30. Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty
Annie
My bedroom is so luxurious that it still doesn’t feel real.
I stand in the center of it, my fingers toying with the tie of my swimsuit cover-up as I take everything in again. The ceilings are impossibly high, lined with dark wooden beams that contrast with the crisp white walls. Floor-to-ceiling windows make up one entire side of the room, opening onto a private terrace that overlooks the beach.
The doors are currently pushed open, allowing a warm ocean breeze to filter in, rustling the sheer white curtains. The floors are made of polished wood, smooth and cool beneath my bare feet, and the walls are a seamless blend of white stone and dark wood accents.
The bed is enormous—probably the biggest I’ve ever slept in—with white linen sheets that probably feel like absolute heaven.
At the foot of the bed, a plush sitting area is arranged with light, neutral-colored furniture, upholstered with tropical blues and deep greens. Everything about this place screams peace and relaxation.
To the right, there’s a dressing area with an oversized mirror framed in polished driftwood .
My suitcase is already unpacked, my neatly folded clothes placed into an open wardrobe beside a row of delicate woven baskets filled with essentials. The villa staff must have taken care of it when we arrived, and the efficiency is almost startling.
It’s too beautiful. Too perfect.
And I don’t want to waste a second of it feeling sick.
I exhale slowly, pressing a hand to my stomach. It’s still unsettled, but not nearly as bad as it was on the plane. Maybe I just need time to adjust, or maybe it really was just motion sickness.
Either way, I refuse to let it keep me from enjoying this trip.
“All right,” I mutter to myself, straightening my shoulders as I look at my reflection in the mirror. “No more overthinking. No more worrying. You’re on a private island, in paradise. You are going to go out there, have fun, and feel better.”
My reflection stares back at me, unconvinced.
I sigh, smoothing a hand over my stomach. “Water and ginger ale only today. No fruity drinks. No rich foods. Just keep it simple.”
My stomach gives the faintest twist at the thought of food, and I grimace. I really, really don’t want to feel queasy the entire vacation.
Shaking it off, I focus on getting ready.
I slip on my swimsuit cover-up—an airy white chiffon wrap that falls just above my knees.
Beneath it, my swimsuit is a soft blue bikini, simple but flattering. I adjust the straps, smoothing my hands over my hips as I give myself one last once-over in the mirror.
It’s fine. I’m fine.
The beach is waiting, and I refuse to miss out.
With one last deep breath, I grab my sunglasses and head for the terrace doors, stepping out into the warm island air.
The salty breeze rushes over me as I step out onto the private terrace, my lightweight cover-up fluttering around my legs.
The warmth of the sun seeps into my skin almost instantly, and despite the lingering queasiness in my stomach, I can’t help but smile.
This place is breathtaking.
The soft sound of waves rolling onto the shore is like a constant, soothing melody, and from up here, I can see Cole and Robbie already down on the beach.
Robbie is running full speed toward the water, his little arms flailing excitedly, while Cole walks behind him at a more leisurely pace. Even from this distance, I can tell he’s relaxed—more so than I’ve ever seen him back home.
I take a deep breath, letting the fresh ocean air fill my lungs. I can do this. I’m not going to let some stupid queasiness keep me from enjoying this. I shake out my nerves, adjust the loose straps of my cover-up, and turn toward the stairs that lead directly from my terrace to the beach.
By the time I make my way across the warm sand, Robbie is already knee-deep in the water, splashing around like it’s the best day of his life. Cole stands a few feet away, the crystal-clear waves lapping gently at his ankles, hands on his hips as he watches Robbie with an amused expression.
“Sorry I took so long,” I say, pushing my sunglasses up on my nose as I approach.
Cole turns to look at me, and the second his gaze drags over me—over my swimsuit, my bare legs, the way the sun highlights my skin—I feel an immediate rush of warmth that has nothing to do with the Caribbean heat.
His eyes darken slightly, just for a moment, before he schools his expression back into something more neutral.
“You’re fine,” he says, his voice steady, but there’s an edge to it—like he’s forcing himself to look away. “Robbie’s been making a game out of running back and forth anyway.”
As if to prove his point, Robbie squeals and races up the shore, only to immediately turn and run back into the water, sending a spray of it flying in every direction. I laugh, shaking my head. “I see that.”
I step forward, letting the cool waves wash over my feet, and sigh as the water eases some of the warmth from my skin. It feels amazing .
“Okay,” I say, looking at Robbie. “Do you want me to help build a sandcastle, or are you too busy being a sea monster?”
Robbie grins. “Sea monster first! Sandcastle later!”
I laugh again, shaking my head. “Fair enough.”
I take my cover up off and toss it on the sand behind me and wade in a little deeper, letting the water swirl around my calves as Cole steps beside me, his arm brushing mine for just a moment.
I glance at him and, for the first time since we got here, I see it—the ease in his posture, the way the usual tension in his shoulders is missing.
“You look like you actually belong on vacation,” I tease lightly.
He huffs out a quiet laugh, glancing down at me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. You always seem... preoccupied back home. Like your mind is always somewhere else.”
He doesn’t respond immediately, just watches the waves as Robbie lets out another triumphant roar. Finally, he says, “Maybe that’s because it usually is.”
There’s something in his voice—something that makes my chest tighten just a little.
He’s not joking. He really has spent the last however many years living with his mind half-elsewhere, buried in work, in responsibility, in the weight of everything on his shoulders .
But here? Here, he’s different.
And I realize, suddenly, that I like this version of him. The one who’s present, who laughs when his son plays in the water, who looks at me with something unreadable in his eyes and makes my stomach flip in a way that has nothing to do with nausea.
I shake off the thought before it can settle. “Well,” I say, nudging him lightly, “if you need help figuring out how to vacation properly, I happen to be an expert.”
His lips twitch. “Oh, really?”
“Absolutely.” I gesture broadly to the ocean. “First rule: you’re not allowed to think about work. At all.”
His brow lifts. “Not even a little?”
“Nope,” I say firmly. “No work emails. No checking your phone every ten minutes. No calls with your assistant. Just relaxation.”
He huffs out a breath, tilting his head slightly. “And what else does this ‘expert’ recommend?”
“Well.” I pretend to think about it, tapping a finger against my chin. “Lots of swimming, obviously. Beach walks at sunset. Plenty of snacks.” I pause, then smirk. “And drinks. With little umbrellas in them.”
Cole chuckles, shaking his head. “You and the damn umbrella drinks.”
“I will die on this hill.” I grin up at him. “They’re an essential part of any vacation.”
He watches me for a beat, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes again. Then, after a moment, he shakes his head and mutters, “I’ll see what I can do.”
It’s not much, but it makes my stomach flip all over again.
Robbie splashes toward us then, excitement written all over his face. “Come swim with me!” he says, grabbing my hand.
I hesitate, my stomach still unsettled, but I don’t want to say no.
Cole must notice, though, because he glances down at me and murmurs, “You don’t have to if you’re not feeling well.”
I glance up at him, then back at Robbie, and smile. “I’ll wade in for a bit,” I say, squeezing Robbie’s hand. “But I might just float instead of swim.”
Robbie seems satisfied with that, and within moments, we’re both wading deeper into the ocean. The water is warm, crystal-clear, and I let out a content sigh as I sink into it, letting the waves carry me just slightly.
Maybe I’m not feeling a hundred percent. Maybe my stomach is still a little off.
But I feel light. Happy.
And if I can hold onto that for the rest of this trip, I’ll consider it a success.