Chapter 3
JULIANA
She couldn’t believe she’d climbed into the back of a produce truck with a stranger. The wooden slats had dug into her back, and her clothes still smelled faintly like pineapple. But the breeze had felt good. Freeing, even. And Gideon—infuriatingly casual, maddeningly unbothered—was growing on her.
Like mildew.
This wasn’t like her. She didn’t do impulsive. She planned, executed, controlled. But for a few stolen minutes, rattling down a coastal road with no seat belts and no schedule, she’d almost felt like someone else. Someone carefree.
Someone possibly concussed.
Perhaps she’d been body snatched. Juliana Emerson would never grab an impromptu ride from a produce farmer from the airport. Yet, here she was, climbing down from the truck bed with a hand from a ridiculously handsome stranger. One who was apparently staying at the same resort she was.
As the open-air lobby came into view, she squared her shoulders and lengthened her stride, clutching her leather folder like a shield. She felt Gideon following, his stride slower and casual.
The resort staff met them with cool towels and fruit juice in hollowed coconuts.
Gideon accepted his with a grateful grin and a dramatic “Māuruuru,” after he consulted a pocket dictionary.
His efforts earned him a few chuckles from the staff as they corrected his pronunciation of the Tahitian word for thank you.
Juliana managed a polite smile as he charmed the staff, but she was already scanning for the front desk.
She stepped up, folder in hand, and gave her confirmation email to the woman behind the counter.
The receptionist tapped the keyboard, her smile unwavering. “Ah yes, Mr. Leo Anderson and Mrs. Juliana Emerson. Welcome to Tealua Shores.” Her eyes flicked to the screen. “I see you’ve booked the Deluxe Honeymoon Retreat package. You’re in one of our private bungalows, right on the beach.”
Juliana’s stomach twisted. She nodded once. “Correct.”
The receptionist didn’t falter. “You’re all set. We have your Sacred Union Experience still scheduled for tomorrow at four p.m. The officiant will meet you at the ceremonial grove and escort you to the altar. Leis, ceremonial blessing, certificate . . . It’s all confirmed.”
Juliana’s throat felt dry. She could feel Gideon’s gaze slide toward her, curious, maybe amused. She hated how warm her cheeks suddenly grew.
“I—yes. That’s fine,” she said quickly, sliding the folder back into her bag. “I didn’t cancel it.” It would be rude to cancel it now.
A beat of awkward silence stretched between them. Behind her, Gideon cleared his throat—whether to fill the pause or to stifle a laugh, she couldn’t tell.
The receptionist brightened. “Wonderful! Most couples say it’s the highlight of their trip.”
Juliana forced a smile, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. Most couples. Of course.
Gideon stepped up next to her. “Checking in for Gideon Reynolds.”
“Welcome to Tealua Haven,” the receptionist said, typing rapidly, and hiding her surprise that Gideon was not, in fact, Leo Anderson.
Juliana glanced sideways at him, half surprised that a man like him had even made a reservation. He didn’t exactly scream planner.
The woman’s fingers paused over the keyboard, and she looked up, brow furrowed. “Hmm. I’m very sorry, Mr. Reynolds, but it says here your reservation is at our resort on Tealua Nui, the sister island. There is no bungalow reserved for you here.”
Juliana’s eyes widened.
Gideon chuckled softly. “Well, that’s what I get for skimming the website.”
Juliana bit her lip to keep from smiling. Watching him take the news so lightly—so confidently—made her heart beat a little faster. This kind of mix-up would have sent her into a panic.
“Unfortunately, we’re fully booked tonight. No extra rooms available. You might find a charter boat to take you to Tealua Nui tomorrow morning, but they have all left for the day.”
Gideon raised an eyebrow but didn’t seem fazed. “Looks like I’ll be making friends with the beach chairs.”
Juliana’s heart squeezed. She glanced at him, debating. On impulse, she cleared her throat. “You can stay with me.”
Gideon blinked. “Are you sure? I don’t mind roughing it.”
She shrugged, trying to sound casual. The bungalow had a full private bedroom and two bathrooms. “It’s big enough. And, well . . . it’s better than wandering around trying to find another place at the last minute.”
