Chapter 4
FOUR
This. This was the freedom she’d wanted—the reason she’d dodged her three Secret Service agents, donned a smelly wig, and acted like a fugitive.
The spa smelled like eucalyptus and lavender, that hypnotizing combination of essential oils and luxury that said someone was about to pamper you into a state of boneless relaxation.
Yes, please.
Soft music played from invisible speakers. The ocean stretched beyond floor-to-ceiling windows, all turquoise and endless. Twelve pedicure chairs sat arranged in a semi-circle, each one equipped with massage settings.
Heaven.
Actual paradise.
Worth every minute of the airport disaster, even getting caught at the end.
Britta settled into her chair—plush leather that immediately started kneading her back—and accepted a glass of champagne.
The women were already claiming their spots.
Scarlett next to her, glowing with pre-wedding happiness.
RJ on the other side, that maternal warmth radiating even in a spa robe.
Selah stretching out with a contented sigh.
Glo and Kelsey comparing nail-polish colors—something sparkly versus something nude, both perfect for a beach wedding.
Emberly looking slightly uncomfortable in fluffy resort wear, like she’d rather be in cargo pants and tactical boots.
And Chloe—Selah’s sister—curled into a chair at the end, bracelets jangling, taking it all in with bright, curious eyes.
And Gerri Colt—Ford’s mom—silver-haired and graceful, settling in with the particular satisfaction of a mother preparing to watch her son marry someone wonderful.
Signe arrived last, somehow managing to look elegant even barefoot in a white robe, claiming the chair next to Britta with a knowing smile.
“This is perfect,” Britta said, taking a sip of champagne. “Thank you for including me.”
“You’re Scarlett’s friend,” RJ said warmly. “That makes you family.”
“Besides,” Selah added, her eyes sparkling with mischief, “we saw you at breakfast with West. Anyone who can make that man smile before 7:00 a.m. deserves honorary membership.”
Heat flooded Britta’s face. “We were just—we were both hungry.”
“Uh-huh.”
Coco burst through the door, still in her swimsuit cover-up, hair damp from what was probably an early pool session.
“Sorry I’m late! The guys took forever to leave for their dive trip, and Wyatt was sulking because he doesn’t dive and I had to convince him that yes, staying at the resort without me would be fine.
” She claimed a chair, accepted champagne, and looked around. “What did I miss?”
“Britta’s breakfast date with West,” Glo said.
“That wasn’t a date. That was—” Britta stopped. What was it? “Coincidental meal proximity.”
The women burst into laughter.
“Coincidental meal proximity,” Coco repeated, grinning. “That’s beautiful. I’m stealing that. Wyatt and I have coincidental meal proximity three times a day.”
“When you’re married it’s just called eating together,” Kelsey pointed out.
“Where’s the romance in that?”
The spa technicians arrived—a team of six, all in matching white uniforms, all carrying the tools of their trade like artists approaching blank canvases.
Britta’s technician was young, maybe early twenties, with kind eyes and that particular confidence that came from knowing exactly what she was doing.
“What color?” she asked, gesturing to the wall of polish options.
Britta scanned the choices. Reds. Pinks. Nudes. Sparkles. Enough options to cause decision paralysis.
“The coral,” Scarlett suggested. “It matches the wedding colors.”
“Perfect.”
The technician got to work. Warm water. Exfoliation. A massage of feet and calves that made everything else fade into background noise. Britta closed her eyes. Let herself sink into the chair. Let the champagne and the ocean sounds and the female laughter wash over her.
This. This was what freedom felt like. Not grand gestures or dramatic escapes. Just this—sitting in a spa with women who treated her like a person, getting her toes painted coral, drinking champagne at 10:00 a.m. because it was vacation and a wedding and nobody cared about rules.
“So, Scarlett,” Selah said, “how did you and Ford actually meet? I know the broad strokes, but I want details.”
Scarlett’s face softened. “I was his communications officer,” she said. “He was deployed—SEAL team, classified locations, all very mysterious and dangerous. I was the voice in his ear. Tactical support. Intel. The person who kept him and his team alive from thousands of miles away.”
“Romantic,” Coco said. “Nothing says love like saving someone’s life via satellite.”
“It wasn’t romantic. Not then. It was professional. He needed overwatch. I was his extra eyes and ears. Part of the team.”
“Off-limits, then,” said Coco.
“But you fell for him anyway,” Glo said.
“I fell for his terrible jokes. His loyalty to his team. The way he’d check in after missions just to make sure I was okay, even though I was the one sitting safe in an office while he was dodging bullets.” Scarlett smiled. “And then, well…RJ went missing in Russia.”
