9. Leo
Chapter nine
Leo
The gates of the villa peeled open as if we were royalty pulling up to our private kingdom. Only, I wasn’t royalty. I was a plumber with calluses on my hands and a pit in my stomach. I had no business pretending to be my rich twin brother at a wedding this bougie.
But I’d made a promise. To a woman I was equally infatuated with and terrified of, and I had a dog who was depending on me, so I had no choice but to make this work.
Okay, Leo, deep breath. You’re Derrick now. You are a man who owns three credit cards, two Teslas, and zero emotional depth. You exfoliate. You smirk at waiters. You drink your coffee with collagen in it. I am Derrick freaking Campbell bitch, hear me roar!
The van door opened, and the sunlight smacked me in the face. Even it knew I was full of shit.
I adjusted my sunglasses and stepped out of the van as if I’d done this a hundred times. As though the marble steps, koi pond, and staff lined up in matching polos didn’t make my stomach churn.
A staff of ten…ten! Stood outside, smiling like this was all just normal. One stepped forward with a tray of flower leis and offered mine with an “Aloha.”
I bowed slightly, unsure of the etiquette. “Uh. Thanks. Aloha.”
Nailed it.
“Cherise!” Grace, a missile of tanned limbs and glossy curls, barreled down the path and launched herself at Cherise. I braced instinctively, but Grace landed safely in Cherise’s arms, giggling and screaming like a schoolgirl.
Chelsea got a squeal hug next. Then her gaze landed on me.
“Derrick.” Grace beamed. “So glad you were able to take off for the wedding. I know your schedule is nuts.”
I stiffened.
Here we go.
Channel your inner jackass.
I adjusted my sunglasses again and dropped my voice into Wall Street Tool Mode. “Told my team to cancel everything. A week of spreadsheets can’t compete with this view.”
I don’t even own Excel.
Does Derrick even have a team? Hell, if I knew.
That seemed to have appeased Grace as she turned back to Cherise and Chelsea, and they nearly skipped towards the Villa, giddy with enthusiasm. Cherise threw a glance over her shoulder, landed it on me, and gave the faintest nod. A smirk. A Cherise Monet stamp of approval.
Holy shit. That hit harder than the fake Rolex strangling my wrist.
The moment I stepped through the villa doors, I nearly choked on the air.
Was that… lemongrass? Success?
Maybe a hint of eucalyptus and people who don’t check their bank balance before ordering appetizers?
Floating staircase. Floor-to-ceiling windows that opened out to a damn infinity pool overlooking the ocean. It was straight out of a movie. I glanced up, half expecting Logan to descend from a balcony and offer me a welcome mimosa while playing a guitar.
I tried to play it cool, but internally? I was losing my shit.
“I am Derrick. I belong here. I understand how to operate a bidet,” I whispered to myself.
A staff member in crisp white linen offered me a drink I couldn’t pronounce. I nodded, pretending I drank them all the time, then cringed when I realized it tasted like fruity rubbing alcohol.
Cherise walked past me, looking completely unfazed and right at home. She kicked off her sandals and grabbed a towel from the rolled tray.
I followed her, clutching my disgusting drink.
Grace popped her head around the corner. “Okay, pick your suites! They are all gorgeous, but the other girls should be here at any moment, so you'd better be quick if you have your eyes set on a certain room. First-come, first-served.”
I stuck close to Cherise, probably resembling a lost intern on day one.
One room had golden sconces, a rainfall shower, and some weird, naked statue in the corner I was too scared to look at directly. Another had a bed so huge I thought it might be two kings fused together.
Cherise stepped into another suite, glanced around once, and said, “This one is ok. We would need more than one bed, though.”
“That’s it? It’s just ok?” No gasp. No holy shit. No are we in the white house?”
“Okay,” she whispered. “This place is crazy as shit! Did you see that water fountain in the hallway?”
“Did I?” I said. “I even took a couple of sips.”
She blinked at me. “Leo… that wasn’t a drinking fountain.”
I froze. “That explains the faint taste of chlorine.”
She shook her head, mumbling something about survival of the dumbest as she walked ahead.
I followed Cherise down the hall, trying not to stare at the way her curls bounced with every step. Or the way her hips swayed. She stopped short in front of one of the doors and threw it open.
“Wow!” she breathed.
I stepped in after her… and yeah, the room was ridiculous. We're talking floor-to-ceiling windows with a postcard view of the ocean. There was a rainfall shower, a tub big enough to swim laps in. And yep, there it was. The dreaded pull-out couch.
Cherise clocked it immediately.
“Well, guess this is our room. Only one with a let-out.” She rolled her suitcase next to the couch. “I’ll take the pull-out. You take the bed. You’re doing me a favor just by being here. It’s the least I could do.”
“Absolutely not.” I parked my suitcase next to hers, then took her suitcase and tote and placed them near the bed. “No way I’m letting you sleep on a glorified yoga mat with springs while I stretch out like the King of France.”
She crossed her arms, looking me up and down. “Leo… you’re what six-three? Your legs will lose circulation from dangling off the edge.”
“I’ve slept on worse.” I shrugged. “There was that summer I crashed on Derrick’s bean bag chair for a month.”
Her brow lifted. “I don’t even want to know.”
I stepped closer. “I’m serious. You're not sleeping on that thing. I’ve got it.”
We had a full-on stare-down. I think she was trying to Jedi mind trick me with those big, beautiful, brown eyes.
Finally, she sighed and flopped dramatically on the bed. “Fine. But if I see your toes starting to turn purple, we are switching.”
“Fair.”
Cherise opened her suitcase and went to work. She started hanging stuff, placing folded clothes into drawers, and color-coding her heel collection.
Meanwhile, I was sitting at the edge of the pull-out, not moving a muscle.