The receptionist gave a big smile. “That’s very kind.”
Gideon looked back at Juliana, gratitude and surprise shining in his eyes. “Thank you.”
Juliana forced a small smile, feeling the strange mix of relief and awkwardness settle over her. Somehow, this impromptu arrangement felt both risky and oddly comforting.
Gideon fell into step beside her as a bellhop motioned them toward the golf cart waiting to take her to her bungalow.
“You don’t have to say it,” she muttered under her breath.
“Say what?” he asked, all innocence.
“That I look completely ridiculous checking into a honeymoon suite with a plus-one I picked up at the airport snack bar.”
He let out a low whistle, then shrugged. “Well, this isn’t the first time I’ve been called a snack.”
The laughter escaped before she could bite it back. It felt strange, the sound and feeling unfamiliar. When was the last time she’d laughed like this? She’d been stressed about the wedding for months, but had she really been so miserable?
By the time they reached the bungalow, the sun was dipping toward the water, casting long shadows over the path. The space was every bit the luxury she’d booked—private plunge pool, flower-strewn bed, folded towels in the shape of swans.
Juliana cringed.
Gideon chuckled. “Subtle.”
She gestured toward the bedroom. “You can have the couch in the living room. It pulls out.”
He nodded, genuinely unfazed. “Perfect. I don’t require swans.”
She shut herself in the bathroom longer than necessary, trying to regain her balance. But when she finally stepped outside again, she found Gideon barefoot on the patio, two bottles of sparkling water in hand, a lopsided grin on his face.
“After some prompting, the bellhop told me there’s a night market near the beach,” he said. “Live music. Grilled things on sticks. Want to go?”
She hesitated. Her itinerary said she had dinner at the resort’s fine dining terrace at precisely 7:00.
“I already have plans,” she said, but even to her own ears, it sounded weak.
Gideon waggled his eyebrows. “Come on. Fried coconut shrimp and a man in a grass skirt playing the ukulele. That’s got to be on someone’s bucket list.”
“I don’t have a bucket list,” she replied tightly. She had a schedule—very different.
“Then it’s time you started one.” He offered her a bottle. “You’ve already checked off hitch a ride in a pineapple truck. You’re halfway there.”
Against her better judgment—and maybe because the look in his eyes made it impossible to say no—she found herself nodding.
The night was warm and alive, full of torches and drums, and smells that made her mouth water.
Gideon convinced her to try something sweet and spicy wrapped in banana leaves, then a dessert she couldn’t pronounce, and somewhere between the second food stall and the dancing circle, she realized she wasn’t thinking about Leo at all.
She let herself laugh. Once. Then twice. And she was still smiling when she fell asleep.
So obviously, the next morning, she tried to return to normal.
Juliana stood on the porch with her planner and folder, determined to realign herself with order. She had breakfast scheduled at the resort café, followed by a tour of the orchid conservatory and then a thirty-minute swim. Structured. Predictable. No surprises. No pineapple trucks.
Gideon walked out of the bungalow in swim trunks and a backward baseball hat, sipping from a coconut. How had he already found a fancy drink? Did they deliver them to each bungalow at sunrise?
“What are you doing today?” She couldn’t fight her curiosity when it came to him.
“See if I can get a boat to the other island. If not . . . snorkeling,” he said, absently. “Possibly windsurfing. Not sure yet. I definitely want to do the animal encounter at the marina. Want to join me?”
“I have plans,” she said firmly, trying to sound like the responsible adult she was pretending to be.
He tilted his head. “So do I. Mine involves sea turtles.”
“Mine involve an educational tour of the botanical garden.”
“Oof.” He winced. “That sounds . . . deeply un-fun.”
“It’s relaxing.”
“It’s a guided walk through plants,” he said wryly.
She gave him a look.
He grinned. “Come on. You don’t want to sit still today. You want to live a little.”
“I’m fine with the scale of my living, thank you.”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “That’s like salad-bar living. Everybody wants the dessert cart.”
Despite herself, she laughed. She hated that he made her laugh so easily. He gave up trying to convince her and they split up after breakfast.
