14. Paige
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Paige
One by one, we exit the two golf carts in the small harbor that is part of the resort.
My hat is wide enough to cover my shoulders, but I fix my kaftan when the breeze blows it away.
With my complexion and the way the sun is beating down on us, it will take me less than fifteen minutes to get sunburnt.
A straw beach bag perched on my shoulder, I follow Kim and Dad, who walk hand in hand, while chuckling to themselves.
I try to focus on them, so that my eyes don’t flick to the thorn in my side on my left, no matter how much his wide shoulders break into my line of vision.
The stitching endurance of his dark blue Bermuda shorts is being tested with every step he takes, but it’s not my problem to worry about.
His face is mostly hidden by the shade of his cap, and I prefer it that way, since every time our eyes connect, something stupid rolls off my lips.
Kim and Dad stop next to a beautiful yacht anchored in the harbor, their faces stretching into a grin. “Here we are,” Dad states excitedly.
Three crew members, decked out in white, wait for us with polite smiles plastered onto their faces. “Welcome aboard Maria,” one of them says and introduces himself as Anthony before holding out his hand to help us across the gangway.
“Thank you,” I whisper as I enter the boat, stunned by its beauty.
The teak decking looks brand-new, which is probably the result of the crew’s meticulous maintenance.
The railing sparkles under the blistering sun, perfectly polished.
Another crew member leads us to the back deck, where a large table sits, served with six plate settings.
Atop of it I count three champagne coolers surrounded by orange juice bottles and a tray of pastries.
I find a spot between Jordan and Emma and immediately pour a mimosa into my champagne flute.
The cool glass touches my bottom lip just as Dad shoots me a pointed look. Everyone’s holding their flutes up in a toast, I realize and freeze mid-motion.
He looks around the table with warm eyes before lifting his glass even higher in the air. “To family.”
Kim repeats the same, while the rest of us murmur in response. The six of us will never be family.
“Speaking of family...” Jordan starts, lowering her flute. “Kim, was there a Mr. Owens at some point?”
Kim glances at Dad before answering. “Of course.” She swallows. “He died when Ryan was six.”
My chest constricts. Jordan’s confidence falters, but she still continues. “I’m sorry to hear that. Were you a single mom this whole time?”
Kim’s lips turn up into a proud smile. “I was. I did my best.”
“I don’t doubt that for a second, but I’m guessing this is the first time you could afford a vacation like this?”
Ryan’s jaw clenches, and Kim places her hand on his. Dad’s eyes widen before lowering with disapproval. Embarrassment and anxiety paint my chest pink.
Emma speaks first. “I think what Jordan is trying to say is that it must have been hard being a single mom. I was raised by one, too. The yearly budget rarely included lavish vacations.” She emphasizes her words with a chuckle, and Kim joins it.
“You got that right.” Her hand wraps around Ryan’s lovingly. “I worked hard to provide everything I could, but I can’t say luxury was a part of it.”
“You were—are—incredible, Mom. You gave me everything I could ask for,” Ryan tells her, planting a kiss on her temple.
“Thank you, darling,” she responds, smiling.
It’s a sweet, intimate moment between a mother and son, but Jordan’s glare burns through my skull.
I left her hanging. She opened the door to incriminating Kim as a gold digger, hoping to get Dad’s money, and instead of joining her, I choked.
That wasn’t part of the plan. I simply couldn’t, though.
Seeing Kim’s soft eyes crinkled with upset and Ryan’s need to protect her made me feel like absolute shit.
“How about we go lie in the sun on the deck upstairs?” Roger suggests to Kim.
She nods. They both make their way upstairs, but not before Dad pierces us with a warning glare.
An hour later, we’re approaching a small piece of land.
It consists only of sandy beaches and palm trees, and it looks like paradise.
I imagine myself sunbathing in the shallows, my hot, loving boyfriend bringing me a mimosa.
Then I remember: the love chapter is closed for me, I’m not into travel anymore, and my skin tone definitely doesn’t do sunbathing on tropical islands.
