Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
LEXI
My phone vibrates with a message. Tessa. Finally. I swipe it open.
Tessa
Best New Year’s ever.
I smile and reply.
Me
I got worried. No word from you in like years!
She types, and I spot Tristan coming back from taking a shower in the airport lounge’s facilities.
He’s dressed in a white shirt, a pair of cropped chinos, and brown boat shoes, with a dark blue sweater tossed over his shoulder.
He looks like a preppy yacht boy—like the type who would stay at St Chalamet.
Tessa
Where are you now?
Tessa’s message drags my gaze away from Tristan.
ME
Business class lounge in Heathrow. It’s chef’s kiss. Only one more long haul and then we’re almost there.
Tessa
How’re you feeling about the job?
My fingers hover above my phone. Honestly? Nervous as all shit and somewhat exhilarated and excited and crazy.
Tristan sinks into the chair next to mine with a smile.
“You should grab a shower. The bathrooms are spotless.” He leans closer, sending a waft of intoxicating clean man in my direction, and whispers conspiratorially, “For all you know, this is the last good shower you’re going to have for a while. ”
“You’re probably right.” I check the time on my phone.
Maybe I should take his advice. After all, half of our Beaumont training was about how to manage, troubleshoot, and make do in case there’s a malfunction of the high-tech green solutions on the island, from the solar panels to the water desalination plant and septic tank systems. Scientifically, I’ve now gone places I’d never been before.
Tristan breezed through those. But science of any sort has never been my thing.
Who knows what the shower water is like on Ne’emba?
I reply to Tessa’s last message about how I’m feeling.
Me
Nervous.
For all the right reasons and possibly for a few new ones that hadn’t been on my radar when we made a play for this gig.
I mean, what was I thinking that day in Tristan’s room with Mom?
Touching him like I did while she was watching his latest edits.
I need to keep myself in check. Tristan is hot, but he’s Tristan.
It’s just that after seeing the magnitude and importance of his project, I realized failure wasn’t an option and I couldn’t be the reason he didn’t spend time on Ne’emba Island.
I was moved by the work he’s doing. I meant what I said about it being important.
So I’ve since been turning a blind eye to my small moral conundrum, ignoring any inner voices that whisper to me that, just like Dad, I’m a fool to think I’ll get away with this.
“We still have another hour before we board,” Tristan says as he swipes away on his phone. “Can I get you anything?”
A bout of amnesia? Covering the last month and the next three to come? I clear my throat and glance at the small plate of snacks and half a flute of Prosecco still on standby. “I’m good. I’ll go shower in a minute.”
“Mind if I go shop quickly?” he asks.
“No, go for it. For all you know it’s the last good shopping you’re going to get in for a while.”
He chuckles as he gets up and gathers his things. “I’ll meet you back here.”
“Sure.”
Tristan walks off with his carry-on luggage in tow, and I’m glad I don’t need to keep watch over any of his things.
It’s as if his life-support system is in that bag—his Mac laptop and some of his most expensive camera equipment made the carry-on cut.
As for his scuba diving and oceanography stuff, the packing was interesting.
Luckily, we’re flying business class and have a larger weight allowance, but he still had to pay for overweight baggage.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I glance down at the screen.
Tessa
Why are you nervous? You’ve come this far; you should let all those feelings of being a fraud and faking it go. Hell, most people are faking something nowadays.
Yes, I’ve come this far, but I’m nervous because I can’t ignore the very real feeling in my stomach I get whenever Tristan looks at me.
Since that day in his room—no, let’s be honest here, since that morning I walked in on him in the bathroom—it’s like something old has been stirring, waking up slowly.
Tessa
Is it the fake engagement still eating you? Or is it the man himself?
My gaze finds Tristan as he makes his way to the business lounge’s exit.
Damn. That ass. Faking anything will always eat at me, even faking a smile for guests.
But Tristan nibbling me? I’d take that any day.
The mere idea sparks a trail of pleasure down my spine.
He’s been nothing but a gentleman and incredibly sweet in his efforts to nail his training.
We’re a team and in this together. Problem is, I’ve always been a sucker for tall, dark, and handsome guys.
And Tristan was the first, the prototype on which all my other romantic expectations were built.
My teenage infatuation never came to anything—pretty much the opposite of that—so it’s a bit much to realize that, five years on, I have the same nervous flutter in my stomach when Tristan looks my way.
I have miles on me now and should know better than to let that intense gaze and sincere smile, that six-pack and pair of pecs turn me into a pile of mush.
Never mind his arms and hands… Ugh. As long as we don’t touch, I can keep myself in check.
But on the last flight, I fell asleep with my head on his shoulder.
Bad start to a business that’s already tainted.
Me
Nothing’s eating at me. I need to get there already. We get along and won’t be in each other’s way much. We don’t have time off during the contract. It’s full-on for twelve weeks. I have no clue how booked the hotel is. Maybe there’ll be a night or two with no guests. I hope so!
Tessa
Keep your eye on the goal, bestie, and you won’t cock up.
Wise words. What Tessa means by “cock up” is left open, though, and I can’t let my imagination go there.
With a sigh I text that I’m off to have a shower.
Then I head for the private bathrooms and sign in with the hostess.
Half an hour later, I’m done and feel ready for the next leg of our trip.
As I return to the lounge, I spot Tristan.
