by Stella Gray
Taking my clothes off was the last thing I wanted to do, but people were starting to stare. Staying fully dressed was obviously drawing far more attention than being naked would.
Ford was watching me expectantly, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“Just a minute,” I said, feeling flustered.
I took off my hat first, dropping it onto the towel, and then loosened the ties of my dress and unwrapped it. Trying to ignore Ford’s eyes following my every movement, I slid down one strap of my swimsuit and then the other. But then I looked up, and our eyes locked. With all the heat in his gaze, I completely forgot that we were on a crowded beach and I was about to do a striptease for a hundred strangers. I pushed my swimsuit down, exposing my breasts.
I knew that Ford liked my breasts. Licking his lips, sending a shockwave of want through me, his gaze moved down and continued to follow the path of my swimsuit as I tugged it over my hips, past my narrow landing strip, down my thighs, and then let it drop to the sand.
I swallowed hard, wondering what he would do next. I half expected him to throw me over his shoulder and run all the way back to the hotel. But when he looked at me again, he was suddenly the same man who had been waiting for me at the end of the aisle earlier that day. His face was impassive. Cool. Impossible to read.
“I’m going for a swim,” he said.
“Me too,” I said, but he was already striding toward the water, turning heads as he did.
Feeling more naked than I had when I first got undressed, I followed, wanting to hide.
The water was crystal clear, which didn’t provide much cover, but I still felt better when I dove in. The ocean was warm and perfect. I felt the weight of the day lift off my shoulders as I swam into the softly cresting waves. Ford stayed nearby, diving under and reemerging farther out with a toss of his head that flicked a cascade of water into the air.
I took a break to put on more sunscreen and have a snack, watching Ford swim. When he realized I’d gone back to our towel, I held up the bottle of wine to lure him over, but he just tapped his wrist as if to say “in a few minutes,” and by the time he got out of the water, I was ready to get back in. Or I guess, ready to avoid the possibility of us sitting on a towel naked and wet together. It was too tempting.
We stayed until late afternoon. Making my way over the sand toward our shady spot, I pulled my hair over my shoulder to squeeze the water out of it, savoring the delicious exhaustion coursing through me after hours of sun and swimming. I had just dropped to my knees on the edge of the towel when strong arms lifted me up, and I found myself gazing at Ford.
“What are you—” I began, wondering if he was about to kiss me.
“Centipedes,” he said, and I looked down and realized that he wasn’t being romantic at all. Instead, he’d just rescued me from stretching my naked self out on top of a couple of the island’s native black and red bugs that had made themselves at home in the folds of the towel. I’d heard they were venomous, but I hadn’t been prepared for how gigantic they were.
Shuddering in his arms, I said, “Fuck. You’re my hero.”
Ford’s expression went shuttered and distant right before my eyes. “Don’t mention it.”
He set me down and helped me shake out my clothes so I could get dressed. Then he checked inside the beach bag to be sure we weren’t inadvertently taking any of the critters with us before heading back to our villa.
After a long day of waiting to assist us, Phillipe was thrilled to make a reservation for us at the Eden Rock’s Sand Restaurant. The place had a relaxed, luxurious vibe and a decadent menu, but Ford and I were so tired that we agreed to make it a quick meal and go to bed early.
Being the resident foodie, I expected to get more pleasure out of the local mahi-mahi and coconut sorbet I ordered, but between the physical exhaustion of the day and the emotional strain of holding myself back around my new husband, I barely tasted anything.
After a quick shower back at the villa, I crawled into bed beside Ford, expecting to pass out the second my head hit the pillow. But he surprised me by rolling over and taking me in his arms.
His kiss was sweet, but it felt more obligatory than romantic—it couldn’t hold a candle to the kiss at the wedding. Still, my body began to respond almost instantly, and when he rolled the condom on, I was ready for him. He kissed me as he fucked me, and we both came without too much effort…but once we were finished, I couldn’t help feeling like the first post-wedding sex I’d had with my husband had been decent but perfunctory. Like we’d both been on autopilot.
