by K. A. Linde
Silence was my ally in this. It was easier to text Lark, English, and Whitley about how excited I was about coming to see them than it was to pretend to be happy to be going with my husband. We made it to the airport in record time and out to the plane even faster. It was a miracle.
Camden looked like he wanted to say something to me when we were boarding, but I shot him a glare and then hustled in front of him, so I wouldn’t have to hear it. Wasn’t it bad enough that he had been out all night with Fiona? Then he’d had to come home and try to fuck me, too? I couldn’t deal with him right now. I wanted to be in the sun with a drink in hand, lying by the pool and working on my tan. That was it.
I sank into the first available seat, texting away with Lark as the pilot prepped for takeoff. To my dismay, Camden took the seat next to me.
“Do you mind?” I asked pointedly.
“Katherine, can we talk?”
“No,” I spat.
He put his hand to his head and winced once. “God, it’s bright in here.”
“That’s what you get,” I snapped.
He just groaned. “Maybe I can ask them to dim the cabin lights.”
“Oh, just sit there and suffer.”
“I know that you’re pissed at me for leaving last night, but do you mind bringing it down an octave?”
I shot him another glare. “Mad at you for leaving? No, why ever would I be mad that you disappeared in the middle of an argument to go see your mistress instead of having a normal conversation with me? So, you might find that I really don’t want to talk today. Nor do I care about your hangover.”
He straightened at that. Some part of his bad mood dissolving. “Wait, you think I was with Fiona?”
“Why else would you stay out all night?” I mused rhetorically and went back to my text messages.
“I wasn’t with Fiona,” he said.
“And why should I believe you?”
“Because,” he said, pitching his voice low, “I’m not a liar.”
My eyes swept up to his. He wasn’t a liar, but his response didn’t make any sense. Why would he have been out all night? Where the hell had he gone?
“Fine,” I muttered. “You weren’t with Fiona. Hooray for one day of mildly good behavior. Do you want a gold star?”
“Katherine,” he said softly, “I don’t want to fight.”
I whirled on him. “Then maybe you should have thought about that last night. Go back to nursing your hangover. I don’t want to talk to you the rest of the way to Puerto Rico. I’m going to pretend that you’re not here.”
Camden seemed to turn into a statue for a moment, as if processing my seething in anger. Then he nodded once and took a different seat.
He must have fallen asleep because he didn’t stir again until we were up in the air.
A catnap seemed to have rejuvenated him. He grabbed a bottle of water and then opened his laptop. He typed away at it for a few minutes distractingly before seeming to come to a decision and closing it.
I nearly groaned when he headed back toward me. He crossed his arms and waited for me to look up. I took my sweet time.
“What?” I finally asked.
“The company is brokering a deal to get a tower into Dublin,” he told me flatly. “My father took me aside last night to tell me that I wasn’t allowed to take a vacation. I have to be on call and available at all times while we’re away. That if it falls through, it’s all my fault.”
I straightened in surprise. “Why are you telling me this?”
“You wanted to know what had happened last night. That’s what happened. Along with blaming me for Candice being here and pregnant, for us not being pregnant, and for my mother abandoning me as a child.”
“But none of that is your fault.”
“Obviously,” he said stiffly. “But he’s a giant jackass when he decides to start blaming me for my very existence, and I admittedly don’t take it very well.”
“You should tell him to go fuck himself.”
“I would love to if I didn’t think he’d kick me out of the company.”
“He can’t do that!” I blurted.
Camden raised his eyebrows. “Are you certain?”
No, I wasn’t. I could see then all the weight on his shoulders. He loved his job. He loved the company. Despite his father and all the pressure he put on him, Camden truly enjoyed the work. He never complained about not getting time off or having to always be available. The thought of his father taking that away from him made me furious.
“I’m not,” I admitted. “But… why didn’t you tell me this last night? Why run off in the middle of the night?”
“I was angry. I wasn’t thinking. I just needed to get away,” he said. “But I wasn’t with another woman.” He paused, as if contemplating that. “Unless you consider Monica getting me back to my bed.”
“What?” I asked with wide eyes. “Who is Monica?”
“She’s a bartender.”
My eyes widened further.
“No, not like that. She’s older than me.” That wasn’t helping. He sighed when he saw my expression. “Like, twenty years older than me. She’s not…” He shook his head. “She’s just nice. It’s not like that.”
“Okay.”
“I went to a bar and had a few drinks. I needed to clear my head.”
“Blow off steam,” I suggested.
“Yes. I actually meant that last night.”
“Then you came home and decided to jump in the shower with me?”
He shrugged. “I admit to being a bit drunk, and I wanted to fuck my wife.”
I kept my face neutral, even as desire flared through me. “You can see how I was angry about that, considering I thought you’d come from Fiona.”
“I can see that,” he admitted.
“I still don’t understand why you’re telling me this,” I whispered softly.
Camden didn’t explain himself. He didn’t think about my feelings in the matter. He wasn’t like that. I knew that he cared in some infinitesimal way, but it wasn’t enough for an explanation. Not for the wife he’d acquired through an arrangement.