Her eyes drifted to mine mid-fold. “Don’t tell me you’re a live out of your suitcase on vacation guy. We’re going to be here for a whole week. We’re not criminals on the run.” She paused. “Well, you’re not at least.”
I stared at her. She stared back.
“Do I want to know if you're kidding?”
“The less you know, the better,” she said, crossing her arms with a grin that was all teeth and trouble. “So, are you going to unpack? You’re literally sitting two feet from a walk-in closet the size of a New York apartment, and you're not going to take advantage of that?”
“Organized chaos,” I said, patting my suitcase. “Besides, the minimalist life is safer. Less chance I forget something when we leave. Also, there is no way I’m about to start a territory war with a woman who packs like she’s staging a Vogue editorial.”
She threw a rolled-up pair of socks at my chest. “Whatever. There’s plenty of space, but suit yourself.
” She turned back to her open suitcase and grabbed something lacy.
Black maybe? Or deep red? I couldn’t see fully, but whatever it was, I suddenly forgot how to breathe through my nose imagining her in it.
“You might as well go ahead and take your shower first. It’s going to take me a hot minute to organize all this.”
I nodded and grabbed my toiletries from my bag, then paused. “Wait, what’s the plan for the rest of the day? I need to know the vibe, so I know which outfit to slay first.” I gestured with finger quotations.
Cherise grinned over her shoulder, wicked and wild.
“Oh, we’re starting strong. Lunch reservations with the bridal party, and you’ll be meeting the spawn of Satan herself.
I just know she is going to be in attack mode.
So, yes— you need to bring it. Dress to impress and be ready to channel your inner Derrick. ”
“Got it. Expensive and dead inside.”
I grabbed a fresh outfit from my suitcase and tossed it on the couch, then peeled my shirt off. Her silence was louder than the zipper I heard pause behind me. I turned just in time to catch her definitely not staring.
“You good over there?”
“Totally,” she said, voice pitching higher. “Just trying to decide which dress to wear,” she said, way too fast.
A smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth. I headed into the bathroom before either of us said or did something stupid.
The second the door clicked shut behind me, I let out a breath. What the hell was I doing? Scratch that. What the hell was she doing packing lacy death traps and looking at me like she wanted to devour me?
I turned on the shower, letting the steam rise, and braced my hands against the cool marble tile.
The villa might’ve been ridiculous, but this bathroom?
It was fantasy level. Rainfall shower, sleek black fixtures, and enough space for at least four people, which, yeah, was not helping the direction of my thoughts.
Thoughts that led straight back to Cherise.
Cherise naked in the shower.
Water dripping down her curves.
Her back arched as she tilted her head back. Wet curls clinging to her shoulders. Eyes closed as I dipped my fingers into her wet pussy. The moan that falls from her lips as my fingers curl deeper inside her.
I let my forehead fall against the tile.
Nope. No. Bad idea. Abort mission.
This was not that kind of trip. She was my brother’s ex for God’s sake.
I was here to fake a relationship, not imagine me pressing her up against the glass while she moaned my name.
There is no way I am going to be the pervert who jerks off in the shower while she is literally standing outside the door.
But damn it, the image wouldn’t go away.
By the time I soaped up and rinsed off, I had two major problems:
My brain was broken.
There was no way I could walk back into that room without giving away every dirty thought that transpired through my mind in the shower.
Why did I have to leave my clothes outside? How the hell was I going to explain the towel tent situation without sounding like a complete creep?
I stared down at the problem. “You'd better chill before you get both of us in trouble.”
I dried off with the world’s fluffiest towel and did my best to will the situation down south into submission. I’d tried everything…counting backwards, mentally reciting plumbing specs, thinking about Derrick’s toenail fungus incident in high school. Nothing helped.
Cherise in lace still won. Every time.
I wrapped the towel a little tighter around my waist and took a breath.
Okay. Chill. Be normal. Act casual. Don’t trip. Don’t flash her. Just walk out there like your brain wasn’t still dripping with sin.
I opened the bathroom and immediately regretted my entire life.
Cherise was kneeling by her suitcase, pulling out a pair of heels that looked straight out of a fashion magazine and not something you wear on an actual human's feet.
Her hair was now piled on top of her head in one of those messy buns girls claimed were effortless, but probably took black-belt-level skill.
Her tank top had slipped off one shoulder, revealing smooth skin and a teal bra strap I had no business noticing.
She looked up. Froze. Blinked.
Oh no. She knows everything.
“Why are you just… standing there?” she asked slowly as her eyes dropped to the towel—bulged—then snapped back up.
“Trying to figure out if I can make it to the couch without pulling a wardrobe malfunction,” I said, praying my voice didn’t crack while clenching the towel for dear life.
She snorted. “You’ve got a towel on. Calm down, Magic Mike.”
“Barely.” I moved fast, bolted toward couch, and grabbed my boxers and clothes. “Also, fair warning, your hair products attacked me in the shower. It was fruity and full of glitter.”
“You mean my coconut shimmer curl custard?” she asked with a grin. “That stuff’s $18 a bottle, so you'd better have appreciated the experience.”
“Oh, I appreciated it,” I muttered, pulling on my clothes behind the safety of the bathroom door, because I was officially one wrong move from disaster.
Once I was dressed, I peeked out, hoping the towel scene was already forgotten.
Cherise was already heading my way. Dress draped over one arm, toiletry bag clutched in the other.
She gave me a once-over, smirked, and said, “Alright, fashion icon. I see you.”
She brushed past me to the bathroom, pausing just long enough to add, “And great pants choice, by the way. Nice and thick. Just in case you pop another boner mid lunch, no one’ll notice.”
My mouth fell open. “I’m going to go drown myself in the ocean now.”
The bathroom door shut behind her… and through it her cackle echoed.