Chapter 17
The island heat hit us the second we stepped off the jet, thick and heavy, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It wrapped around us like a warm embrace, carrying the scent of salt air and something. Coco’s hand slipped into mine, and I let myself enjoy that simple connection.
“Oh my God,” she breathed, her eyes wide as she took in the crystal-clear water stretching endlessly in front of us. “Lesley, this is beautiful.”
Cameras flashed here and there—tourists, airport staff, people with nothing better to do—but to me, it was just us. Just her squeeze of excitement, her genuine smile. My job for the weekend was to ensure it never left.
The ride to the villa was short, our driver navigating winding roads lined with palm trees and glimpses of pristine beaches. Coco pressed her face to the window, pointing out everything from the colorful houses to the boats bobbing in the harbor.
“You act like you ain’t never seen water before,” I teased, but I loved seeing her like this. Unguarded. Happy.
“Not water like this,” she said, turning to me with sparkling eyes. “This looks like something from a postcard.”
The villa was everything I’d promised her and more.
White stone walls gleamed in the afternoon sun, floor-to-ceiling glass doors opened onto a terrace that looked straight out onto turquoise water so clear you could see the bottom.
A private infinity pool seemed to spill right into the ocean beyond, and palm trees swayed gently in the breeze.
“Lesley,” Coco whispered, stepping out of the car and turning in a slow circle. “This is...”
“Home for the week,” I finished, pulling our bags from the trunk. The staff had already taken the heavier luggage inside.
Pops and Karyn were staying in the villa next door—close enough for family time, far enough for privacy. From where we stood on our terrace, the world had narrowed down to just the two of us.
Coco walked to the edge of the pool, her cream linen dress floating around her legs as she kicked off her sandals and dipped her toes in the water.
The late afternoon sun caught her profile, and I had to stop and watch her for a moment.
This was what peace looked like on her face.
This was what I wanted to give her every day for the rest of our lives.
“The water’s perfect,” she called over her shoulder. “Come feel this.”
I set down the bags and joined her, rolling up my pants to step into the shallow end. The water was warm. I could see tiny fish darting around our feet through the clear surface.
“You did good, husband,” she said softly, wrapping her arms around my waist.
“We ain’t even been here an hour yet,” I laughed, but I pulled her closer anyway.
“I can already tell. I feel different here. I can actually breathe.” She leaned back to look at me. “Thank you for bringing me somewhere this beautiful.”
Before I could respond, she was kissing me, soft and sweet. Moaning promises in my mouth, I intended to make her keep. When we broke apart, she rested her forehead against mine.
“So what’s the plan, Mr. Grimson? How are we spending our first day in paradise?”
I looked out at the endless blue water, then back at the woman in my arms, and made a decision that had nothing to do with business or obligations or anything except the two of us.
“However you want, Mrs. Grimson. This week is all about you.”
Her smile was radiant, and for the first time in months, I felt the weight on my shoulders start to lift. Whatever else this trip would bring, right now it was just us, the sun, and all the time in the world.
The second morning in Turks and Caicos was easy in a way I wasn’t used to. No calls buzzing my phone, no knocks at the door, no problems that needed me right then. Just the ocean stretching vast and endless, waves breaking against white sand.
Coco was already outside when I woke up, dress catching the breeze, bare feet buried in the sand. She had her hands on her hips, looking out at the horizon like she was planning a whole event on it. That was her, always noticing the details, already sketching beauty in her head.
“You look like you about to host somebody’s bougie ass wedding out here,” I called, stepping off the patio.
She turned, laughing, eyes squinting in the sun. “Don’t tempt me. All I need is a few string lights, some champagne flutes, and this ocean? Done.”
“You trying to outdo me on my own trip?”
“Not trying,” she teased, brushing past me, “just succeeding.”
The day unfolded like a dream. Coco stretched out on a lounge chair with her wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses, book in hand, occasionally glancing up to watch me swim laps in the infinity pool.
The sun caught the gold in her skin, and every time she turned a page, I found myself losing count of my strokes.
“You’re going to wear a hole in that lounge chair staring at me like that,” she called out without looking up from her book, a smile playing at her lips.
“Worth it,” I called back, pulling myself out of the pool and grabbing a towel. “What you reading anyway?”
She held up the cover, allowing me to see the burnt orange book.
“A Taste of Grace by Monica Cox,” she said with a grin that told me she was up to something.
We swam that afternoon, the water warm and clear, sunlight glinting off her skin.
She tried to dunk me, and I let her think she had a chance until I flipped us both, dragging her under with me.
When she came up sputtering and laughing, hair plastered to her cheeks, I realized no one else in this world would ever see me like this.
She got the soft, the silly, the parts of me that weren’t meant for the streets.
My father spent the afternoon on the terrace, puffing cigars with a couple of locals he’d somehow befriended within hours of arriving.
Their laughter carried on the breeze while Karyn flitted between the villa and the boutique strip, coming back with bags full of sarongs and jewelry, “oohing” and “ahhing” over every little trinket like she’d discovered buried treasure.
The afternoon stretched lazily and perfectly.
We shared fresh conch fritters and cold beer, watched the water change colors as the sun slid across the sky.
Later, stretched out on the loungers by the pool, she fed me pieces of fruit from a plate between us.
Pineapple, mango, whatever the staff had brought up.
She acted like she wasn’t watching me, but her eyes kept drifting down, catching every reaction.
I acted like I didn’t care, like it was just food, but the way her thumb brushed my bottom lip every time? She knew exactly what she was doing.
Coco dozed off in the shade while I handled a few calls, keeping my voice low so I wouldn’t wake her.
Even business felt different here—less urgent, more manageable.
Out here, she wasn’t just fitting into the backdrop.
She was rewriting it. The ocean could crash, the palm trees could sway, but she was the view.
And sitting there watching her, I couldn’t shake the thought that paradise didn’t make her glow. She made paradise look better.
By the time the sun dipped low, painting the sky pink and gold, the laughing and splashing had quieted into closeness.
We moved inside to get ready for dinner, the villa carrying us naturally from room to room, marble counters and soft lighting doing what Turks did to everybody — made the whole world feel far away.
At night, we found our rhythm. The sound of the ocean crashing outside the villa while she let me slowly undress her, taking my time with each button, each strap. The way she laughed when I told her I planned to worship every inch of her before the night was over.
“You’re insatiable,” she whispered against my ear, but there was no complaint in her voice.
“Only for you,” I murmured back, and meant every word.
Later, as we lay tangled in sheets that smelled like sea air and her perfume, I traced patterns across her bare shoulder, letting the silence stretch.
“This is nice,” she said softly. “Having you all to myself. No business calls, no emergencies, just us.”
“Get used to it,” I said, pressing a kiss to her temple. “As a matter of fact, I’m thinking we make this a tradition.”
She lifted her head to look at me, eyes bright even in the dim moonlight. “Tradition? You planning to keep me around that long?”
“You stuck with me. Forever. That’s not a plan, that’s just what it is.”
The words landed heavier than I meant, but I didn’t take them back. Couldn’t. And when she smiled and leaned into me, I knew she heard me for what it was, a promise. Not a deal, not an arrangement. Us.