They said a tentative good-bye in case he was able to get a boat ride. She stubbornly followed her itinerary but couldn’t stop wondering what Gideon was doing or if he had left. The thought gave her an unexpected twinge of disappointment.
By lunch, she found herself lingering by the beachside showers after her scheduled swim. When she spotted him helping a kid fix a tangled flipper strap and laughing with the locals, her chest squeezed. She quickly moved on to the next line of her itinerary—reading in a lounge chair by the pool.
Later, she found Gideon on the porch, towel slung around his neck, curls damp and sun-kissed. He was staring at his phone, brows drawn in concentration.
Juliana had been stalling. Folding laundry that didn’t need folding. Rechecking her planner. Avoiding the one event that had loomed in the back of her mind all day like a shadow at the edge of the beach.
The ceremony.
“Any luck getting a boat?” she asked, her voice more casual than she felt.
He looked up, shook his head once. “Nope. Storm’s rolling in north of here. All the charter companies are grounded until it clears.”
So he wasn’t going anywhere.
She nodded, unsure if she felt relieved or trapped. Probably both.
Her fingers hovered over the leather folder sitting on the porch table. The itinerary was still tucked inside, neat and crisp, just like everything else she'd planned months ago—before Leo had changed everything with a single, cowardly video.
She'd nearly canceled the Sacred Union Experience. But something inside her—a stubborn, silent protest—refused. She had booked this. She had planned this. And she was not letting Leo’s absence write the story of her life.
Completing the ceremony felt important. She made plans and followed through with them. That wasn’t going to change.
She cleared her throat, eyes still fixed on the folder. “Well, if you’re here anyway . . .”
Gideon raised a brow.
She hesitated. Was she really doing this?
“I need you to come with me,” she said, too fast. Then slower, more measured. “To a cultural ceremony thing. It’s scheduled for five o’clock and it’s intended for two people.”
He didn’t say anything, just watched her with that unreadable expression of his.
“It’s symbolic,” she added quickly. “Cultural. Nothing binding. Just . . . a box I need to check.”
Gideon’s brow furrowed, just slightly. “You sure?”
She straightened her shoulders. “Of course. It’s just a tradition. Part of the package.”
He studied her for a long moment, then gave that broad, almost mischievous smile she was starting to recognize. “Then I’m in.”
The ceremonial grove smelled like hibiscus and earthy soil.
Juliana stood barefoot in the soft dirt beneath a cluster of tall palms, her hands folded tightly in front of her. The air was thick with humidity, laced with something floral and sweet. Birds chirped in the branches above, the sound oddly cheerful given the twist in her stomach.
The officiant approached—a local elder in ceremonial robes, his weathered face kind and unreadable.
He greeted them with a gentle nod and a few words in the island dialect before switching seamlessly to English.
“Welcome,” he said, placing a carved pendant around each of their necks.
“This ceremony honors union, blessing, and beginnings. We walk slowly, so the soul can catch up to the heart.”
Juliana swallowed hard. It’s just a cultural experience. Just a box to check, she reminded herself for the hundredth time.
Gideon stood beside her, quiet for once. His usual smirk had softened into something unreadable—attentive, maybe even reverent. She hated how comforting his presence felt. She said a quick prayer of thanks that she hadn’t been forced to show up to the ceremony alone.
The officiant motioned for them to follow, and they did, walking in silence down a narrow, flower-strewn path that opened gradually toward the sea.
Aisle markers of conch shells and woven palm leaves framed the walk ahead. The altar itself stood in the sand, draped in white linen and fresh orchids, the ocean stretching endlessly behind it.
Juliana’s chest tightened. She’d imagined this moment once—Leo waiting with her at the end of the aisle, both of them laughing softly at the ceremony’s pageantry, enjoying the beauty of the place and the symbolism of starting a life together.
That future had cracked like glass beneath her feet. And yet here she was. Still walking. Still standing.
The officiant began speaking in a low, rhythmic voice. Juliana focused on her breathing. On the warmth of the sun. On the way Gideon’s fingers brushed hers lightly as he accepted a lei from the woven basket between them.
She looked up, startled, but he was watching the officiant now, respectful and still.
This wasn’t real. And yet—it felt real.