by Stella Gray
“I’ll figure it out,” I tell her.
“I’m sure you have your ways. You’re his wife. You know all his weaknesses.”
I laugh along with her, but in reality, I still have a lot to learn about my husband. Thanks to our disaster of a honeymoon, I didn’t get the chance to extend the “get to know you” game that couples usually play. Nor has there been a natural progression in intimacy between us, so…
We get the dogs back on their leashes and then part ways with a hug, me promising to call Emzee as soon as I’ve gotten a solid yes from Luka.
Back at the apartment, I sink onto the couch to scroll through the itinerary. White sand beaches. Clear, blue-green water. Sunny weather for days. And all the fruity drinks I can handle. I am so on board with this trip. Not just for some time out of this damn penthouse, but for the chance to reconnect with my sisters-in-law, too. I don’t see Tori or Emzee as often as I’d like, and our schedules rarely align so that we’re all free to meet up at the same time.
My mind wanders to the three of us on the beach, gossiping and spilling secrets as we sip cold drinks and maintain a nice buzz all day. I’m sure Tori would like some uninterrupted time with Stefan, too, and I know Luka and I could use some alone time in a different setting. I imagine he’ll enjoy seeing me sashay around in a string bikini—and if he’s lucky, nothing at all when we’re alone in our room.
Maybe getting out of here will break the dysfunctional routine we’ve fallen into. Rejuvenate our relationship. Maybe it’ll even help Luka realize that he wants to work on it.
The gears in my head start turning. Normally, I’d go the seductive route. Slip into something sexy, drop to my knees, and suck him off until he’s putty in my hands. With Luka, sex is basically foolproof as a method of persuasion. But nowadays, the sex we have is so wrapped up in anger and resentment that I don’t think it’s the best way to go. The whole “dutiful wife” routine has also been played out at this point. I need to think on it some more.
I spend the next hour brainstorming, googling, and engaging in a carefully worded conversation with my mom about how to make one’s husband agree to one’s vacation plans.
“You’ll need to do more than just surprise him with a cake or give him a little extra wink-wink in the bedroom,” she explains.
“Mom! Do not talk about ‘wink-wink’ with me!” I plead. “But I don’t know what will work. Begging won’t cut it. He’s more married to his job than to me, and it’ll be a week off.”
“Listen,” she says soothingly. “And this is just what I’ve learned through my own observations, so I can’t guarantee anything. But most men tend to be prideful, especially around their colleagues. They’ll do just about anything to save face in the moment.”
“So I need to put him on the spot,” I say, nodding to myself. “Back him into a corner.”
“A loving corner,” my mom adds.
Finally, with the help of my mom, I pull together a solid idea that seems like it can’t fail—and then call Emzee immediately to invite her in on it.
She laughs. “I had no idea you had such a conniving streak. I knew I liked you.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I say. “Now let the games begin.”
The next morning, I wait for Luka to leave, then have a leisurely morning walking the dog, picking up breakfast at the corner bagel shop, and then showering with all my fanciest bath products. Once my hair is blow-dried and softly tousled, I apply just a touch of makeup and then slip into a flouncy blue dress and wedge heels. I want to look nice enough to win him over, but without overdoing it. This is a performance, after all.
I go to the party supply store first, then pick up the cake I ordered from the bakery. An hour later, I meet Emzee in the parking lot of Danica Rose Management’s offices in The Loop. As I try to wrestle a million balloons out of the backseat of my car, Emzee starts giggling.
“Talk about festive!” she says. “It looks like you’re going to float away with all of those. How many birthday balloons did you buy?”
“Literally one of every kind they had in the store,” I admit. “Including superheroes, sports themed, and the cute baby animal ones meant for kids.”
“My brother is going to be so embarrassed,” Emzee squeals. “I can’t wait!”
She’s got two large travel carriers of dark roast from Luka’s favorite coffee house down the street, and a tote bag filled with some wrapped gifts for emphasis.