All eyes went to RJ, who raised an eyebrow. “Not missing. I was…investigating.”
“Causing an international incident,” her mother said, shaking her head.
“Yeah, well, Ford needed backup and he was sort of going out of bounds and…we were partners. And then he nearly died in the Caspian Sea and I decided enough was enough.” Scarlett shrugged. “I stopped being able to pretend I wasn’t completely in love with him.”
“Back to Russia,” Britta said. “What was that all about?”
“Long story.” RJ dropped into the seat beside him. Involves an assassination attempt, a very angry operative, and me being significantly more reckless than I should have been.”
“It’s how she met York,” Coco added. “So, a win.” She winked.
“York saved her life,” Glo said. “Then proceeded to fall completely in love while pretending he was just doing his job.”
“Men,” Signe said, shaking her head with affection. “They’re terrible at pretending.”
“After Russia, I knew I couldn’t just be Ford’s teammate, so I left the military and joined Jones, Inc., and—” She laughed. “Never a dull moment. Between Ford’s missions and my work and trying to plan a wedding that isn’t interrupted by international terrorists, it’s been chaos.”
“Beautiful chaos,” Gerri corrected. “The best kind.”
Smiles, and Britta needed a different conversation. “So, the guys are diving?”
“Most of them,” Coco said. “West, Ham, North, Dakota, Skeet, Tate, Ford—they’re all out there communing with fish.”
“SEALs,” RJ said. “The Navy kind, not the flippered ones. Ham, North, and Ford. The rest have dive experience, probably.”
“Wyatt doesn’t dive,” Coco said. “Neither do Knox or Reuben. They’re back at the resort, probably doing manly things like grilling or comparing trucks.”
“Wyatt doesn’t dive?” Britta asked.
“He’s spent his entire life on ice. So no diving. Besides, he’s very dramatic about it. Claims the ocean is full of things that want to kill you.”
“He’s not wrong,” Emberly muttered.
“You dive?” Britta asked.
“When necessary. Prefer to stay on land, where the threats are visible and I have access to weapons.”
“She’s fun at parties,” said Jayden. Britta hadn’t seen the woman come in, but she’d met her last night. Jayden sat down in one of the salon recliners, pushed back, and closed her eyes. “I give this five stars.”
Laughter, and then the conversation turned to other stories—Glo and Tate, and how they’d met when Kelsey and Glo were country music singers. How Kelsey met Knox at a carnival, only to be trapped with him after a bombing.
That was about a thousand times more traumatic than anything Britta had been through. Maybe Britta should stop feeling so guilty.
They also kept away from the rest of the story—how Glo’s mom, as the new VP had tried to assassinate her father, newly-sworn in president Isaac White.
Not a story for today. So she leaned into the conversation, how it went to Coco and Wyatt, who were childhood sweethearts, apparently, although Coco had lived in Russia for a while.
And then Selah and North, who’d met at a barbecue (and why couldn’t she have met West that way?), although they’d broken up after they’d gotten in a fight while living on an island overrun by pirates.
And something about a derailed train. And then her sister, Chloe, mentioned Thailand, and Jayden, eyes still closed, talked about a near plane crash.
Um, hanging around these women might raise a few red flags on her father’s radar, but she liked them. Brave. Honest. Fiercely loyal to their men.
She wished she and West had a meet-cute.
Which would then mean a real romance.
And then, “And you and West met in New York, right?” This from Scarlett.
All eyes on her. “Um, no…I mean…he was there, but New York is a blur.” She made a face.
“What happened in New York?” Kelsey asked.
“Oh, you know, the yuzh—terrorists, a bombing, gunshots,” Glo said.
But no one laughed.
And now this was weird.
“Listen,” Britta said, “clearly we’ve all been through something, right? But we’re here and we’re safe—and this is a beautiful weekend. And we’re here to celebrate love.” She lifted her glass. “To Scarlett, Ford, and happily-ever-afters.”
Smiles, and everyone picked up a glass or a water bottle and toasted.
And suddenly, just like that, she was one of them.
Maybe this was what normal felt like.
“Okay,” Selah said, setting down her champagne and turning to face Britta directly. “I want to know…is there something going on with West?”
Oh.
Um.
Britta took a long sip of champagne. “No. I know nothing about him.”
“You walked on the beach last night,” Coco added.
“We were clearing the air.”
“And this morning?” Scarlett said. “That looked like two people who couldn’t take their eyes off each other.”
“What? No. It’s not like that.”
“Why not?” Glo asked. “West is a great guy. What’s the problem?”
Where to even start?