Chapter 11
eleven
. . .
Heath opened a bleary and reluctant eye, squinting against the glare of the sun pouring into what he’d taken to calling his birdcage.
The small sleeping porch was at the back of the house, just across from the bedroom, and had a lovely view of the water and one of the island’s numerous beaches.
It also sat directly in the sun’s path, and could easily double as a microwave, thanks to his forgetting to close the shades before passing out exhausted the previous night.
He rolled onto his back with a pitiful groan and threw an arm across his eyes.
Dinner had been amazing. He’d gone to a fancy restaurant or two in his lifetime, but the understated elegance of the dishes at the resort was otherworldly.
Possibly because of the freshness of the ingredients, but the family was so delightful, it was impossible for anything to disappoint.
All he knew was he’d been on cloud nine when Isabella finally dropped him at the villa well after one in the morning.
What an utterly delightful woman she was. Stunningly intelligent, witty, and her stories! He’d laughed so much, his ribs still ached. It had been ages since he’d had that much fun.
Which, of course, was the problem.
He groaned again and rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in the most perfectly squishable pillow. He wasn’t supposed to be having fun. What sort of man was he if he broke his oath on day one?
The night was simply an anomaly. He couldn’t very well decline a personal invitation from the owners.
Even the most stalwart knight occasionally had to bend to authority.
Plus, it would hardly do for the newlyweds never to be seen together.
For the sake of their story, he’d had to make an appearance.
God, but this marriage of convenience was proving to be incredibly inconvenient for him.
Going forward, he would decline all invitations and stick to the original plan. Let them think of him as antisocial. It wasn’t entirely untrue. Celebrations like theirs were far from his comfort zone, and as a dedicated introvert, he required substantial time to recharge.
Westin surely wouldn’t mind flying solo.
He’d abandoned their vows within a heartbeat of Isabella’s arrival.
Granted, the vows weren’t real, but the family didn’t know that.
No one had specifically called out his husband’s wandering eye and tendency toward colorful euphemisms, but surely they’d noticed.
Christ. Even his fake relationships were disastrous.
Thank goodness Westin had left right after the dessert course—a scrumptious sorbet topped with fresh cream and berries. He’d expected they’d leave together to maintain appearances, but Westin had insisted he stay and enjoy himself once Isabella promised to see him home in one piece.
An admittedly premature departure for a man who’d boasted of his partying prowess, but also a relief. It was better for his sanity that Westin kept his distance. The man was a distraction. An unwelcome distraction.
He was also an impossible personality to pin down.
Every time Heath thought he had things figured out, Westin did something unexpected, and he was back to square one.
Was the man a heartless womanizer? Using his money and looks to woo and screw?
A phrase he’d seen used on a forum that made his English degree shrivel.
Or was he a jilted lover seeking succor?
Much as he’d like to, he couldn’t begrudge the man wanting some affection after having his heart broken. That was assuming Westin was telling the truth, and he actually had a heart. He’d said he was a lawyer, after all, but hadn’t specified what sort.
Maybe he was saving orphans from deportation, or maybe he let career criminals skate with racketeering charges. It was entirely too easy to envision him swimming laps in a pool full of money. One of several methods to maintain that ridiculously perfect body.
It doesn’t matter, Heath reminded himself. You’re not here for friends and fond memories—or to seek your own succor.
What Westin got up to wasn’t his business, though he might suggest the man have a bit more discretion. Flaunting himself like last night would only call their relationship into question. What would the family think if they were outed as liars?
He hated to think of tarnishing Isabella’s opinion of him. She’d been so lovely and welcoming. All the more reason to lay low, he decided, pulling himself up to sitting with a stretch and yawn. If any mercy existed in the universe, there would be caffeine awaiting him in the kitchen.
“Have fun last night?”
Coffee and Westin both greeted him from the counter as he shuffled into the room. He took a steaming mug with a grunt of appreciation and let the aroma bathe his senses in promises of coherence.