We stride into the lobby with our cargo, take the elevator up, and then head down the hallway. I shush Luka’s assistant Damien as he opens his mouth to protest us striding toward the conference room door like a two-person birthday parade extravaganza. DRM’s weekly mandatory staff meeting is going on, and under ordinary circumstances there’s no way in hell I’d ever purposely disturb Luka during one of these.
I’m sure I’ll be in trouble with him later, but the Bahamas are involved, so I don’t care.
A grinning Damien appears at our side, and I show him the cake box. “Early birthday surprise,” I whisper.
“I never would have guessed,” he whispers back. “I support your shenanigans.”
He pushes open the door for us, holding it so we can go through with our hands full. I make a mental note to bring him a huge slice of cake afterward with my thanks.
We’re entering at the rear of the room, everyone’s backs facing us, so Emzee and I are able to quietly tiptoe inside with the cake, the coffees, the presents, and the ridiculously huge balloon bouquet. Emzee can’t hold back a giggle, and suddenly everyone turns in their chairs and looks at us in shock. Luka’s eyes widen and then his gaze falls to me, but all I see is surprise.
“Happy birthday, darling!” I say, slipping the cake box onto the conference table in front of him. I flip open the lid, displaying the fancy lettering and frosting swirls, and smile at him sweetly. “Hope everyone likes chocolate truffle cream,” I announce loudly.
Meanwhile, Emzee sets down the bag of presents and one of the coffee carriers and then starts giving people fresh refills on their lukewarm conference coffees with the other one. It’s obvious that the Danica Rose staff is more than happy for the interruption and the treats. Everyone is smiling. Everyone but him.
I lean down and give Luka a kiss on the cheek. “Are you surprised?”
He looks at the cake and rubs the nonexistent stubble on his chin, his trademark move when he’s trying to stop himself from blurting out words he’ll probably regret later. I smile even wider, half expecting him to have a bit of a tirade over this intrusion. But instead he sets both hands on the table and shakes his head as if he can’t believe it.
“Shocked is probably more accurate,” he says. Looking around the room and then zeroing in on Emzee, he pulls his lips into a tight line. “Was this my baby sister’s evil plan? I’m sure she told you how much I hate surprises.”
“Nope, it was all Brooklyn’s idea,” Emzee crows. “I just egged her on!”
I always love being thrown under the bus. Still, I don’t let it take my smile down. “It was a combined effort, actually,” I say. “Here, I’ll just cut you a quick slice and then we’ll get on out of here so you and the staff can get back to it.”
“Let’s all sing ‘Happy Birthday’!” Emzee looks around the room for support. She raises her hands as if she’s going to conduct, but Luka’s hard voice stops her.
“That would be nice, but as I’m sure you know, it’s not actually my birthday today.” If his voice were a rubber band, it would be near snapping.
I wave a hand dismissively and slide a slice of cake onto a paper plate for him. “I know! But considering that I’m giving you a trip to the Bahamas with your family for your actual birthday, you won’t be here to celebrate with your colleagues. So, we’re doing it early!”
Everyone oohs and ahhhs and starts clapping while my husband tries so, so hard not to slice me to pieces with his eyes.
“Wow,” he grinds out. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
&
nbsp; My mother was right. There’s no way he can reject me in this situation, with the entire conference room applauding me and thinking he’s the luckiest guy in the world right now.
I bend down and kiss him on the cheek. “Oh, you’re so welcome, darling. I know we’re going to have the best time!”
His eyes narrow in annoyance, but before he can say anything, people start lining up for cake, chattering excitedly and batting playfully at the balloon bouquet. They’re like a bunch of kids at a party. Luka’s going to have quite a job of calming them all back down.
“Oh, I’m counting on it,” he finally says back, letting his eyes trail down my body suggestively. “I’m already thinking of ways to repay you.”
With that, my cheeks flushing hot and my pulse kicking up, I cut that extra big thank-you slice for Damien, then nod at Emzee to join me at the door. Feeling triumphant and pleased with myself, I saunter out with my sister-in-law at my side and let the door fall shut behind us.