“Because,” he said, running a hand back through his perfect hair, “I want to… call a truce.”
He looked uncomfortable, saying those words. Or almost… nervous? That couldn’t be.
“A truce?” I asked uncertainly.
“Yeah.”
“What does that mean, Camden?”
“It means that I’m tired of fighting.”
I looked up at him in shock. “Since when?”
“Since now,” he said sternly. “This is the closest thing I’m going to get to a vacation for a long time. Can’t we just enjoy it?”
“I don’t know. You’re the one constantly acting like a grade-A asshole.”
“Look, I’m not the only one,” he said pointedly.
“Fine. What would a truce even look like?”
He seemed surprised that we’d even gotten to the part where I’d ask him that. Maybe he hadn’t really thought this through.
“We agree to no arguing for the week we’re gone.”
“There is no way you can abide by that.”
“I can… if you can.”
“No arguing? No fighting?” I laughed and shook my head. “Might as well say that we won’t bring up our pasts or any of our issues right now.”
“All right. Then we won’t.”
“What?” I asked in surprise.
“I won’t bring up Penn. You won’t bring up Fiona.”
“Or the baby,” I added hastily.
“Or the baby,” he agreed. “One week in paradise. When we go home, we can go back to arguing all we want but a truce while we’re gone.”
I stared at him, waiting for the catch. Why was he even doing this? It made no sense. It wasn’t Camden Percy to want something like this. Half of our foreplay was arguing with each other. But I looked into those dark eyes and saw sincerity. He was serious about this. He wanted
to call a truce. No more fighting. What the hell would we even say to each other?
“Do you think we can do it?”
“I’m willing to try,” he said.
And he sounded almost… earnest.
What did I have to lose? A week in paradise with my husband with no fighting. It could be perfection or destruction. But either way, it would be a new challenge.
“All right,” I finally said.
He held his hand out. “Shake on it.”
I shook my head in disbelief as I slipped my hand into his. It was warm as it engulfed my small palm. He tugged me up off of the couch and into his arms.
I arched an eyebrow at him. “What are you doing?”
“Sealing it with a kiss.”
And then he did.
10
Katherine
We landed in Puerto Rico a few hours later. Gone was the New York bitter cold, and in its place was beautiful eighty-degree weather and ocean as far as the eye could see. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed the sunshine until we landed in a tropical paradise. I shucked off the jacket I’d been wearing inside the cabin and exited the plane in a sundress and Tory Burch sandals, leaving my Louboutins in my oversized bag. I might be an ice princess, but I thawed in the summer with the best of them.
Camden was still in a suit as he followed me down the stairs and onto the runway. A car service waited for us nearby. I headed toward it while our bags were delivered to the trunk.
Our driver opened the door to the backseat. “Welcome to Puerto Rico.”
“Thank you,” I said and slipped into the interior.
Camden followed a minute later, stowing his phone in his pocket. “Jesus, it’s a thousand degrees outside.”
“Isn’t it great?” I said with a rare smile.
He tugged at his suit collar. “Not exactly.”
“I told you to change out of that thing. You have a spare pair of clothes.”
He opened his mouth, clearly to argue with me, but then just shrugged. “Oh well. I’ll do it when we get there.”
A thrill hit me in the stomach. He was actually serious. He was going to have a real truce here. No arguing, like we did every second of every day. I was excited and nervous and wondering what the hell was going to come from this. Would we leave this island better or worse for it? Only one way to find out.
Camden tugged his phone back out and returned to work. I knew that he didn’t mind that he had to work while he was on this trip, but I felt a little bad for him. I didn’t know how he’d managed to get the time off for our honeymoon. I hadn’t realized quite how impossible it must have been for him to be without his work while gone… and how freeing.
My eyes fell on the landscape as we drove inland toward the resort. Everything was green and lush and vibrant. So different than a New York winter. It was almost easy to believe that I could leave all my problems back in the city. That Camden and I could be a happy married couple here in this world. It was probably a lie, but sometimes, it was easier to believe a lie.
We pulled up in front of St. Vincent’s Resort, which was a gorgeous sprawling complex of buildings surrounding eight enormous pools with swim-up bars and poolside restaurants. From what Lark had explained, the resort had two dozen private, beachside villas. Our party had taken up eight of them before they were offered to other high-end clientele. Unofficially, the property had opened for family, friends, and business associates of St. Vincent’s Enterprise just after Thanksgiving. But the resort itself wouldn’t open up to the general public until after the New Year. So, the entire place was only other people in high enough positions to gain this kind of access. It was an Upper East Side dream come true.
We had virtually checked in to the resort on our flight, and a gentleman was waiting for us as the car pulled up to the resort. He was probably in his early thirties with sunbaked brown skin and floppy brown hair. He seemed particularly effusive.
“Hello, and welcome to St. Vincent’s Resort: Puerto Rico, Mr. and Mrs. Percy. I am Paulo, your personal guide for the remainder of your stay. Should you need anything, I will assist you.”