It was disappointing, even though I knew a lot of that was on me.
The moment I’d decided to take the Malones’ bribe and lie to Ford about my feelings, everything between us had shifted. Even still, I couldn’t seem to stop myself from hoping that Ford would make some sort of gesture. Shout his love from the rooftops, so I could shout mine back. Maybe then we could join forces and find a way out of this mess together.
But as I drifted off, I realized that even a fairy tale gesture could never fix the web of mistakes and dishonesty we’d gotten ourselves tangled up in.
Ford
Chapter 3
I’d made my decision. It was time to handle this.
For some unknowable reason, the dynamic between me and Emzee had undergone a complete one-eighty over the last few days, and I hated it. Our honeymoon—our relationship—couldn’t go on like this. Even the sex, which had always been scorching hot, had changed.
Emzee was still sleeping, but I had woken up early, brain in turmoil.
Now, as I paced the living room of our luxurious villa, all I could think about was finding a solution for our problem.
I tried to convince myself that this new awkwardness had nothing to do with her saying she didn’t love me. Which was fine. Hell, I’d never expected to marry for love. I was pretty sure I didn’t even believe in the concept. After all, what was love anyway, other than basic affection combined with dopamine and oxytocin (which declined over time, according to science)?
And look at the example I’d grown up with. My parents clearly didn’t love each other, and they’d made it work. For over two decades and still going strong, or whatever adjective you’d use to describe their marriage. It didn’t seem to be a union of convenience, per se, but it was certainly symbiotic. Maybe their bond had more to do with their compatible social and economic status, but they both seemed fine with that. I could be fine with that.
But…something was missing between me and Em. Something that used to be there. And I wanted it back.
I wanted the Emzee who seemed to be falling for me, who delighted in sharing in my adventures as well as savoring quiet cups of coffee and comfortable silences while Munchkin snoozed between us on the couch. The snarky, witty, down-for-whatever Emzee.
I wanted the Emzee whose big, sparkling laugh surprised me every time it came out of her usually serious little body. It was a reminder that no matter how much of an overthinker she tended to be, she could also roll with the punches. In fact, now that I thought about it, I realized she thrived in unexpected situations and moments of crisis.
It occurred to me that this strength might actually be the silver lining to her family life being so off-kilter. Not just recently, either. It had always been that way.
Growing up, she’d had to constantly adjust to her father’s ever-expanding list of demands and expectations; I’d heard plenty of stories about how she’d been sent to etiquette lessons as a child, trained to speak and act a certain way, all kinds of pressure heaped on her small shoulders and made even more overwhelming thanks to the fact that her mom had died when she was a baby and her father was chronically absent—running his criminal empire, no doubt, though of course she hadn’t known that at the time.
But just look at how beautifully she performed under pressure now. Case in point, when I had sprung this fake relationship—and then a surprise engagement—on her. Every time, she’d played along in front of f
riends and family without batting an eye. To the point that she almost had me fooled into thinking she loved me right before our fake wedding.
Almost.
It was obvious that her confidence blossomed whenever she took on new roles. Sure, she might be hesitant at first, but more often than not, I would bet she even surprised herself to find how capable she was. It was like the stress brought out a completely different side of her. She just needed a challenge to rise to.
Huh.
Maybe I’d just found the answer to my problem.
Sinking onto the cloud-like cushions of the couch, I grabbed the complimentary island guidebook off the coffee table and started flipping through it, hoping for inspiration.
I found it under the “Hotel Activities” section.
Windsurfing.
Phillipe was more than happy to make arrangements for us, and I also had him place an order for a hot breakfast to be brought to our villa right away.
Then I woke Emzee up. Her innocent eyes blinked at me drowsily as I told her the plan.
“I don’t know anything about windsurfing,” she said.
