Chapter 19
Silvie
Cal and I are surprisingly both early birds.
I learned that he doesn’t always close the bar.
He’s more of an opener. And the night he met me at the bar, he was there by chance.
Something he said he’s grateful for. We both got up and went about our usual morning routines.
I did yoga with Summer on the beach, and he went and surfed until I was done. He picked me up on the way home.
And now he’s off having his weekly fishing date with Jonah, and I’m setting up shop in his kitchen to work.
Morning light spills across his wooden table in warm stripes, the ocean humming outside, waves splashing steadily in the distance.
Cal’s kitchen is cozy and quiet in the best way possible.
I open my laptop and pull out my notebook and pen, my water bottle full and ready beside me.
It’s time to get to work. Face the music.
I’m halfway through my emails when there’s a knock at the front door. I open it to find Wilby standing there with two coffees and his laptop bag slung over his shoulder like he’s ready to work.
“Hey,” he says. “You working?”
I step aside and hold the door. “I am.”
He hands me one of the cups. “I found the good coffee.”
I grin. “Best friend ever. Get in here.”
Wilby scans the room, takes in my setup, and joins me at the table. He pulls out a chair, and his movements are efficient. I’m reminded of why he’s my right-hand man.
“I’m surprised you aren’t working from the bar with him,” he says casually. “You two are awfully inseparable these days.”
I shrug and take a sip of coffee. “He’s fishing with Jonah this morning.”
Wilby’s eyebrows lift slightly. “You two are so domestic. It’s adorable.”
“Yeah. He has his routine, and I have mine,” I say. “Plus, we have work to do.”
Wilby’s mouth curves into a knowing smile. “I have already been on calls this morning with our team back home.”
My stomach tightens a bit. “I’m guessing there’s a lot being said.”
Wilby nods. “Oh, they all know. And we definitely beat Tyler and Belladonna to the altar. You got this fair and square.”
I blink and scan through more emails. “Oh. Fun.”
Wilby leans forward in his chair. “My intel from back at the office tells me that people are secretly celebrating that you’ll be taking over. And others...not so much.”
I snort. “Shocking. Well, I’d love to know who is not celebrating.”
“Oh, it’s an entire shitshow back there,” he continues. “They’re scrambling for breadcrumbs of information.”
My lips curve into a smile. “Which you have.”
He grins. “Which I have carefully curated to release per your permission.”
I sit up straighter. “Let’s see it.”
Wilby turns his laptop for me and clicks a few keys.
A folder opens, and thumbnails fill the screen.
They are carefully curated photos, it seems, meant to prove that we are, in fact, a real couple.
There’s just one problem. They don’t look fake at all.
In fact, in each photo Wilby captured, we experience real emotions and real-life moments. There’s nothing fake about it.
My breath catches. Because they’re beautiful. We’re beautiful. We’re a real-life looking couple. The way I gaze into Cal’s eyes and the way he holds me? It’s real. At least it feels real to me. And these are intimate and real-life photos.
Now they suddenly feel very, very personal.
“I don’t want to share these,” I say quietly.
Wilby’s grin fades. “What? Why?”
I swallow, and my throat feels tight. “I don’t want to share Cal. Or anyone here.”
The words feel so vulnerable as they leave my mouth, but I mean every word.
Wilby studies me for a long moment, something softer replacing his usual sharper edge.
“Silverlyn,” he says gently. “This was the plan.”
I look down at my lap. At my fake wedding ring, catching the light. At the normalcy of sitting and working at Cal’s table, waiting for him to come home from fishing so I can make us lunch.
I think about how he joked I could fry up his catch, and I told him that I wasn’t cutting up dead fish, and he laughed.
Our life here on Coconut Beach doesn’t feel fake. It’s starting to feel very real, and that’s scaring me.
“I know,” I say.
For the first time since this began, the cost of it all hits me full force. The cost to Cal and the people I’m growing to love very much here. The people who have shown up for me in ways that some of my real family never would.
