18. Willow
Iwoke up to an awful grinding noise.
Blinking several times, I rolled over to my side and a stretch of blue stared back at me. In disbelief, I rubbed my eyes, convinced I was seeing things. But sure as hell, the only sight for miles in any direction was the blue horizon.
Yesterday’s events rushed back to me, and it felt like I’d been turned inside out all over again. Shame. Relief. Excitement. So many mixed emotions, but there was one that surpassed them all.
Love.
I couldn’t remember how we got onto this boat, but I vaguely remembered being tucked into bed. And how I tugged on Royce’s rough hand and asked him to stay with me. When he’d wrapped his arms around me, I’d never felt safer.
Getting to my feet, I followed the noise to a sleek kitchen with a million-dollar view. I found Royce at the little kitchen counter, dressed in black Tom Ford shorts and a white T-shirt, his ink on full display—a mountain landscape tattooed on one forearm and a large willow tree with thin branches on the other.
Bent over a small device, he seemed to be reading something on this phone.
“Good morning,” I murmured, tucking a piece of my unruly hair behind my ear. He held a blender with something green and unappealing-looking in it. My nose wrinkled before I added, “I hope you’re not drinking that.”
Amusement filled his gaze. “I’m not. You are.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I’m not drinking something that looks like a swamp.”
He chuckled.
“It says here it’s good for the baby.” My mouth parted in shock as I eyed the green liquid with distaste. “Fresh spinach, blended with blackberries and bananas. The pregnancy blogs promise it does wonders for morning sickness.”
I flushed, my heart growing warm. If I could see myself right now, I imagined I’d find cartoon hearts in place of my eyes.
I extended my hand without another word, wrapping my fingers around the glass he’d just finished pouring.
He smiled and said, “Good girl,” which did some messed-up things to my body.
Get yourself together, Willow, I scolded myself.
Royce had always been thoughtful and caring. This morning’s gesture was no different.
Taking a sip, I sat down as the green liquid trickled down my throat.
“Hmmm, it’s pretty good. Definitely better than it looks,” I said, then took another sip.
“How’s your room?” he asked.
“The view is amazing.” I grinned, the tension of the few last months finally loosening. “What is there not to like?”
“Excellent.”
“Where are you sleeping?”
“Down the hallway from your cabin.” He poured himself a glass of the same thing and downed it all in one go. “You look good in my shirt.”
I swallowed, blushing a deeper shade of red, and shifted on my chair. I was comfortable with Royce, my friend. I didn’t know what to do with Royce, my husband. My emotions were all over the place, and so were my hormones.
“So how did we get on the boat, and where are we going?”
He raised a brow, leaning back in the chair. “Are you worried?”
I shook my head, biting the inside of my cheek. “Just making conversation.”
“Do I make you nervous, baby?”
I scoffed. “You wish. Now stop fucking with me and tell me our plans.”
He grinned. “We’ll stay off-grid for a bit. Sail the seas. Have an extended honeymoon.”
I swallowed. “Do you think the Harrises will do something?”
He shrugged, clearly unbothered. “We’ll worry about Stuart and his family when the time comes.”
I sighed, happy to push the thought aside for now. Glancing around the beautiful boat, I was once again shocked by the luxury. “So whose boat is this anyway? And what kind of boat is it?” I looked around, taking in the split-level decks and impressed by every inch I’d seen of this boat so far. The living spaces were designed with comfort in mind, the lush cabins were a dream come true, and there were even parts of the boat with a glass-bottom window to see the seas below.
He stood up, rinsed his glass, and put it in the little dishwasher. A freaking dishwasher, on a boat!
“It’s a catamaran,” he explained. Royce was a billionaire, so he remained unimpressed. Me, on the other hand? I was foaming at the mouth. “A super catamaran, which basically just means it’s twice as fancy and comes with all the amenities of a regular yacht.”
I scoffed—who was going to tell this guy I’d never even been on a “regular” yacht, let alone knew what it was supposed to look like. I finished my own drink and joined him by the sink, but before I could wash it, he took the glass out of my hold.
“Are you going to wait on me, Mr. Ashford?” I teased, bumping my shoulder against his playfully. He shut the dishwasher door, his low and dark chuckle filling the little space, before he grabbed my hips and set me on the counter, spreading my legs to stand between them.
The warmth of his body made me shiver in delight while so many naughty fantasies swirled in my mind. Ones I hadn’t allowed myself to imagine in a long time when it came to my best friend—correction, husband.
“I’ll do whatever you want, Willow.” He leaned forward, his mouth brushing against my sensitive earlobe. “Just say the word.”
A strangled laugh that came out sounding like a moan vibrated in my chest, and I had to clear my throat to get myself together.
“Can we go swimming?” was how I decided to respond to his offer.
“Nude?”
I giggled, swatting him gently on his inked forearm. “No, not nude.”
Although, it did sound tempting.
My ring sparkled in the sun, almost like a reminder of my new reality, as we disembarked in the Canary Islands. Restaurants lined the striking golden-sand beaches, and the water glistened turquoise beneath the midday sun.
Royce wore aviator sunglasses under a Prada bucket hat, hiding most of his face. I opted for a wide-brim straw hat that kept the sun off my face. Hand in hand, we looked just like any other couple here on their honeymoon.
“In all the years I’ve visited Portugal with my parents, we’ve never made it here,” I murmured, my eyes darting left and right, soaking it all in. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s okay,” Royce agreed.
“Just okay?”
“Too crowded.”
“You can’t blame people. Who wouldn’t want to visit this piece of heaven?” Royce grimaced, and I pinched his side, a chuckle slipping from my lips. I felt lighter here, and I wasn’t about to let his grumpiness dampen our day. “Why did we stop, then?”
“We need supplies. Food.” Just as he said it, we walked past a local fruit stand and his steps came to an abrupt stop in front of it. I followed suit, scanning the choices until I stopped at one, my heart fluttering in my chest.
Pineapples. The memory came bustling in, mocking my stupidity. Ironic how a single decision could alter one’s path. Three months ago, I gave a seemingly nice man a chance. Nothing could have ever prepared me for what I’d have to withstand, only to discover that love simply wasn’t in the cards for me. I was lucky to have Royce and our agreement, and I would do everything to protect my baby, but I knew it was time to let go of my childish dreams. I wasn’t a girl anymore; there was no sense in harboring a silly crush on my best friend’s brother.
“Should we get a few pineapples?” Royce’s tone was usually easy to read, but not today. I shielded my eyes from the sun and turned my head to look at my handsome husband, but it was hard to see anything behind those sunglasses.
I shifted uncomfortably. “Umm, I don’t know.”
“Willow…” Something in the way he said my name sounded like a plea, and it was the final push I needed to let him in a bit. He’d been so patient with me the last few days, it was the least I could do.
“I hate pineapple cake,” I admitted with a sigh. “Not that anything… happened on… on that front.” Stuart never went down on me, and ironically, I was grateful for it now. “He never… We never…”
Ugh. Since when was I uncomfortable talking about sex? But I hated to think about the early days with Stuart. It filled me with melancholy and disappointment. Not because I loved him, but because I was stupid enough to settle.
“Excellent.” He nodded as if satisfied with my statement. “Sponge cakes suck anyhow. There’ll be no more of that in our lives.” He turned to the kind-faced woman. “Three pineapples, please.”
Despite still reeling from the memory of that stupid cake and that stupid night, I chuckled. “Why do we need three?”
He shrugged. “Third time’s the charm, right?”