by Hart, Hanna
Fiona drew both of her hands to her mouth and began to laugh. “Beckett!” she scolded.
“I had the chicken pox!” he defended with a chuckle.
“Children,” Bebe said slowly.
“At seventeen?” Magdalene scoffed. “So you see,” his sister continued, looking directly at Fiona, “you have your work cut out for you with this one.”
“Oh, Fiona,” Bebe said, changing the subject. “Please, tell us about yourself. How did you meet? I saw your wedding photos; they are beautiful. Was anyone in attendance?”
“It was a private ceremony, ma,” Beckett said.
Fiona proceeded to tell Bebe a variant of the truth of her life. She talked about growing up in Colorado, skiing, taking dance lessons, and bringing up anything she could possibly think of that might make her sound more refined to the billionaire family.
“I’m sure Beckett failed to tell you how huge my and Zeke’s ceremony is going to be?” Magdalene asked.
“He has not told me, no,” Fiona responded.
“Four hundred people,” Magdalene gushed. “The resort is practically booked by all our guests! Isn’t that amazing?”
“It’s amazing to me that you have that many friends,” Beckett teased.
“Oh, shut up,” Magdalene rolled her eyes and tucked a lock of her short hair behind her ear.
“She’s an influencer,” Beckett said with a shrug.
Fiona felt embarrassed as she asked, “Like, online?”
“Getting paid to shop!” Colton piped in, though it was clear by his expression and unsure tone that he wasn’t entirely sure what his daughter did for a living, either.
“Yeah, online,” Beckett nodded. “She gets paid to eat at restaurants or wear upscale brands or gets things for free as long as she shows them on her social media platforms.”
“I have over a million followers,” Magdalene said with more than a hint of pride. She pulled a large pink-cased phone out of her bag and set it on the table, sliding it over to Fiona.
Fiona picked it up and scrolled through her social media platforms. They were full of photos of Magdalene and her friends at various hotspots eating from impossibly small plates of food, showing off strange black ice cream in front of the Statue of Liberty, and posing in different outfits from famous brands in photos she dubbed “OOTD.”
Flipping through the photos, Fiona couldn’t think straight. Here she was, worrying about dying of heart failure and making due as a hotel cleaner and on the other side of the world, girls were literally being paid to eat and wear expensive clothes.
The meal with the Davenports was the most amazing meet-the-family experience Fiona had ever had.
By the time she was finished with her mile-high key lime pie, she was absolutely enamored with every single person at the table.
For a family Beckett had painted as so dysfunctional, they sure knew how to laugh together. At no point did she feel unwelcome or looked down upon. In fact, it seemed like the harder Fiona tried to present herself as a high-class woman, the harder the Davenports tried to make themselves seem like they weren’t rich.
She got to hear Colton’s tales of meeting celebrities and firing his first agent after his first television show was taking a poor creative turn. Fiona was utterly fascinated, especially since her father had loved Underground with Colton D.
Fiona was too shy to say as much. She feared that she would come off like a silly fangirl and end up embarrassing Beckett.
But then, just when Fiona started feeling like their lunch had been a success, she saw Colton pull Beckett aside as they stood to leave the restaurant. She was a few feet away, but she distinctly heard him say, "I hope you vetted her," under his breath.
Fiona felt faint. Was that a thing? Was hiring a private investigator to inspect your potential wife just a rich's person's version of googling someone before a date?
"Excuse me?" Beckett said with an incredulous smile, pulling away from his father.
"A background check," Colton said. "You know she'll get ripped apart in the media if there are any skeletons there. I just hope you did your homework."
"I know her, alright?" Beckett said, wincing in disbelief. "I vetted her."
Bebe began talking to her then, but Fiona couldn't hear a word she was saying. She was too engrossed in the private conversation happening just feet away from her between father and son.
She couldn’t help but wonder if Beckett really did vet her, but decided that no. He couldn’t have. Otherwise, he would have known about her illness and her daughter, and there was no way she could have been hired.
"Did you know she was married?" Colton asked in a low tone.
"Dad," Beckett hissed.
"I just don't want there to be any surprises," his father said, using both his hands to hush Beckett.
"I know she was married, okay? Why don't you stop thinking about yourself for two seconds and be thankful that I have Fiona? She is the best thing that's ever happened to me, okay?"
Something passed between the two men that Fiona couldn’t read, but after that, things seemed settled once more.
The best thing that ever happened to him, Fiona thought. It was a sweet thing to say, even if it wasn't true.
Chapter Six
Fiona
It was mid-morning on Monday and Beckett had left for work just an hour earlier.
Fiona had officially been on Nani Makai for one week, and it felt amazing.
She stood in Beckett’s sandy marble kitchen and smiled to herself as she began to make him a lunch.
She thought of all her favorite recipes and began to carefully craft them before slipping them into a lunch pack. She was going to make her way down to the Rendezvous restaurant and deliver the food to Beckett.
The act in itself was so domestic that it filled her stomach with butterflies. Just a wife bringing her husband some goodies.
Things were finally looking up. Fiona was now married to a near complete stranger, and she could already feel her spirits rising.