“Me neither,” I said. “We’ll fumble through it together. And if we fail, we’ll fail spectacularly. Phillipe already reserved us a spot, and he’s meeting us in the lobby after we eat.”
“Eat what?” she asked, suddenly a whole lot more awake.
My little foodie. “It’s a surprise,” I said. “I requested a hot breakfast for two.”
Having your own personal, round-the-clock concierge, it turned out, was not too shabby at all. The cart that arrived while we were getting showered and dressed held a pot of strong coffee, a carafe of fresh-squeezed orange juice, savory prosciutto and Gruyère cheese crepes, sliced mango, and a side of poached eggs. It was the perfect combination of light and filling to get us ready for the day’s activities.
As we headed to the hotel lobby, swimsuits under our clothes, I couldn’t help staring at Emzee’s hips and ass as she walked in front of me. She’d nearly killed me with that fucking striptease the other day. I thought I’d been so clever taking us to a nude beach, but I hadn’t considered how it might backfire. And backfire it had.
Her sexy black suit was bad enough—it didn’t reveal anything, but it didn’t cover much either. It was like a basic black one-piece that had been shredded by Wolverine, clinging to Emzee’s mouthwatering curves so good that it had taken all the baseball statistics I knew—reciting them over and over in my head—in order to keep from completely embarrassing myself on a public nude beach with a massive hard-on for my wife.
I’d just about had it under control, but then Emzee tossed her hat on the towel and began the longest, most agonizing striptease I’d ever seen in my life. Watching her flash those perfect, lush tits before sliding the suit down to expose the rest of her tight, mouthwatering body to the St. Barts sunlight (and the hungry gaze of every red-blooded male in the vicinity), had put a fire inside of me that I had barely been able to contain.
So I had done the only thing I could. I turned away from the sight of my gorgeous, naked wife and walked right into the ocean. It had been too warm to completely cool my ardor, but at least it had hidden my erection when Em joined me, the clear blue water sluicing over her curves as she dove into the waves.
In the end, all I had to do to keep from flashing an erection was think about Emzee’s flat, emotionless expression on our wedding day when she said she didn’t love me. That killed off my desire pretty quickly, and it didn’t resurface again until later that night. Still, when I turned to her in bed, I could sense that she was holding herself back a little. So was I.
Still, the sex was good. It was never not good with Em; our physical attraction was too strong. I made her come pretty fast, could feel the contractions of her cunt squeezing me hard enough that I knew she wasn’t faking her orgasm, but things still felt off. I thought about how I had surprised her in the dressing room at the wedding dress shop, how responsive and hot she had been, especially knowing we could get caught at any moment.
That’s why this whole windsurfing thing was such a great idea. We just needed to bond over new, daring experiences. It had always been a vital component of our friendship.
Phillipe dropped us off at the beach where he’d reserved our private lesson, so it was just me, Emzee, and the instructor. I was grateful it was an older woman, not one of the young cabana boys that seemed to constantly be running around in their flashy little Speedos.
Our instructor Angie walked us through the basics while we were still on the beach.
“First things first, we need to know which direction the wind is coming from.” She held up a finger, motioning for us to do the same, and then pointed. “I happen to know the wind forecast for today is seventeen knots from the northeast, which is actually perfect for a first-timer. It’s your lucky day!”
“Good to hear it,” I said. I felt like I was overdue a bit of luck.
“When you launch your board into the water,” Angie went on, “you’ll want to make sure your back and the mast are facing the wind. Otherwise you’ll never get your sail up.”
“So…we’ll be walking into the water backwards?” Emzee asked.
“For today, yes.” Angie nodded as she carried on with her introductory information.
I glanced over at Em, who was listening so intently I was surprised she hadn’t pulled a notebook and pen out of her bag to take notes. Meanwhile, Angie was explaining how to use the direction of the sail to steer the board once we were out on the water, throwing around terms like uphaul and daggerboard and boom so fast I could barely keep up.