“Here you go, Damien,” I say, setting the cake down on the assistant’s desk as we pass by. “I owe you one.”
“How’d it go in there?” he asks, digging in.
“It was perfection,” Emzee coos, and we practically dance our way to the elevator.
Looks like Luka Zoric’s about to pack his bags. With any luck, there will be a surprise for me in there too—a contract with Maxilene.
Bahamas, here we come.
Luka
Chapter 24
As we descend toward Nassau, all I can see out the window are crystalline turquoise waters, a shoreline edged with pure white sand beaches and luxury hotels, and thick patches of mangrove, pine, and palm trees. The plane touches down with a thump, the engine roars, and passengers start cheering as we slowly roll down the runway.
“Eff yeah!” Emzee yells in the seat in front of me, pumping her fist. “We’re here!”
A few people sitting around us chuckle at her childlike enthusiasm, and I join in.
My hand subconsciously wraps around Brooklyn’s and gives it a squeeze, and I feel my chest loosening up, my shoulders sagging with the sudden release of tension I didn’t even realize I was holding during the flight.
Despite my annoyance at being virtually trapped into agreeing to take this vacation, Brooklyn did a good thing. I can appreciate the effort she went through to pull this off.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Nassau where the local time is approximately 4:30,” a flight attendant’s voice says over the PA system. “For your safety and the safety of others, we ask that you please keep your seatbelts fastened…”
We make our way off the plane and through the airport in no time, and soon enough we’re spilling out of two taxis outside our hotel, The Island Club Resort. It looks more like a mansion than a hotel, with its white marble steps, lacy balustrades enclosing each balcony, the entrance flanked by tall white columns.
“This place is gorgeous,” Tori says, swooning beside Stefan. “You nailed it, Brooklyn.”
“Oh, don’t go giving me all the credit,” my wife says. “Emzee picked it out.”
“Thank you very much, and yes I have excellent taste in accommodations,” Emzee says smugly, marching ahead of us all. “Now let’s go check in so we can get some food ASAP!”
Our rooms aren’t just comfortable, they’re extravagant. We’re given separate bungalows along the beach, with private verandas that lead right onto the beach. Inside, it’s nothing but crisp white linens, ocean views out of every window, and touches of polished marble and muted gold. There isn’t much time to appreciate it all, though, as Emzee made us all promise to meet up in the lobby for dinner the second we’ve all changed and put our things away. That means I also don’t have much time to talk to Brooklyn.
As we head down in the elevator, I turn to her. “Thank you, for all of this,” I say.
“It really wasn’t me. It was your sister’s idea,” she says modestly.
“But you made it happen,” I tell her. “That isn’t nothing. I think we all needed this.”
She smiles and looks away, but I catch the flush of pink in her cheeks.
“Is this your dream destination?” I ask, trying to keep the line of communication open. It’s been so long since we just…talked.
“No,” she says quietly. “Paris was.”
Our eyes meet, and for a moment I don’t know what to say. There’s been so much bad blood between us, but I know I can’t blame it all on her. We’ve both made mistakes.
“Brooklyn, look, I—”
The elevator dings as we stop on the first floor and the doors glide open.
“Save it,” she says, breezing past me.
As I watch her walk away, I can’t help wondering: is there a chance we could fix this?
* * *
I’m leaning back in a beach chair, my toes dug into the cool sand, hand wrapped around a frosty mojito as a warm breeze ruffles my hair. Taking a deep breath, I realize I feel…calm.
What the hell is happening to me?
There’s no denying it: I’m actually enjoying myself. The breathtakingly clean, pale pink beach stretches around me for literal miles, the expanse of water even more brilliant and clear up close than it appeared from above. I’ve been stretched out in my chair here for several minutes now, sunglasses on, sipping my drink. Hell, maybe it’s been longer. Time has kind of slipped away and the longer I let myself zone out, the more peaceful I feel inside. How about that.
