Chapter 16 Rumors
RUMORS
ASHLEY
“That was a virgin, right?”
Luna’s voice drifts lazily from the chaise beside mine. We’ve found a spot one level up from the pool, quieter, by the long glass rail that looks over the ocean as we sail south.
The question comes out of nowhere and, I have to admit, I have no idea what she could possibly be talking about.
I slide my sunglasses down to squint at her. “Who’s a virgin?”
“Not ‘who’. The margarita. The one Beckett brought you yesterday.” She takes another sip, pineapples and cherries tilting toward her face. “It was virgin, wasn’t it?”
“Why would I drink a virgin margarita?”
She shrugs, a little too innocently, and I’m instantly suspicious.
Her lips pull into a little smile. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”
“What secret?” My scowl deepens.
She opens her mouth, closes it again, and then, deliberately, places her hand over her belly. “You don’t have to hide it from me—that you’re pregnant,” she stage-whispers. “Josie told me last night.”
“Josie?”
“You know, Josie with the nose for news? She and Babs overheard you and Beckett talking about it at the welcome party yesterday.”
She is so wrong.
“That is not what we were talking about.”
Luna leans back, smug as a cat in the sun. “Sure. And I’ll play along. I’m not mad, Ash. I think it’s sweet. The fact that you’d keep it on the downlow for my wedding.” She kicks her feet a little, like she can’t keep it in. “But I’m also so excited!”
“I’m not pregnant.”
“Okay,” she singsongs, wiggling her toes now, the red polish a perfect contrast to her bright yellow swimsuit. “Not pregnant. Got it.”
I flop back in my chair. “I’m serious, Luna. I’m not pregnant.”
“Mmhmm.”
“Stop that!”
“I’m just saying, if you were, it would explain a lot.”
“Explain what?”
“The mood swings. The tiredness. The glow—”
“That’s just good skin care, and I look tired because I’m the mother of two seven-year-old boys.”
She giggles, taking another sip, and I glare at her umbrella-studded drink.
“Honestly,” Luna continues, leaning back, keeping her eyes closed, “if you’re trying to keep it quiet, just order a mocktail instead of staring at mine like you want to lick the condensation off the glass.”
I groan again. “Now I really need a drink.”
“Not if you’re pregnant.”
“I’m. Not. Pregnant.”
“Okay, okay,” she says, patting my knee, though the smirk never leaves her lips. “But what other situation would you and Bex need to keep secret?”
The fact that our marriage is over and I know it’ll break your heart?
I don’t say it. I just exhale.
Then it hits me. The comment in the spa. Luna wasn’t worried about Tay, she was worried about me.
Oh, God. If Luna heard this from Josie and Babs, who else thinks I’m… in a family way?
The thought makes my pulse spike as I catalog the damage automatically. Babs may have brought this to Luna, but maybe the solution is in the problem.
“You realize,” I say, “That ‘keep my little secret,’ means actually keeping it secret, right?”
She does her best to feign sincerity. “Who would I tell?”
But I know her. “Nothing about it to the boys. I mean it.”
“I promise.” She holds up one hand. And okay. I trust her.
This is what happens when you start telling lies. You end up having to cover those lies with more lies. Only, I’m not really lying, just postponing…
I”m mentally convincing myself I’m not a totally horrid person when a waiter strolls by with a tray of pastel-colored drinks in coconuts.
I definitely need one of those. Or three.
“Could you bring me a pina colada?” I ask.
“Virgin!” Luna calls out.
And just as I go to overrule her, I catch myself.
If I imbibe copious amounts of rum today, my little sister is gonna think I’m poisoning my unborn child.
The one I’m not carrying. With the husband I’m supposed to be divorcing.
“Virgin,” I agree. Reluctantly.
But honestly, that’s the least of my problems.
And as it turns out, even without the alcohol, the combination of warm sun and gentle motion rocks me into that hazy space between half-awake and dreaming.
That is, until voices filter through. Laughter, unmistakably male.
Then two higher, excited ones:
“Mom! I drove! On top of the ship!” The energy on the deck immediately shifts. “And I didn’t even crash!”
My eyes blink open to see my boys bouncing in front of me, their faces glowing with triumph and a faint layer of sweat.
“Finally made it to those go-karts,” Beckett explains, hands on hips.
He’s standing at the end of my chaise, and even through his aviators, I can feel his attention land—warm, lingering, far too intimate for how things are supposed to be between us now.
“We went around the track ten hundred times,” Max announces proudly. “Dad says we set a record.”
“A thousand,” Beckett confirms. “At least.”
Normally, I’d ask about his head. His… self-inflicted wound. I’d ask if he needed a Tylenol or something. But our conversation from earlier sits heavy between us. And so does that cryptic text I wasn’t supposed to see. The one I’m trying not to think about.
“Sounds fun,” I say—and in spite of myself, I mean it.
Because the boys look really happy, having spent some time with him. They are glowing because of it.
Which makes everything about this ache in a way that I can’t even name.
But Beckett and the boys aren’t the only ones drifting toward us.
“Best view’s right here!” Noah announces as he and Simon wander over, drinks already in hand, both of them fully in vacation mode.
Simon—Noah’s best man—flashes an easy grin. He’s one of those men whose calm settles a space without effort. Luna once mentioned he operates on fetal hearts, which feels incompatible with how relaxed he looks right now.
Rocky—accomplice to Beckett’s shenanigans—trails a step behind them.
Tay and Courtney, who I hadn’t even realized had joined us, have claimed spots on the opposite side of Luna.
