Chapter 2
RIVER
Rachel texted me nonstop while we were in the air.
I know because my phone kept buzzing against my leg, and I kept not looking at it because Nadine was asleep against the window with her hair in her face.
I was working very hard on minding my own business.
I am very good at minding my own business.
I have been minding my own business, and I am extremely skilled at it, except for the forty minutes somewhere over the Gulf of Mexico when Nadine shifted in her sleep, and her head landed on my shoulder.
Outside the window, clouds drift past like they've got nowhere to be.
I imagine they are Rachel and, like her, keeping tabs on us.
With the blood rushing down south, I had to decide very quickly whether to wake her up or sit very still for the remaining flight time. I decided to sit still. The decision was stupid, but I made it anyway. Story of my fucking life.
The armrest between us exists. It's doing its best but still failing spectacularly. The wheels hit the tarmac, and Nadine's head jerks up. She blinks twice, looks at my shoulder, then at me, then away, wiping frantically at her mouth.
First of all, she didn't drool because she only drools after a very long day.
"You didn't drool, by the way."
Nadine pinches my arm. "That's very ungentlemanly of you. I was trying to be subtle."
"If subtle is snoring lightly, then okay."
She grabs my arm, eyes wide with horror. "I-I snored?"
She didn't, but I like teasing her. "I mean, you can ask the guy from across the aisle. He's been glaring at you."
"Why didn't you wake me up?"
"The last time I woke you up from a deep sleep, I got a black eye. You don't wake up slowly, Nad. You jerk awake, and I have zero plans of getting a black eye this weekend."
"But—"
"I was kidding. You didn't drool."
That earns me another pinch. Nadine is a very physical person. She can't talk to anyone she likes without her touching or pinching or smacking. It's her love language. I have a decade's worth of pinches and smacks to prove it.
The cab ride to the resort takes twenty minutes along a coastal highway.
Nadine watches the landscape through the window, occasionally pointing out something worth seeing—a stretch of perfect blue water, a cluster of brightly painted buildings.
I watch the road ahead and think about nothing in particular, except the fact that I will now be playing husband to the only one I have ever fallen for.
Tough.
The resort appears around a curve in the road—white plaster walls rising from landscaped grounds, terracotta roof tiles. Beautiful but still pales in comparison to the woman beside me.
Nadine stops just inside the entrance, and my hand finds the small of her back as we approach the check-in desk. No big deal. Just a husband guiding his wife into a resort lobby.
The clerk smiles at us over a polished wood counter. "Name, please?"
"Nadine Jeeves."
"Welcome. I have your reservation right here—king suite, courtyard view."
Nadine's spine straightens. "That's great, thank you."
The room is exactly what you'd expect from a boutique resort trying very hard to look effortless—king bed with white linens, terracotta tile floor, ceiling fan clicking on high.
French doors open onto a narrow balcony overlooking a courtyard with bougainvillea climbing the walls. Not the ocean view.
Derek would have booked an ocean view for himself … or maybe not. Maybe he has giant floor-to-ceiling mirrors so he could admire himself from every angle.
"So, the bed," Nadine says.
"I see it."
"I could ask for a cot."
"The cot would be for me, and I'm six-five. My legs would hang off the end, and I'd wake up with my spine rearranged. Not ideal when we're playing convincing married people."
Nadine looks at me for a moment, weighing something, then nods once.
"Window side," I tell her, unzipping my bag. "Don't steal the blanket."
"I don't steal blankets."
"You took the entire blanket at Rachel's New Year's party and left me with a decorative pillow that was smaller than my head."
"That pillow was a normal size."
"It had a tassel on it."
"Some pillows have tassels, River."
"Not the ones you sleep with."
I'm dressed and ready in twelve minutes—dark jeans, black button-down, dress shoes. Nadine is still in the bathroom with the door closed.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I do not look at my phone because Rachel's texts have only increased, and I know what they say, some variation of the same thing she's been telling me since Nadine and Derek broke up.
Did you finally tell her?
Stop being a wussy.
This is your chance. Don't screw it.
You owe me big time for this.
The bathroom door opens, and Nadine steps out in a yellow top with thin straps and a white skirt that hits above the knee. Her hair is down, black waves falling past her shoulders. She's added some kind of gold dust to her eyelids that catches the light when she blinks.