I don’t want to share this. But I know I have to. Otherwise, I’ll lose it all. But is it really worth saving? Because right now if I just lived in Coconut Beach, would that be enough? Surely, I could find a job somewhere? Something remote even? I don’t even care about the money at this point.
The next morning, Cal and I wake up tangled together. Literally. My leg is thrown over him, my arm draped across his chest, and I’m pretty sure I drooled on him. Gross.
The sheets are twisted around us, the room washed in early morning bluish light, and my brain finally catches up.
I had the most vivid sex dream about Cal. It’s unfair that the intense level of hotness that happened in this dream. A dream where Cal’s hands were everywhere on me. His mouth was slow and devastating as he devoured me. And in the dream, no one was pretending anything. It felt so very real.
I shift and realize Cal is already awake.
“We need to talk.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say as I mentally cringe. He must think I’m such a weirdo.
He puts his arm around me. “I think if I keep sleeping with you like this, I’m going to explode. You’re making me crazy, Silvie.”
My body reacts before my brain can fully intervene. Well, that escalated quickly. I want Cal so bad. And I wasn’t sure if he wanted me. Or was just being a nice guy.
His hand tightens at my waist, fingers holding me like he’s grounding himself.
I lift my head to look at him. His hair is a mess, his eyes are dark, and his jaw is tight.
There’s absolutely no mistaking what is happening between us right now.
His body is solid and hot and very aware of mine. He wants me, I want him.
We stare at each other for a moment too long.
“I’m an idiot.” I scramble to try to get off of him, limbs suddenly everywhere, mortification flooding me. “I will take your couch from now on. I can sleep on the couch forever. You know what? I’ll sleep on a hammock outside with Iggy. I’ll build a pillow fort. I’ll exile myself.”
“Silvie.”
I keep going. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Silvie.”
“I will never touch you ever again,” I promise.
He sits up suddenly. “You’re not sleeping on the couch, in a pillow fort, or outside. Or anywhere else.”
I sigh. “I can’t be trusted. What do we do?”
“We bang each other senseless,” he says in a teasing voice that doesn’t feel like teasing.
My jaw drops. Then I close it. “You think that’s the solution?”
“It absolutely is.”
“No.”
“Fine, if that’s what you want.” He smirks.
“I don’t want to make this weird.” I shake my head. “It’s already so weird, isn’t it?”
His gaze softens. “Whatever this is? I like it. I like you.”
I open my mouth to argue again, and that’s when he stands up. One second, we’re at eye level, and the next, his hands are on my hips, and he lifts me clean off the floor and onto him like I weigh nothing.
I gasp, instinctively wrapping my legs around him.
“Cal,” I breathe.
His jaw tightens. “I want you so bad, Silvie. And I think you want me too. Why are you running from this?”
“I’m not running,” I lie.
“Yeah, you are.”
I grab his shoulders. “Put me down.”
“No.”
He carries me a few steps and then presses me up against the wall. I feel his hard cock against me, and I practically pant. His hands are firm on the backs of my thighs, grounding, not rough, but greedy.
“It’s okay to want this.”
My breath hitches. “I didn’t say I wanted this.”
His eyes drop to my mouth. “Yeah, you did.”
My pulse races. “This is not a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because...” I drift off. Why isn’t this a good idea? Why can’t I have sex with my husband? Greedy, hard, nice, hot sex with my hot husband?
His mouth drops to my neck, and he kisses it, slowly, sensually making his way down to my collarbone.
I shake my head, trying to think of a reason. “Cal.”
He looks up and kisses me, taking his time, holding me firmly, showing me what I could have if I knocked down these stupid walls that already feel like they’re crumbling around me.
I kiss him back before I can stop myself. I put my hands in his hair, pull him down to me, and moan into his mouth.
“I will make you feel so fucking good, Silvie,” he whispers into my mouth.
Holy shit. This is not a dream. This is happening.
His forehead rests against mine, his breath still uneven. “You want me?”
I nod, dazed. “Yeah.”
“Tell me right now if you don’t,” he demands.
“I do.”
He brushes his thumb along my jaw, gentler now.