Courtney leans forward and offers me a soft, knowing smile. Weird, but I smile back.
It takes me a few seconds to realize what hers means…
Oh hell. We’re really doing this pregnancy thing now.
I refocus on my boys, who are still buzzing from go-karts, while the rest of the group settles into the easy hum of vacation chatter—Noah bragging about something golf-related, Simon razzing him for it, Luna drifting into wedding mode, thinking ahead to our practice hair run scheduled for later this afternoon.
Then Mom appears with Babs, making it a party, both of them in flowing caftans and loudly declaring it naptime.
The boys groan on cue, but after a brief negotiation involving ice cream—which my sons, of course, win—those groans turn into whoops. And by the time they head for the elevators, they’re already absorbed in whatever adventure comes next.
I almost call after them. Almost remind them to be good for Grandma. Something grounding. Something motherly.
Instead, I let the impulse drift away.
They’re on vacation. They’re happy. And even though I could really use a hug right now, I don’t need to slow them down just to steady myself.
I sink deeper into my chair, watching until they disappear from view, warming inside knowing they’re happy. Determined that no matter what happens, keeping them like this will always be my priority.
When I close my eyes, that darn text message pops back into my mind. By deal, it must mean… a sale? Maybe, but… who at Midtown would try to bypass restrictions? That doesn’t sound good…
“So, Carrington.” I open my eyes to see Simon’s attention on Beckett, a funny grin spreading across his face. “How you holding up over there, man?”
“Fine,” Beckett answers, taking a seat at the foot of my chaise. “Just fine.”
Rocky snorts into his beer. “Yeah. Sure you are.”
Luna glances between them. “What’s that supposed to mean? Why wouldn’t Beckett be fine?”
The guys exchange looks—Simon with Noah, Rocky with Simon. Beckett just looking out to sea.
And then it clicks.
This is about that tattoo.
Simon lifts his beer toward Beckett. “Better you than me, man. Just—take care of it, okay? You really—I mean really—don’t want an infection.”
Beckett adjusts his sunglasses. “I’m aware.”
“No swimming,” Noah adds mildly. “Or other… recreational activities involving submersion.”
Rocky’s eyes are dancing. “That’s advice from two doctors. Better take it.”
Beckett has shrugged out of his shirt, and to anyone else, it looks like he’s smirking.
I, however, see the muscle ticking in his jaw and a faint flush to his skin.
Down the line, Courtney perks up. “What are you guys talking about?”
Luna looks between Noah and Beckett. “Yeah. What can’t Bex submerge?”
And just like that, all eyes swing to me.
“Oh, for the love of—” I sit up, forcing a smile. “My husband got intimately acquainted with a needle last night.”
Luna’s brows lift. “A tattoo?”
“Yes. He got a tattoo.”
Rocky kind of chokes on his drink. Noah and Simon are shaking their heads, and Beckett remains silent.
Luna glances at me. “He got a tattoo and you didn’t tell me?” And then over to Beckett. “Can we see it?”
“No!” This, incidentally, from Noah.
Courtney bursts out laughing. “Where is this tattoo?”
Everyone is looking him over, but the tattoo… is not visible.
“You didn’t!” Luna claps a hand over her mouth, her laugh somewhere between horrified and delighted. “Like—oh, my God!”
Beckett’s face is even more pink than it had been a few minutes ago.
There’s a long beat—then she’s looking back at me. “And you approved of this?”
“He’s a grown man. He makes his own decisions.” And yet again, being in the dark about this… stings.
Luna swivels between me and Beckett. “Okay, so you won’t show it to us. But… What is it, the tattoo? Oooh, is it Ashley’s name?”
Pretty sure it isn’t my name.
I lift my coconut drink and take a long sip of what is definitely not strong enough for this conversation. “It’s a… snake.” It’s the first thing I think of.
Rocky’s brows shoot up, and Simon and Noah exchange glances.
Not a snake, then.
They know I don’t know.
Thank God the alarm on my phone goes off.
“Luna.” I’m already on my feet, tightening my sarong around my waist. “Salon. Appointment. Let’s go.”
She blinks. “Oh! Right.” Gathering her bag and drink, she hops up and starts to follow me, calling over her shoulder, “Don’t forget—teppanyaki dinner tonight, everyone! And karaoke after!”
But then Luna suddenly stops short. “Hold on.”
She spins back toward Noah and throws her arms around his neck, kissing him goodbye. Because they won’t see each other, oh dear God, for about two hours.
And after, she looks at me.
I follow her gaze to Beckett, who’s lounging in my chair, his now, apparently, sunglasses low on his nose, sending me a look that feels like a dare.
I could ignore it. Pretend there isn’t an unspoken expectation. But then Luna’s expression softens, a little crease between her brows. Concern.
For me.
So I do what I need to do.
I walk back and lean down.
Where do my hands even go?
I settle for safe. One hand on his shoulder, quick and polite, like a wife who hasn’t spent the past year unraveling.
But the second my lips touch his, I unravel in a different way.
His mouth is warm. Oh, so comfortable. Familiar. Mine.
And when his hand slides up the back of my neck—fingers threading through my hair, holding me there—I feel it all.
The spark. The ache. The reminder.
He tastes like mint gum and a hint of rum.
He tastes like my Bex.
And I know, logically, it’s just a few seconds, but when I pull away, my pulse is doing cartwheels. And this feeling, that I want to kiss him again, it’s so right, but also, so very very wrong.
“Salon,” I manage to say, grabbing Luna’s wrist like it’s a lifeline. “We’re gonna be late.”