Westin chuckled while watching his ritual.
He was leaning against the kitchen’s small island with a cup of coffee of his own and a newspaper spread out on the counter in front of him.
He was clearly allergic to shirts, having on only a pair of charcoal grey lounge pants that clung to his ass and thighs in a way that did terrible things to Heath’s brain chemistry.
Worse, the glasses perched atop his head were not for the sun. They were for reading, and the slim silver frames made his eyes glitter when he perched them back on his nose.
Be strong.
“I’m surprised you didn’t stick around.” He didn’t specifically say, to make more of an ass of yourself with Isabella, but he felt it was sufficiently implied.
“Food and wine plus travel equals tired,” he said, not looking up from the paper.
Heath peered closer and saw it was the Wall Street Journal. “I didn’t think physical papers existed anymore.”
“They only print enough copies for posh hotels and aged heiresses in need of bird cage liners.”
Heath choked on his first sip of coffee, a laugh forcing its way past the liquid, which nearly exited through his nose. Westin glanced up, eyeing him over the rim of the mug, and Heath caught the wry little grin hiding behind it.
He’s not flirting with you.
He needed that reminder tattooed across his forehead. Emblazoned upon the wall in garish neon. Written in the clouds by another god-awful small plane. Whatever it took to drive it home and squash this unhealthy tendency of his to form unrequited infatuations.
Not that he was infatuated with Westin. He wasn’t. Fascinated by him, possibly, but he’d promised himself he wouldn’t read into things that weren’t there, and by God, he’d be keeping at least one of his oaths.
In the interest of self-preservation, and to put some distance between his stupid brain and the gingersnap in the kitchen, Heath took his coffee outside to inspect the pool area in the early morning light.
The view beyond the shimmering waters of the pool was breathtaking, like something out of a fantasy novel.
Dense greenery framed the cliffs, which melted down into the white sand as it undulated with the ebb and flow of the waves crashing to shore.
Sunlight danced atop the rippling water in glimmering shades of aquamarine and sapphire that sparkled like precious stones with every swell and break. It was beautiful beyond comprehension.
A stabbing pain hit him square in the chest as he thought of Christian and how ready he’d been to pour his heart out to the jerk.
What had he been thinking? They hadn’t been truly close since college, and even then, their friendship had largely remained under the radar.
Christian liked to keep his social groups separate. Whatever happened in the trust fund world didn’t mix with the things in his college world. As adults, Heath was one of the few people invited to cross the line, and while he’d tried to feel honored, he’d always felt grossly out of place.
He appreciated some of the introductions, like those who’d helped him land his first teaching job.
That he’d hated it there wasn’t the point.
He’d gotten his foot in a very exclusive door, and having it on his resume allowed him to write his own ticket when he’d sought tenure at the job he now loved.
He owed Christian for that, and for at least trying to include him. They were just two very different people.
Yet you still think you can change him.
He dipped his fingertips into the water and watched the touch echo across the pool’s surface. Fine. Yes. I’m a fool. Happy?
I dunno. Are you?
Rather than examine why his inner monologue suddenly sounded like Westin, Heath strolled along the seawall to where a staircase descended to the beach.
The tide was in, covering the bottommost stairs, so he wouldn’t be investigating just yet, but later there would be a hunt for shells or sea glass to add to his collection back home.
Had he really believed Christian would give up everything in favor of living a simple life in the metro suburbs?
He sighed and tossed a rock into the frothing water. Of course he had.
Christian had sold this trip as an opportunity to reconnect and get back to how things used to be, in the days before reality had fully snared them in its web.
He’d lamented all the times he’d let Heath down.
Made promises he hadn’t kept, then tried to make up for it with a grand apologetic gesture, only to fail at keeping that one too.
He’d said he missed the nights in Heath’s cozy little condo, pontificating about the meaning of life over Thai food and terrible ‘90s movies.
On so many of those evenings, he would complain about the elite backstabbing, the endless socializing, and the constant game of one-upmanship required of him to maintain what his father had built.