“You always take care of me,” I moan. “You feed me, hold me... Why are you so good to me?”
“Baby.” He stops for a second, his eyes darkening. “If a man doesn’t check to see if you’ve eaten or need to be eaten? He’s not taking care of you.”
And just like that, my panties are soaked. Holy shit. I am so fucked. Literally. Hopefully.
“You’re making this very hard.” I moan.
He huffs a laugh. “Trust me, you’re the one making this very hard.”
His phone starts going off and he reaches to silence it. When he sees the text messages, though, he pauses. “Shit. There’s a problem at the bar. I gotta go down there. I will be right back,” he promises.
I sigh, thinking of how close we just came to having sex. And that’s my luck. He quickly changes and grabs his keys. “Be right back,” he says as he kisses me softly, then pulls the door closed behind him.
I quickly shower and get ready, putting on a sundress and thinking about what I need to get done today. I’m sure Wilby will have a list for me.
And suddenly there’s a loud knock on the front door. A banging knock. Not like a friendly Wilby knock or a Birdie “yoo-hoo.”
I freeze and frown.
And then another knock, even louder this time. Geez.
I look out and holy shit. It’s my father.
Deep breath. This isn’t going to be pretty.
I open the door, and Dad stands there in his aviator sunglasses in a button-down shirt, jaw tight, nostrils flared. He looks past me and scans the inside of the house.
“Where is he?” he demands.
I stare him down. “Excuse me?”
“Your husband,” he bites out, looking murderous. “Where is he?”
I step out onto the small front porch. “No,” I say calmly. “You’re not talking to me like this.”
His mouth tightens, and he opens it to speak.
“Stop,” I say, sharper now as I hold up my hand. “You don’t get to barge into my life and interrogate me like I’m some little child.”
We have a silent standoff where he glowers at me and I glower right back. When Dad gets stressed, he acts like a prick. We’ve had our fair share of battles at work. This one is a little more complicated, but one we can navigate through, nonetheless.
“You’re behaving like a little child,” he says, gritting his teeth. “You think your little stunt doesn’t affect anyone but you?”
I laugh once, and it’s short and humorless. “You’re out of line.”
That catches him off guard.
“You’re embarrassing the family. Marrying a bartender. Some random stranger,” he growls.
“Careful,” I say cautiously. “You’re starting to sound like Mom. Like a royal bitch.”
“Guess you think you’re running things now, do you?” he challenges.
“I know one thing I’m running, and it’s my own life. You or anyone else do not get a say about my life and what I do,” I say evenly.
His face darkens. For a flicker of a second, I see a flash of uncertainty. Guilt. There’s hope for him yet.
“Go back to your hotel,” I say, pointing in the general direction of town. “Get your shit together. And call me when you’re calm.”
He glares. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“I absolutely do,” I say, “because I won’t be spoken to like that.”
The silence stretches between us, and he turns sharply and walks toward his car. He yanks open the door, slams it shut, and peels away from the curb.
I stare until he’s gone.
Then I look over and see Wilby staring at me from the front yard. He must have come over from Birdie’s when he heard the commotion.
“That was,” he says slowly, “so scary.”
Maybe for Wilby. Not for me. My father can be a hothead, but he’s still my dad. We’ve come to blows over many things in the past and always came through to the other side together.
“He’s going to stay at his hotel until he can speak nicely,” I tell him.
I exhale, the adrenaline, finally letting down.
“Damn,” Wilby adds. “I almost peed myself. I can’t believe he came here.”
“There’s going to be a board meeting,” I say to Wilby. “Set it up.”
Wilby sighs. “I’m on it.”
“It’ll be a quick trip. We’ll take the jet with Dad.”
He winces. “I’d rather sit on a commercial flight. In the back, like a peasant next to the bathroom. And a woman holding a crying baby.”
Sometimes he’s so dramatic and silly.
I tilt my head. “I think it’s time to get down to business. And let my dad and others know who is in charge here.”
He taps away on his phone and then smirks at me. “Board meeting is scheduled. They’re all going to lose it.”
Yeah. New York is going to be interesting.