He’s sitting in another set of twin seats, in the vicinity of where we sat before.
“You were right,” I say as I park my bag next to his. “Best shower ever.” I’ve never traveled in style like this before, but Tristan has for sure.
As I sit down, I glance at the two fresh glasses of Prosecco on the small circular table between the two seats. “Is one for me?”
“Yes.” His eyes bore into to mine, but then he looks away, sweeping his gaze over the room. A smile hovers on his lips. “I have something for you.” This time he pins me with those warm brown eyes I could practically melt into, leans forward, and takes my hand.
“What?” My gut tells me something is about to happen that I’m not prepared for. And didn’t I just decide things would be easier if Tristan didn’t touch me, and I didn’t touch him?
He slips his free hand into his pants pocket, pulls out a small, robin’s-egg blue box, and flicks it open with his thumb. “We still have time to change it if the size isn’t right.” He drags his teeth over his bottom lip. “Or if you totally hate it, of course.”
I tense as a hot blush spreads like wildfire over my face. My heart is all over the place, but mostly it’s hammering in my throat. “What did you buy?”
But I already know what he bought. He holds out the open box and a small but dazzling solitaire sparkles up at me.
An engagement ring. Holy Mother of God and all the saints in a row.
“I know we’re doing this for the show, and after the time at Ne’emba we’ll go our separate ways, but I don’t want you to feel—” He breaks off and blinks, looking shy.
Our hands quiver. “Lexi, I know we never plan to say vows or anything, and I’m the last guy to put a ring on a woman’s finger, but I can’t go in pretending without you having this. ”
Oh my God. “I…” Words are trapped in my throat, unable to get past the rapid beating of my heart.
He brushes the pad of his thumb over my knuckles, and the tender touch makes my knees go weak as he waits for me to say something.
“The ring isn’t a fake,” he says softly.
“I know how you feel about doing this, and getting you a real ring is the least I can do.” He gives a deprecating chuckle as his gaze jumps between my eyes and our hands.
“Crap. This could make you feel worse, not better. I seem to be good at doing that…” When I still say nothing, he lets go of my hand and takes the ring out of its box.
“Here, let’s at least check it for size. ”
The moment is surreal. Tristan’s skin is warm and rough against mine. He slips the ring on my finger, and a rather sensual tingle spreads through my body. Because his touch is intimate—slow and deliberate.
“There.” He releases my hand, and suddenly my palms are all sweaty.
“You shouldn’t have,” I finally manage as I meet his gaze. “At the airport, of all places.”
“I didn’t have time before, and it bugged me. This is our last chance.” He smiles. “Do you like it?”
What a question. This is no ordinary engagement ring. It’s a Tiffany. “You’re crazy,” I murmur. “But God, I love your type of crazy.”
He laughs. “You like it then.”
“I love it.” I touch the ring and feel it for fit, and it sits just right, as if he knows my fingers, my hand, my body. “It’s perfect.”
“Good.” He reaches for the glasses of Prosecco and hands me one. “To us.”
I raise my glass and return his toast as I scramble for words that will make me sound unaffected. “To our partnership and mutual success.”
We sip, and the bubbles burn as soon as they hit my tongue.
I choke up and barely manage to swallow.
Tristan caught me off guard. This engagement ring is the most unexpected and romantic gesture ever, and in the same breath, it is possibly the most unromantic engagement moment ever—not that he popped the question or went down on one knee, but that goes without saying.
I herd my scattered thoughts and rogue emotions into a corner and glance down at the ring as it catches the light and sparkles.
This must have cost him a fortune. Who the hell shops for engagement rings at the airport terminal?
Now I know who. “This must have been seriously expensive, and I thought you were broke.”
“I’m now, flat out,” he says with a dry chuckle as he leans closer.
“Listen, I’m selectively broke. I choose where to spend my money and in the next three months I’m still going to pull my university salary, get some funds from my social media stuff, and I’m not going to spend a single cent while at Ne’emba. Plus it was tax free.”
“What a bargain.” I take another sip and shift in my seat. I would have been happy with a bottle cap ring. “You should keep the receipt and take it back once we’re done. Pump the money back into cleaning the oceans.”
“Lexi—” Tristan starts, but someone approaches our two-seater enclave.
We both look up in unison. It’s a woman with her phone in her hand, beaming. “Aww, that was so cute. I got it all on camera. Can I share it with you? And let me see the ring up close!”
Oh help. I swallow and hold out my trembling hand.
“It’s so gorge! You are such a cute couple! Can I Airdrop?”
“Eh, sure.” Tristan reaches for his phone, a weary smile on his lips. “Thank you.”
For a moment there’s a reprieve as the woman who’s witnessed our whole unromantic engagement sends the photos to Tristan’s phone.
Ever since that day I walked in on Mia Reed and The Head, I’ve been camera cautious. And now I’ve been recorded getting fake-engaged in Heathrow Terminal Five. I’m not superstitious, but this has black cats and broken mirrors all over it.
“You two haven’t kissed yet,” the woman says as she readies her camera for more shots. “I’m waiting for that moment—”
I stand and reach for my bag. “Tristan, I bet they’re boarding our flight already, and we’re running late.”
“Yes. Yes, we are. Got a bit distracted there.” Tristan is up and grabs his things.
I shoot the woman my fakest happy-guest smile and make a beeline for our gate.