Fuck me. And here I thought she couldn't possibly get any more gorgeous. Clearly, she could, and my cock knows it. Even the bougainvillea climbing the far wall knows it.
I need to fucking behave like a civilized grown man and not a hormonal teenager.
"Is this too much?" Nadine asks.
"It's fine."
"Fine isn't an answer."
"Okay, then it's superfine."
"Ugh, you really need some kind of husband training."
"Are husbands often required to lie?"
"If the occasion calls for it, like when you need to boost your wife's self-esteem and confidence."
Wife. Fuck if that doesn't make something tighten in my chest. "I'll keep that in mind."
"Wait," she says, and I turn to find her holding out her left hand. "Do these look real to you?"
The wedding band and engagement ring—simple gold band paired with a modest diamond. Nothing flashy. Exactly what Nadine would pick if she were picking for herself.
"Let's just stick to the script." I look at the ring longer than necessary. "We should go."
The welcome dinner is set on an open-air terrace overlooking the ocean. String lights hang overhead, casting warm pools of light across white tablecloths. Candles flicker at the center of long communal tables. The sound of waves rises from the beach below, a constant rhythm beneath conversation.
I scan the placement cards before we reach our seats. Derek and Alice are two tables over, positioned with a direct sightline to where we'll be sitting. Convenient.
Derek's eyes find Nadine first, then track to me, and his face has the same expression as clients who expected an estimate and got the actual bill. It's equally satisfying in both contexts. He didn't expect to see me, clearly misjudging Nadine.
"Nadine, I had no idea you were married," says a woman who introduced herself as Tara from accounting. "How did you two meet?"
"We met in college," Nadine explains smoothly. "Through my best friend, actually—his twin sister."
"And the wedding?" Tara leans forward, genuinely curious or maybe excited to get the latest scoop. Either way, I know whatever we tell her will reach every ear by the end of the night, which will serve our purpose. "I had no idea you were even seeing someone seriously."
"Vegas, a month ago." Nadine smiles at me and grazes my jaw with her nail. My body, clearly reading this as foreplay, instantly hums with anticipation. My pulse pounds furiously as I do my best to calm my cock down. "We kept it quiet—"
"She wanted a real ceremony," I say without missing a beat, desperately needing the distraction. "I said we could do that and the Vegas one. She said that was redundant and impractical. We compromised."
"He thinks we compromised," Nadine says, smiling up at me, making my heart do somersaults. "I made a unilateral decision."
"She did. Trust me, I know because I was there."
Tara laughs, and Nadine smiles at her wine glass. Under the table, her knee presses briefly against mine—not an accident, a thank-you. Between the physical touches and pretending we're an actual couple, my brain just short-circuits.
A filthy thought floats unbidden to the surface of my consciousness.
Nadine in bed, her hair fanning around her, moaning, begging. Nails scratching my back. Body bowing off the bed.
If I was just semi-hard before, my cock is now as hard as a crowbar. I'm so weak with wanting, it's not even remotely funny.
The candle between us flickers as Nadine reaches for her water glass.
Her wrist passes too close to the candle, which is how my hand ends up over hers—a redirect, a half-second thing, the most reasonable response to an open flame.
I let go before she has to think about it.
Under my fingers, her wrist was warm, pulse visible beneath thin skin.
But fuck, every single touch burns me.
"He keeps looking over," Nadine says, mouth barely moving.
"Good. Imagine being bothered by your ex at your own wedding."
"We rattled him, huh?"
"Serves him right for inviting you."
Nadine smiles softly. "I'm glad you're here."
It's at this moment when I know—wherever she leads me, I'm more than willing to go. "I'm glad I'm here."
Nadine searches my face, and for one crazy second, I thought she would say something, but she doesn't. Instead, she scoots closer to my seat until her shoulder digs into mine.
Just before coming here, Rachel and Nadine agreed we should both be touchy. Apparently, it's the little things that would sell the lie. So throughout dinner, I keep doing just that. Planting a kiss on her bare shoulder. Brushing my knuckles along her cheek.
Nadine, as always, couldn't be outdone.
She rests a palm on my chest to whisper into my ear or buries her nose in the crook of my neck and shoulder.
What she doesn't know is I have dreamed of having her this close for so long. Too long, in fact. And while I look pretty normal from the waist up, my lower body is a different story.