It was a strange thought to consider, her being married after just having gotten divorced not that long ago. Every time she looked down and saw the sparkling diamond ring on her finger, she felt a surge of excitement and panic ball together.
Soon Fiona found herself standing inside the entrance of Rendezvous waiting to find her husband.
The restaurant was beautiful. It was bright and beautiful with white pillars, navy blue linens, and a massive aquarium wall that housed bright tropical fish.
“Um,” Fiona swallowed nervously as the young hostess looked at her curiously. “I’m looking for Beckett Davenport?”
“Of course! Do you have an appointment?” the hostess asked, practically bouncing.
“Oh no,” Fiona said awkwardly. “I’m, uh, I’m his wife.”
“I’m so sorry!” the girl giggled and looked down at a computer screen at her hostess podium. “I had no idea. My apologies, Mrs. Davenport!”
“It’s no problem,” Fiona flushed. “Is he in?”
The hostess was a beautiful blond woman with tan skin and a large bust. Even through the formal black, white, and navy uniform, Fiona could sense the girls swagger and couldn't help but feel jealous of her small, petite figure.
"Yes, he's in the kitchen," the hostess said in an overly friendly voice. "Do you need someone to take you back?"
"Yes, please," Fiona nodded.
Within a minute, a short busboy came out from nowhere and said, “This way, Mrs. Davenport,” and before Fiona knew it, she was being led through the wide double-doors into the immense kitchen.
Beckett’s workspace was a gradient of silver countertops and massive stoves with too many burners to count.
A wide smile brimmed against her lips as she saw the same busboy approach Beckett as he flipped something in a pan and point in Fiona’s direction.
Beckett looked up at her with a smile and signaled her with a come-hither motion of his finger.
She nodded shyly and
made her way to him. He stood with his sous chef, a handsome man with crystal blue eyes and a strong jaw.
Fiona gave the stranger a polite nod and watched as Beckett flipped a crepe masterfully.
“Hey, you,” she said playfully, cocking her head to the side. “Do you have a minute?”
“Anything for my love,” he said with a nod and set the pan back down. “What brings you to the heart of the island?”
“Rendezvous is the hub?” his sous chef teased quickly, brushing a shock of black hair away from his face and back up into his hairnet.
Beckett scoffed. “I said heart, not hub.”
“Colton wouldn’t allow the word ‘hub’ to describe his restaurant, thank you very much,” his sous chef mocked.
“Uh-huh,” Beckett said with a playful roll of the eyes. “My mistake. I’ll never say it again.”
“This is Shooter,” Beckett said, gesturing toward his sous chef. “Shooter, this is my wife, Fiona.”
“Shooter?” Fiona repeated with genuine surprise. “Your name either has a very interesting or very terrifying background.”
Shooter shrugged and offered her a flirtatious smile. “James,” he clarified, “But I’m good at pool. Pretty great, in fact. Got the nickname when I was a teen, and it kinda stuck.”
“Wow,” she said, “Must be an impressive arm you’ve got there.”
“Yep,” Beckett nodded, now plating the crepe. He topped it with some of the seasonal fruits from the island and drizzled it with a honey-colored sauce before setting it up under the heat lamps. “Twenty-nine!” he yelled, and a waitress quickly took the plate out of the kitchen.
“This one will take you for all you’re worth,” Beckett added.
“Well, lucky for me, I’m not worth much,” she said.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Beckett said quickly, tilting her chin up toward him. “You’re with me now, remember? You’re priceless.”
She blinked at him and felt her face go red from his touch. She stared at the perfect way his features blended into the nest and suddenly found herself wishing he would press his perfectly pointed lips against hers.
Beckett bit his lip as he looked down at her, and for a moment Fiona wondered if he was thinking the same thing.
Suddenly, Beckett cleared his throat and backed away from her, dropping his thumb from her chin.
“So, stay away from this guy, will ya?” he joked. “Now, what brings you here?”
“I was just…” Fiona trailed off. She could see Beckett eyeing the lunch bag at her side, and suddenly she felt like the biggest idiot in the world.
She brought a homemade lunch for a proper chef?
Her face went fiery hot, and she tried to swallow down her embarrassment.
She had made him her famous Georgia Gold barbecue chicken, a side of homemade pickles, and a side of peach cobbler.
Back home, back when she was married to Matt and had a kitchen to cook in instead of a dingy motel room to call her own, she used to love cooking.
She loved traditional Southern foods, Saturday brunch, big Sunday dinners complete with jalapeno cornbread and buttermilk chicken. Those dinners were all she craved when she was pregnant. Making them day after day to fulfill her cravings made her somewhat of a pro at it.
Yet, even knowing that her food was good, she couldn’t bring herself to hand Beckett the bag.
“You know what?” she giggled, “I feel a little stupid right now, actually.”
Beckett cocked his head to the side and grinned as he asked, “Why?”
“The only one here who should feel stupid is Beck,” Shooter laughed with familiarity, “for working instead of going home with his hot wife!”
This comment made Fiona blush harder, especially when the rest of the kitchen staff began to hoot and holler, joining in and telling Beckett to go home with his wife.
“Come on,” Beckett laughed, “Let me take you out back.”
