Chapter 20
Alexander
I’m standing in the kitchen when I notice that London has opened the single-view image. A satisfied grin spreads on my face as I turn on the coffee maker. I wonder how she’s reacted to it. If only I could see her.
My enjoyment is disturbed, however, as Stephanie starts bombarding me with pictures again.
She's been spamming me for days with photos and videos from her honeymoon.
There was even a room tour that went on for eleven whole minutes.
After that came photos of the beach, the resort, the food, and many selfies in various outfits and bikinis.
But one thing is missing: where are the couple photos?
I’d actually wanted to give Marc some peace during his honeymoon, but Stephanie’s behavior doesn’t entirely sit right with me. So, I text him: Hey, is everything okay with you and Stephanie? Did you have a fight?
The pictures make it look as though she’s vacationing alone, not honeymooning with the man she loves.
“No, but she’s acting strange,” Marc replies instantly. Lucky timing—he’s on his phone too.
Me: What do you mean? Jet lag?
Marc: No, it’s her mood. She doesn’t want sex, she’s constantly on her phone, we don’t even cuddle. She went to see your secretary. I thought they’d cleared everything up?
Me: Yeah, Stephanie is convinced you didn’t have an affair. She assured me of that. Maybe the flight threw her off?
Marc: She’s cold and distant. Last night she cried, and this morning she was alone on the beach. It doesn’t feel like a honeymoon.
Me: Want me to talk to her?
Marc: I’m her husband—that’s supposed to be my job. But yes. I need your help. I’ve already tried, but she keeps avoiding me.
Me: Is she alone right now?
Marc: Yeah, I’m by the pool at our villa, but she’s off at the beach somewhere.
Me: She just sent me another picture. I’ll call her.
Marc: Whatever this is… I love her. But right now, I don’t feel like she loves me. It’s so strange. I don’t even recognize her anymore.
Me: Anymore?
Marc: This is how she used to be with me, years ago. But after we got together, she was clingy and sweet. What if she regrets the wedding? What if she saw your assistant’s interruption as a sign not to marry me?
Me: Something is off, I agree. I’ll call her and get back to you right away.
I video call Stephanie because I really want to see her face. It rings only once before she answers.
Her loose hair waves gently in the wind and she wears a shell necklace. She beams at me immediately, seemingly full of joy and happiness, as if everything in her world is perfect.
“Hey, what a coincidence. I was just thinking of you,” she says. Behind her, I can see white sand and the deep blue sea. Honestly, I could use a trip there myself.
“You’ve gotten quite a tan,” I start, then admit, “I should fly down there for a weekend and lie on the beach.”
“Great idea! Come on over. If you leave now, you’ll be here in about eleven hours.” She sounds genuinely excited, which makes me laugh—but also confirms Marc’s worry. Something’s off.
“I can’t intrude on your honeymoon,” I reply. “But maybe in a few weeks.”
“Will you take me with you?” she asks. For a moment, I’m speechless. She’s unusually clingy with me.
“You and Marc are both welcome to join,” I say, and she seems petrified for a split second. “I mean, if you want to bring your husband, of course.”
“Uh, yes. Of course.”
"Is everything okay between you two? You should be on cloud nine right now," I ask her directly. This way I don't even have to pretend I don't know anything. "You know you can always talk to me, right?"
Stephanie hesitates, then admits, “The flight was long, I’m exhausted, and Marc constantly wants sex. I just wanted to relax here, enjoy myself. It’s… strange. I don’t know.” She looks sad. Then, almost pleading: “I wish you were here with me instead of him.”
She shouldn’t be saying things like that.
“Don’t you trust him anymore? London’s friend Vanessa really didn’t have anything with him.”
“Yeah, I know. The guy’s name is Dominic. She showed me everything—chats, pictures, all sorts of stuff. I believe her.” But her expression tells a completely different story.
“What’s really going on?” I press.
“I’m just exhausted. The last week was hard.