And Heath had eaten it up. All of it. Then licked the plate.
Bitter laughter worked its way up from his belly.
No wonder Andres looked at him with such disdainful pity.
Christian would inherit an empire worth so many zeros, Heath would run out of whiteboard trying to calculate it.
Who in their right mind would walk away from that?
Especially for such a grand opportunity as getting to live on a high school teacher’s salary.
“You damn fool,” he muttered, the words lost to the waves below.
His vision blurred, tears streaking down his cheeks as his face turned hot and his nose stuffed closed. He sat at the top of the stairs to watch the waves crash and churn, and a terrible thought occurred to him.
Did Westin and Christian know one another? They probably did. All the more reason to put some distance between them. The last thing he needed was Westin discovering what an idiot he was and giving him the same pitying looks.
The sharp sting of embarrassment tightened in his throat. He’d had it all planned out, from the overlook they would visit to the wine they’d drink.
It would be during sunset, of course. Tucked away amidst the hibiscus blooms with a crisp Moscato and the serenade of birds and the lapping sea.
He’d wanted to tell Christian how much he appreciated his friendship over the years, and how grateful he was for this opportunity to rekindle the closeness they’d once shared.
Depending on the reception, and how fast the wine was working, he would then confess his desire to take advantage of this fresh start, and to forge an even deeper bond.
It wasn’t as outlandish as everyone thought. More than once, Christian had expressed jealousy toward the men Heath dated. He’d claimed they weren’t good enough for him, and talked about what he’d do differently if they were together. How he regretted even introducing them.
He’d also complained endlessly about his own relationships, stating how life would be better, simpler, if it were Heath on his arm instead of some random woman.
Hook. Line. Sinker. God, his own stupidity was blinding. Like staring at a fresh snowscape on a cloudless afternoon.
This was the same man who avoided him like the plague at social functions he’d attended with said dates. Who, when asked who Heath was, claimed only that they’d gone to school together.
The one time they’d kissed, Christian had been blind drunk and later denied it furiously. He’d had to stand there and smile and act like he wasn’t being gaslit by a man who only hours before had whispered against his lips how desperately long he’d wanted to do that.
Heath buried his face in his hands to muffle the sob that tore from his throat. He’d fucking disappeared with some woman whose name Heath didn’t even know, and hadn’t bothered to mention he’d canceled the vacation.
“Heath?”
The sound of his name, his actual name on Evan’s lips pulled him from the spiral. He stood several feet away, clad in swim trunks and a billowy tank top, his eyebrows pinched with concern.
Shit. No. He couldn’t handle this right now.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“I said I’m fine!”
Instant regret hit his stomach like his grandmother’s dry, tasteless meatloaf at the surprise in those emerald-flecked eyes.
He wanted to apologize and take it back, but chose not to. What he wanted didn’t matter. He needed to be alone. Specifically, he needed this beautiful enigma of a man to leave him alone, and if that meant being an asshole, so be it.
Why couldn’t he hate Westin? It should be so easy. He was just like all the others, wasn’t he? Nothing more than a plutocratic philanderer.
The man lived in a world where $100,000 watches were a casual purchase—oh yes, he’d looked it up.
His smile stole the bones from Heath’s legs, and a single muscle flex put them back somewhere entirely too prominent.
The bastard made him laugh and behaved like a normal person.
Possibly even a nice person. Just hearing him say his name raised goosebumps across his skin.
“I’m hitting the beach. Want a ride?”
“No.”
His eyes burned. His sinuses felt three sizes too big, and there was no doubt his face was a red, splotchy mess. He didn’t want to be around other people. Besides, beaches were for fun, and he wasn’t supposed to be having any of that.
“You want me to leave the cart?”
“I’m staying here.”
He would stew in his petulance. Let the wind and waves fold in some salty misery.
He heard Evan draw a breath and waited for an argument, but all that came was a long sigh and the patter of sandals.
“Suit yourself.”