from the drop, the touch, and the way those gray eyes are currently trying to laser me into another dimension. “Are you… flirting with me, Mr. Wet-Pants-Wonder?”

The scoff that rips out of him is loud enough to turn heads. “Absolutely fucking not.”

Sweet baby Jesus. He’s grumpy, gorgeous, and infuriatingly composed while sitting in a puddle I caused. I have to tell my brain not to flirt. Because why does every awkward situation in my life trigger an immediate flirt response?

Flipping my hair back with exaggerated nonchalance, I hit him with my sweetest, could-get-away-with-murder smile. “Trust me, the sentiment is mutual. If I see you on that island—which I hope I never do—I’ll pretend you’re a mirage. A very damp, very annoying mirage.”

He leans in just enough for me to catch a whiff of his cedarwood cologne. “And I’ll be staying fifty feet upwind of whatever hurricane you’re about to become.”

I roll my eyes so hard I nearly see my own brain, then slam on my headphones and crank the volume until the bass bleeds. For the rest of the flight, I mouth lyrics directly at him every time the plane jostles, just to watch that perfect jaw clench.

Petty? Yes.

Satisfying? Extremely.

Hours later, when we finally touch down, I head straight for baggage claim. My suitcase comes out first—a miracle, since I’m usually the last one standing, huffing in annoyance as it circles toward me at a snail’s pace.

I’m dragging it toward the exit when I spot Milo still waiting at the carousel. I can’t resist tossing him a mocking wave before power walking away, grinning like an idiot.

I’m barely through the doors when my feet come to an abrupt stop.

Before me stands a very cheerful man in a white polo with the resort’s logo stitched on the left side, holding up a sign in big, bold letters: Sienna Harlow & Milo Reyes.

My stomach executes a perfect triple backflip and lands directly in my sandals. Milo appears beside me seconds later. As he reads the sign, he stumbles over his feet, and then those piercing gray eyes are on me.

“You have got to be kidding me,” we say in perfect, horrified unison.

“Ms. Harlow! Mr. Reyes!” the driver beams. “I’m Terrance. Welcome to paradise! I’m here to take you both to the resort.”

“Both of us?” I repeat weakly, like maybe if I say it out loud, the universe will correct its typo.

“You’re both here for the Cole wedding, correct?” Terrance glances between us.

“I’m the best man,” Milo says, then looks at me again. “And you…?”

“The Maid of Honor.”

“You’re Aria’s sister?”

“The one and only.” I swallow the lump forming in my throat from the audacity of all of this, then look at him.

Great. I didn’t even make the connection on the plane.

He’d only tossed out his name—I had no idea he was Ethan’s best man at the time.

I’d seen photos of him over the years, of course, but he looks completely different now.

Sharper. Grumpier. Way hotter, especially with that stubble coating his jaw.

The irony hits me like another pocket of turbulence.

“If you so much as disturb one second of my vacation,” I lean closer, eyes locked on his, so he knows I’m being serious. “I’ll find your room and duct tape you to the balcony railing. Nude. Consider this your only warning.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d let you get close enough to try,” he retorts. “But go ahead, Sienna. Bring the duct tape. Today just became the most interesting punishment I’ve ever been sentenced to. We’ll see who ends up tied to what.”

I snort before I can stop myself. “You think you can out-restrain me? That’s adorable. Your crotch is currently wet because of me—and not in the way you wish it were.”

His gaze drops briefly, then lifts with zero shame. “I’m keeping the pants as evidence. Exhibit A in the case of Harlow versus human decency.”

“Oh, please,” I step closer, watching his pupils flare. “You loved every second of it. Admit it. You’ve been bored out of your skull for months, and I’m the first interesting thing to happen to you since your last performance review.”

He laughs like he didn’t mean to let it slip. “You think you’re interesting?”

“I know I am,” I say matter-of-factly. “You’re just too busy being tragically composed to admit you’re entertained.”

Before he can respond, Terrance clears his throat. “Erm… the van’s ready whenever you two are done flirting.”

We snap our heads in his direction so fast we nearly get whiplash. “We’re not flirting.”

“Sure,” he murmurs, unconvinced, as he opens the sliding back door. “Come on, lovebirds. Hop in. The AC is blasting, and there is cold water in the cooler.”

Milo mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “kill me now” and heads for the van. I fall into step beside him, deliberately bumping his shoulder.

“Lovebirds. Cute. Should we practice our couple’s pose for the welcome photo? You can do the brooding thing you’ve got going on, and I’ll be the chaotic gremlin clinging to your arm like a koala on an endless supply of energy drinks.”

He side-eyes me. “I’d rather set myself on fire.”

“Hot,” I grin, wiggling my brows. “Very on brand for you.”

He stops abruptly, turns to face me fully, and exhales through his nose. “You’re going to make me regret every life choice that put me on that plane, aren’t you?”

“Misery loves company,” I flash my brightest smile. “And I’m excellent company.”

Milo studies me for a beat too long, and my pulse kicks up. He shakes his head once and keeps walking. “Get in before I pay Terrance to leave you behind.”

I jog to catch up and slide into the van first. “You’d miss me too much. Who else is going to keep your pants interesting?”

His only response is a low grunt as he settles beside me. But I catch the tiniest upward curve on his lips, and the subtle head shake.

As we strap in, Terrance pulls away from the curb, still grinning in the rearview mirror. “You ready for a beautiful, love-filled two weeks? Paradise has a way of turning things into something… extraordinary.”

I hum in response and glance sideways at Milo. He’s staring out the window, jaw tight, but I don’t miss the way his fingers drum on his thigh, right over the faint watermark I left behind.

Leaning back with my arms crossed and sunglasses perched on my nose, I close my eyes and inhale a deep breath.

I’m completely, catastrophically screwed.

And not at all in the screaming-his-name-with-zero-regrets kind of way I was secretly hoping for on this vacation.