So much has happened, and the weeks before drained me too.
I thought I’d recharge and relax here, but instead, we’re bickering about everything.
” She pauses significantly before confessing, “You and I have never argued, Lex. You always get me. You sense when something’s wrong immediately.
It’s like we have this very special connection. ”
“Yes, like family. Like brother and sister,” I cheer her up, which once again leaves Stephanie looking rattled.
Doesn't she like the analogy?
“Yeah. Right. Like brother and sister. The coolest siblings in the world.” She lowers her gaze, and suddenly I think I understand what’s going on in her head.
“You’ll have that with Marc too, eventually.
He loves you more than anything, I know he does.
Give it time—time for him, for yourself, and for the two of you together.
Stay at the beach a while longer, soak up the sun, then go back to him.
Talk it out. Communication is everything in a relationship. Especially a marriage.”
“Mmh. Yeah, you’re right.” She looks at me sadly. “I should talk to him. I owe him that.”
“You can do this.”
“Thanks, Lex. It means so much to me that you’re always there for me, that you care.”
“Of course. It’s an honor. I’ll take care of a few errands now. Just let me know if anything comes up, okay?"
“I will.” She smiles at me, then hangs up. Maybe they really did rush into this marriage.
Me: A little tip from me: enjoy the time, give Stephanie her space. The last few weeks have drained her mentally. She needs room. Don’t argue over the little things.
Marc: But she's the one arguing? I was just in the kitchen, she came in and boom, she snaps at me. I hadn't even said anything yet. Her nerves seem really frayed.
Me: She's coming to you now. Hold her tight. Talk to each other. Things will get better.
Marc: From your lips to God’s ears.
I fix myself some breakfast—eggs, yogurt, and some nuts. After last night, I need all the energy I can get.
It’s a pity that what happened with London was just a one-time thing. I’d very much like a repeat.
I grab my phone and try to reach my housekeeper.
It’s 9:37. In twenty-three minutes, she should be at my door.
In the meantime, I settle in with my laptop in the living room to get some work done.
A few messages from employees are waiting.
By now, they’ve all confirmed—they’re ready to relocate here.
It’ll be an expensive move, but worthwhile for all of them.
I’ll make sure of it. Even the one whose wife was desperate to stay in the U.S. has agreed.
At 10:21, the doorbell rings. I smile. So, she did come after all. Maybe her phone broke down, or there’s some other reason my messages didn’t get through. There’ll surely be a good excuse.
I open the door—only to my surprise, I find London standing there instead of my housekeeper.
“Give me your phone right now!” she snaps, I look past her while she thrusts out her hand in demand.
“You’re not my housekeeper,” I say, eyeing her skeptically.
“I want your phone!”
“To delete the photo?” I ask with a broad grin. She flushes instantly, then pushes me back into the house. “Is that why you’re here?” Her demeanor amuses me.
“What if someone else sees it?”
“Who would I send it to?” I counter, shutting the front door again.
“Your friends. Marc or Stephanie.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Delete it!” she demands, vehemently.
“Or else what?”
She falters for a moment.
“Or else what, London?” I taunt, as she glares at me. “You drove all the way here just to ask me to delete a picture?”
I circle around her, and the goosebumps rising on her arms are impossible to miss. Stopping behind her, I rest a hand against her stomach and press my lips to her neck. With her hair pulled back in a ponytail, there’s nothing blocking me.
“I think you’re here because you want me to take another picture of you. You, naked in my bed. How does that sound, hm?”
“That’s not why I came here. That was a one-time thing.”
“I see. As you wish,” I murmur with a soft laugh, letting go of her and strolling down the hallway.
“Hey, stop!" she demands, but I don't even think about doing that.
London trails me into the living room, where I drop into the armchair and look at her expectantly.
And now, princess? What’s your next move?
I think I'm starting to enjoy teasing her. Still, I can’t read her. Did she sleep with me just to soften me up—or is there real desire behind it?