I’d always been a natural when it came to any kind of sport, but since I was new to windsurfing, I did my best to focus more on the lesson and less on Emzee. It wasn’t easy.
“When you pull the sail up out of the water, you want to keep your back straight,” Angie said, hopping on the board resting in the sand to show us how it was done. “Use your leg strength to lift, not your back.”
Emzee nodded. “Legs, not back,” she repeated obediently.
It was kind of adorable how she was so intent on getting this right immediately. Me, I learned by doing. And I always did things well.
Angie instructed Em to get on the board to practice the proper sail-lifting and boom-holding techniques she’d need once we were actually on the water.
“Cross one hand over the other to grab the boom,” Angie said, “and then you’ll use the boom to turn the sail and fill it with power.”
Fill the sail with power. I could get into that.
Coming up behind Emzee, I wrapped my arms around hers so we could go through the motions of steering together. Angie looked on approvingly, stopping us every now and again to adjust or explain. After another twenty minutes of demonstrating rig steering, tacking, and jibing, she finally announced that we were ready to surf.
“Here goes nothin’,” I said, grinning at Emzee. I was more than ready to hit the waves and see what the fuss was all about.
“I’m nervous,” she said. “What if I wipe out?”
“The board stops the second the sail hits the water, so it won’t go anywhere until you get back on,” I reminded her. “But who cares if you fall? We’re just here to have fun.”
She nodded, still looking all kinds of serious. “Okay.”
Reaching over, I cupped her face in my hands and kissed the little stress line between her brows, which always appeared when she was anxious. When I pulled away, she looked calmer.
“Let’s do this,” I said.
The water was perfect, clear as crystal and warm from the sun. I enjoyed the work required to get my board in the water, enjoyed moving my body and feeling my muscles respond. The last few weeks I’d been completely focused on the wedding and family stuff, and hadn’t been able to get even a moment alone to just breathe. For the first time since this whole charade had begun, I felt like I was in control of myself again.
I watched Emzee get on her board firs
t. I could see her hesitate, but then she clenched her jaw, squared her shoulders, and pulled the sail up out of the water like an absolute pro.
“Bravo,” Angie shouted, clapping for Em.
When I managed to do the same, I didn’t get the same standing ovation. Guess Angie had a favorite, and it wasn’t me. Not that it mattered. The excitement on Emzee’s face was the whole reason we were doing this in the first place.
As our boards moved through the water, slowly at first, I found myself thinking the whole thing was a little anticlimactic. We were on the ocean, sure, and it was beautiful—but nothing special. Then, all of a sudden, the wind picked up, filling our sails with the power we’d been promised. And just like that, we were off.
It was pure magic.
We were sailing along so fast it was like flying, the wind in our faces as we skimmed the waves, boards bouncing up and down. It was exhilarating and I couldn’t get enough.
My muscles ached as I got used to the way I needed to hold the boom, the way I needed to plant my feet. I was grateful for the hours I put in every week at the gym, but I knew my entire body would be sore tomorrow regardless. At the moment, though, I didn’t care.
All that mattered to me was the wind, the ocean, and my wife.
Emzee was up ahead of me, dark hair streaming behind her as she maneuvered her board. The water sprayed up around her as she moved toward the choppier waves, following Angie’s lead as she took us farther out. I tasted salt, from the ocean and the air, feeling completely alive as we glided across the water.
And then I watched as Emzee faltered and almost took a spill, her board swerving as she struggled to regain control over it. For a moment, I thought her earlier fears would be confirmed, that she’d crash right into the water with a big splash, but at the last minute she righted herself, letting out a girlish shriek of relief and pure delight before dissolving into giggles.
Emzee laughing about her near-fall was the exact thing I’d been missing, and it was impossible not to laugh with her. She glanced back at me, and the expression of joy I saw in her smile made my heart twist. I wanted to live in this moment with her forever.