It’s why I spent the time on the back deck, scrolling mindlessly on my phone, instead of joining the others tanning in the front.
Emma and Jordan return to my hideout first. Jordan already sports a soft pink shade, sharing my skin tone, but she would rather get sunburnt than spend time away from her wife. I glare at them, just to show their love disgusts me. As if reading my mind, Jordan chuckles.
Emma digs through her bag, extracting a large, white shirt and forces Jordan into it.
The shirt is anything but flattering, like most UV shirts are, yet I find myself envying the protection from the merciless sun.
Emma slips her earth-toned dress over her head, revealing her daisy-print bathing suit.
The rest do the same, removing their clothes until they’re in their bathing gear.
My breath hitches in my throat when Ryan removes his polo.
His back is carved with muscles, ones I didn’t even know existed.
He folds his shirt carefully before placing it on the bench, and my mouth dries as I watch his traps strain under the simple motion.
Once he’s finally done, he turns, making me step back and stumble over my own two feet.
Luckily, I fall right onto the bench, instead of overboard, but the loud thud alerts everyone.
“Careful there, sweetie,” my dad tells me, and my cheeks heat.
Still, my eyes stay glued to the man in front of me, unable to look away. The toned pecs with more than a sparse dusting of chest hair, the defined abs, the two chiseled lines leading straight to…
He clears his throat, making my eyes snap up. His smirk is devilish, showing me he knows exactly where my eyes—and mind—have been.
“Come on, Paige. We’re all ready to disembark.” Dad hurries me.
Dread builds in my stomach, realizing I’m supposed to get undressed now.
With shaky fingers, I remove my hat, followed by my kaftan, closing my eyes for courage.
They snap open, noticing no one is paying attention to me, and I release a relieved breath.
Until my gaze catches on Ryan’s. There’s a tick visible in his jaw, a smolder in his gray eyes.
I lick my dry lips before swallowing, his jaw ticking again.
“This looks gorgeous,” Kim coos, snapping us out of the weird, charged funk.
I finally inhale a full breath, my lungs grateful for the oxygen, and make my way out of the boat.
Unlike before, when we were anchored in a harbor, we now exit directly into shallow waters.
The water just about reaches me mid-thigh, and the temperature is perfect.
I wiggle my toes to feel the soft sand underneath.
Present company excluded, this truly is a paradise.
Ryan dives in headfirst, before breaking the surface and shaking his hair as wet rivulets trickle down his chest.
I’m staring again. Shit.
I glance to my right, only to find Emma giggling at me. With a quiet scoff, I trudge through the water and onto the shore. An open leather chest waits for us on the beach.
Oh God, what did he plan for us today?
Anthony reaches the chest first, grabbing a piece of paper from inside with a smile that sends shivers up my spine.
“Welcome to the Simms-Owens First Annual Beach Games,” he says, and I barely suppress a groan. “You will be split into pairs and play three games to determine the winner.”
“Yeah, first and last year,” Jordan murmurs so only I hear, and I let out a snicker.
“What are the games?” Emma asks, her voice way too chipper for my taste.
“You will receive the instructions before the start of every game.”
My eyes roll. Talk about drama.
“For teams, I think it’s best if we keep our pairs,” Kim so unhelpfully suggests, batting her eyelashes at my smitten dad.
“Sounds great,” he agrees. A groan escapes me at the realization that I’m paired with Ryan.
“What does the winner get?” Jordan asks, and my ears perk up.
No matter how stupid the game is, both of us are going to do our best to win. Being twins, it’s in our blood. We’ve been competing since before we took our first breaths, and I’d be damned to let her win The Simms-Owens First Annual Beach Games.
“Bragging rights,” Dad states.
Truthfully, I don’t give a shit about the reward. I only want to win. Maybe that was Dad’s plan all along. Maybe he knew it was the perfect way to ensure his daughters’ complete devotion to his silly idea. But it doesn’t matter, since both Jordan and I have our game faces on already.