Camden shook Paulo’s hand but flashed me a look, as if waiting for me to correct him. I hadn’t changed my name from Van Pelt and had no interest in doing so. Camden had never seemed to care. Normally, I hated when someone called me Mrs. Percy and quickly corrected them. In the interest of not arguing, I let it pass.
“Hello,” I said genially and shook Paulo’s hand.
“We’re thrilled to have you on our wonderful island and hope that we can show you everything that we have to offer—from original food, a unique cultural experience, the beautiful rainforest, and bioluminescent bays to our incredible nightlife and alcohol selections.” His smile only widened. “Allow me to escort you to your private villa. Right this way.”
It was a short walk to our villa, which was an enormous one-bedroom suite, complete with a private pool with in-water beach chairs and a hot tub. The inside was sleek and modern and stunning. An enormous king-size bed took up much of the space with a desk against one wall and a mounted eighty-inch television. A bottle of champagne chilled in a bucket next to a plate of fresh strawberries.
I picked one up and nibbled on it as I moved into the bathroom. It was like walking into a dream. The space had a waterfall shower and a large free-standing tub with an assortment of salts, bubbles, and oils. Even for someone with my expensive taste, it was above and beyond.
“Is everything to your liking?” Paulo asked, hovering near the open-air doorway.
“Superb,” I said honestly.
Our luggage had already been rolled in and deposited near the bed. I didn’t know how they had beaten us here, but the service was to my liking.
Camden nodded and passed him a twenty.
Paulo pocketed it without comment. “If you need to reach me, dial 1 on the hotel line or use my personal number.” He gave Camden his card. “I hope you enjoy your stay with us at St. Vincent’s Resort.”
He ducked out of the room.
I arched an eyebrow at Camden. “Well?”
“I have a conference call in an hour. How drunk can we get before then?”
I shook my head. “Aren’t you still drunk from last night?”
“I think I sobered up too much on the plane.” He reached down and grabbed the champagne, which I realized was a Yellow Label Veuve Clicquot. He popped it open and poured us each a glass. “That was a mistake.”
I took mine from him and drank deep. “Well, let’s get into bathing suits and find our friends, shall we?”
“I had other ideas,” he suggested.
“Oh?”
“We could finish this bottle and fuck instead.”
“So eloquent,” I said, taking another sip.
He shrugged, downed his champagne, and poured another. “I’m a man of simple tastes.”
“Liar.”
His smirk was particularly deadly. “Fine. I’m a man of expensive tastes. We’re in a grand villa thousands of miles away from home. I want to get you naked and spread you like a feast on that bed.”
My blood heated at his words.
We hadn’t been intimate in… months. After the honeymoon, things had been great. But then Camden found me in Penn’s arms at Natalie’s party. Nothing had happened, but it didn’t matter. Something intrinsically broke between us. The feeble trust we’d had shattered. He’d returned to his old ways, and I’d been left bereft. It would be so easy to fall back into how things had been. So easy. But a part of me resisted. A part of me feared what would happen if I gave that small bit of trust to Camden Percy. Would he break me with it again?
“As appetizing as that sounds,” I said, glad there was no waver to my voice, “I think I’ll have to take a rain check.”
He seemed unsurprised, turning away from me as he said, “Then get dressed, and we’ll go find Lark.”
I didn’t know why it sounded like he was disappointed. Camden was the one getting plenty of ass. It
was me who wasn’t sleeping around after all.
Still… his disappointment made me wonder why I’d refused.
A half hour later, after I put on my dark purple cheeky bikini and lathered myself in sunscreen, Camden and I departed the villa. He’d changed into cerulean-blue board shorts that stopped a few inches above his knees, revealing his muscular legs and six-pack. The only thing Camden did other than work and play pool was work out. Apparently, it was the only way for him to release his anger… and he was still a raging jackass most of the time.
Lark had texted me her location, and we found our friends seated around one of the large pools in front of the swim-up bar. Of course.
Anna English saw us first and jumped up from her beach chair, where she had been leaning into her boyfriend, Court Kensington. English was our resident Hollywood babe with long platinum-blonde hair and a rocking bod.
“Katherine,” she cried, throwing her arms around me.
“Hey, English,” I said. I dropped my beach bag next to an open seat as Lark and Whitley hurried over to me.
Camden touched my wrist before they could bombard me. “Drink?”
I nodded. “Anything with a fucking umbrella.”
He grinned and yanked me forward into a kiss. “I can do that.”
I pulled back, flushed, as he strode away. As if he hadn’t just pushed me off-kilter with that kiss.
Lark raised her eyebrows when she got to me. “What was that about?”
“Nothing,” I said at once.
Lark didn’t look like she believed me. Well, that was fair. I didn’t believe myself.
“So, you’re finally here,” Whitley Bowen said. Her hair, which had been blood red at Halloween, was now a caramel color. She was the resident pixie of our group, not even reaching five feet tall, but unequivocally with the biggest personality.
“I made it,” I told her.
“Do I have a story for you.”
“Oh god,” I muttered. “Do I even want to know?”
“Yes,” Lark said at the same time English said, “No.”