He slipped his hand down Fiona’s lower back, and she could feel the heat of the kitchen through his skin. He directed her through a set of private doors and within an instant they were outside the resort restaurant.
The back of the restaurant faced a collection of swimming pools, cabanas, tiki-huts, and other lounge areas set deep into the sand. Beyond the pools, off in the distance, Fiona could hear the ocean crashing up against the surf.
“So this is where they banish the staff, huh?” she teased as they wandered over to a picnic table near the back door.
“This is my prison,” he said. “So, what’s up? What are you feeling stupid about?”
“I just wanted to see you, I guess,” she shrugged. “I don’t really know anyone on the island yet.”
“Then what’s… this!” Beckett shouted as he swiped the lunch bag from her hand.
“Hey!” she yelled in horror.
Beckett dug his hand into the lunch bag and began digging through its contents. Once he caught sight of the lunch, he looked back up at her with an expression that was something in between amused and touched.
“Did you pack a lunch for me?” he asked softly.
Fiona shook her head, embarrassed. “Oh, just… throw it away!” she laughed. “I don’t know what I was thinking. You’re a chef.”
“And you’re feeding me!” he said as he batted her hand away. “No, stop! I love this.”
Beckett pulled out the barbecue chicken that has been sealed in a glass container and raised a brow to her suggestively. “What,” he said playfully, “no sandwich?”
Fiona cupped her face in her hands, horrified, and said, “I didn’t know if you were a crust guy or not.”
“Oh yeah,” he said, “I’m a crust guy. And what’s this? Did I get dessert, too?”
Before Fiona had the chance to protest, Beckett pulled out the included spoon and took a bite of the peach cobbler. The moment seemed to last forever as his face went through a myriad of different expressions as he tried to dissect the dessert.
“It’s peach cobbler,” she said shyly.
“This,” he said, pointing his spoon down into the bowl, “is amazing.”
“Stop!” she said.
“I’m serious!” he continued as he went back in for another bite.
“You’re a chef!” she mocked herself. “I don’t know what I was thinking! I shouldn’t have brought this.”
Actually, she knew exactly what she was thinking. She was thinking about Matt. He used to love when she would come and surprise him with a lunch or pop into work just to say hello. But then, Matt did electrical work. He didn’t spend all day cooking, nor did he go to the Culinary Institute of America. He would eat anything she made without complaint.
“Hey, I may be a chef, but a baker I am not. This is so good! Seriously, have you tried this?”
Fiona crossed her arms and couldn’t help the pink glow that lit her cheeks. “I’m leaving now,” she said, still unsure if he was being serious or teasing her.
“Stop it right there,” he said quickly.
Fiona spun on her heel to face him, and he pulled her closer and kissed her cheek.
“This is perfect,” he said genuinely. “I love it. Thank you so much.”
“Don’t mention it,” she said and quickly added, “Please.”
“And now that I know that you can cook so well, maybe I won’t be stressing so much about making dinner anymore,” he said with a smirk.
“Hey! I do one nice thing, and now I miss out on five-star cuisine?” she said.
“That’s what you get for being nice,” he winked.
And at that moment, she knew she was falling for him.
The way he smiled at her, looked at her, made her feel when she was around him. It’s like he was some unstoppable force and she couldn’t help but turn into a bumbling teenager when she was around him.
Beckett had, quite literally, given her life again. Saved her. And now all she wanted to do was make him smile, to hear him flirt with her, wanted to hear him call her his wife.
&
nbsp; But she knew she had to reel herself back in. She had to be strong and try to fight the butterflies that filled her stomach whenever they were together.
Not only because he was her boss, but also because she was keeping two gigantic secrets from him. And throwing complications into their current arrangement was the last thing she could afford to do.
Chapter Seven
Beckett
Beckett wiped the fog off his bathroom mirror and gelled his curly blond hair back to make his version of a slicked back, professional style. He wasn’t heading into work tonight, for once, and decided to make good use of his time by reconnecting with Shooter for a guy’s night.
A part of him felt bad leaving Fiona on her own, but if she was going to stay on the island for two years; she would have to learn to get to know people and learn her way around.
He couldn’t always be her guide around the island.
Besides, something was telling him a little distance between them was probably for the best.
There had been a palpable shift between them lately that was making him uncomfortable. The way she looked at him now was unmistakably affectionate.
And affectionate was not what he signed up for.
Beckett dressed and walked out into the lounge where Fiona was laying sprawled across his red couch with a thick woolen blanket draped across her curvy body.
She held a book above her head and looked absolutely entranced by its contents.
He watched her for a minute, and when she didn’t greet him, he continued into the small study off the main living area. He walked to the bar cart inside the study and poured himself two fingers of port.
In a way, he was glad Fiona hadn’t noticed him. He was tired of feeling like she was a puppy following him around the house all the time.
He sipped at his drink and checked the time. It was still ten minutes before Shooter would be there to pick him up. Which, in Shooter-time, was probably more like fifteen or twenty minutes.
Beckett thumbed through a first edition copy of Life on the Mississippi by Mark Twain. Beckett wasn’t much of a reader, but it was the first gift Lynne had ever given him.