It’s a relief to be away from the circus, even if it’s just a brief respite. The stress and constant worry about my work are gone. I mean, I’m fully aware of how many unanswered emails are sitting in my inbox, how many contracts need vetting, how many meetings I have lined up next week. But for some reason, it’s easier to hold it all back, push it aside and just breathe. There’s something about the air here. It’s different.
I just want to keep sitting in this chair with the warm waves intermittently rushing up to splash my ankles and the million-dollar paradise view spanning in every direction.
Not to mention the sight of my wife.
Brooklyn has just emerged from the water and is heading toward me, flipping her wet hair back like a Bond girl. Except her string bikini is so scant that her nipples are barely covered by the little triangles of fabric, the globes of her breasts perfectly on display. Her bikini bottom is just as skimpy, with little bows tied at her hips just begging to be tugged loose. And while there are a variety of other women wearing similar suits, my gaze is drawn repeatedly to my wife.
That lithe, toned body appearing out of the ocean like a lost goddess of Atlantis, practically glowing in the sunlight, impossible to look away from. She’s flawless.
“Look at you being all happy for once,” Emzee says sassily as she steps from the water alongside Brooklyn in a vintage polka dot one-piece. “I didn’t recognize you for a second.”
“Ha ha.” I playfully toss an ice cube in my sister’s direction while turning to Brooklyn, who just smiles and keeps walking.
We still haven’t spoken much since our arrival last night. My family has been keeping us so busy with drinks (and a never-ending supply of food) that we haven’t gotten much alone time, and on top of that it seems like the Zoric women are all treating this vacation like a girls’ trip with all their gossip and giggling. For my part, I stayed up so late talking to Stefan over a bottle of bourbon that by the time I got back to the room, Brooklyn was already asleep. Then this morning started with Tori and Emzee barging in to pull my wife out of bed so they could all go watch the sun rise.
But finally, here we all are, taking a dip in these picture-perfect tropical waters. Well, the rest of them are. I haven’t actually gotten in yet. I track my eyes to see where my wife is now. She’s ducking under the shade of Emzee’s huge umbrella, patting herself dry and throwing on a sheer beach coverup.
“Where are you headed?” I call out. We don’t have any group plans until later.
Brooklyn grins. “I made a self-care
appointment. Sugar scrub. Massage. Hot stones. The works. See ya later.”
She slides her sunglasses down, flips me a little wave, and then she’s gone, long legs striding across the sand until she disappears around the privacy fence at the back of our resort.
Watching her go, an idea pops into my head.
I wander to the beach-side bar and get another mojito, then head back to the bungalow. Brooklyn is already gone by the time I get there, but it only takes a call to the front desk to find out where her reservation is. I slip on a fresh tee shirt, sipping my drink as I head to the spa.
Maybe it’s all the sunshine and the alcohol, or maybe I’m just drunk on paradise, but I want to be with my wife. I want to put my hands on her in a way that reminds me how things used to be between us. I want to feel something for her other than anger.
The hurt over her betrayal is still with me, but it feels distant, as if it’s faded with time. It crosses my mind much less these days. I hang on to it, I suppose, as a form of self-defense. I’ve been hurt and betrayed so much in my life that staying angry and guarded with people who’ve hurt me in the past is my default. But when Brooklyn and I first entered into his fake marriage and things started to progress, I saw that things could be different. That opening up didn’t have to mean inevitable emotional destruction.
Too bad I was wrong about that.
Or was I?
I enter the upscale spa and tell the hostess behind the counter who I am. Then I slip her a hundred to tell me which room my wife is in, and she happily leads me down the hall, catching the female masseuse before she can go in and work on Brooklyn.
“Just give me twenty minutes,” I tell them with a wink. “It’s an early anniversary surprise.”
The women exchange sly looks, grinning and nodding. Pulling out another hundred for the masseuse, I am left without a single protest.
Money talks. I learned that early, and it’s never let me down.
Inside the room, Brooklyn is lying facedown with a towel draped over her perfect ass. Her hair is twisted into a bun on top of her head. Her torso, arms, and legs are beautifully bare. My cock twitches, but I keep it under control as I approach the massage table, drinking her in.
