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“The flight attendant will bring you breakfast,” he says neutrally, looking back at the files in his lap. “We’ll be landing soon.”
Soon is an understatement. I’ve barely gotten the cup of coffee and piece of coffee cake that the attendant brings me before the plane starts to descend. I abandon breakfast, instead looking out of the window as I see clear blue-green waters and crystal-white sands scattered with straw-topped buildings and floating piers come into view. I let out a small gasp at the beauty of it, and when I look over at Salvatore, I see that he’s smiling.
“Welcome to Tahiti,” he says, and my eyes widen.
“That’s so far away.”
“It is,” he agrees. “Very far away, which I believe was part of the point of all of this. To make sure you were as far removed from the threat of the Bratva as possible.”
My stomach swoops. All at once, I’m both excited and reminded of how far I am from Pyotr and the possibility of returning to him. I bite my lip, wanting to enjoy this moment, my first time being somewhere new. The plane is descending further, everything coming into clearer view, and I suddenly can’t wait to be off of the jet.
Salvatore seems to sense my excitement. He packs up his things, glancing over at me. “We’ll be off the jet in no time,” he says. “And then you can see where we’ll be staying.”
He still hasn’t said exactly how long that will be. But I’m not sure I care. This place is paradise, and I can’t wait to explore it. I hope that Salvatore doesn’t have plans to confine me to one of those villas, and then make sure that his security doesn’t allow me to leave.
The humidity smacks me in the face the moment we walk off the plane and onto the tarmac, making me glad that I chose the outfit I did—and that most of my clothing is lightweight. Salvatore leads me to a waiting car, and I slide in after him, eager to get to our destination.
He sits across from me, looking at something on his phone. I’m struck all over again by the fact that he’s barely touched me since the morning I woke up with him pressed against me, only to be followed by that scene in the bathroom. Not even the sort of affectionate touches that a husband would normally give his wife. His hand on my back as he escorted me onto the jet yesterday was one of the rare moments. He doesn’t try to touch my hand or my leg. He barely looks at me.
The car pulls up at the edge of a long pier. The driver opens the door, and Salvatore steps out, waiting for me. I notice he changed clothes at some point—he’s wearing a similar pair of chinos, this time dark brown with a tan linen shirt. He has that same ruffled, slightly undone air about him that made my heart flutter on the stairs, and I swallow hard, following him as we step onto the pier.
Our surroundings are so beautiful that they take my breath away. On either side of the pier we’re walking down, clear, glass-blue water spreads out as far as the eye can see. Sprinkled further down the beach, I can see buildings—probably bars and restaurants, but the villas are scattered across the water, more of the long piers leading to each one.
One of them is ours.
Salvatore leads me all the way to the front door. He opens it to the scent of coconut and lemon, my sandals smacking against the tile floor as we step inside. Everything is cool and crisp and white, with tall, thin greenery in ceramic potting for contrast. The main room that we step into is bright and airy, with a pale light wood table next to the door—a mosaic dish sitting on it—a large three-pane bay window overlooking the water with a cushy reading nook, and a large sectional couch next to sliding glass doors that open up onto a balcony just above the water. To the left, next to the reading nook, is a doorway that leads to what looks like a small kitchenette. There’s no stove—if I had to guess, we have our own personal concierge service here and meals delivered—but there’s a refrigerator, a stocked bar cabinet, and a table nook overlooking the water.
The doors ahead of us are open, showing us the rest of the villa. My heart thumps hard in my chest as I see the huge white bed that takes up the center of the bedroom, a vibrantly colored throw blanket folded at the foot of it that matches the smaller pillows stacked against the crisp white ones. There’s a pale wooden nightstand with a mosaic-shaded lamp on either side of the bed, a matching dresser and wardrobe, and a woven rug next to the bed stretched over the tile. To my right, glass doors open out to a deck with an infinity pool, the edgeless rim of it seemingly flush with the water surrounding it, although I know it’s an optical illusion. There’s a set of stairs leading down to the water, for anyone who would rather swim there.
The bathroom is equally luxurious. I walk in to take a look, trying to avoid thoughts of that huge bed and what might happen in it later. There’s a glassed-in shower, a huge white soaking tub surrounded by greenery, and the calming scent of eucalyptus hangs in the air. The countertop is smooth granite, with bowl sinks, and a large well-lit mirror above it.
It’s luxurious and beautiful, and it’s in the middle of paradise. It’s everything I could have possibly asked for on my honeymoon.
Salvatore is taking off his watch, setting it next to the bed when I walk back out. “Is it all to your liking?” he asks, and I nod, trying to think of what to say. I don’t want to be too effusive, but at the same time, I find that I don’t want to hurt his feelings again. Not when he so obviously picked this because he thought I would enjoy it.
“It’s perfect,” I tell him. “I didn’t really have anything specific in mind, other than warm—but I couldn’t have picked a better spot if I tried.”
It looks as if genuine pleasure crosses Salvatore’s face. He smiles, and then glances at the bed.
“I didn’t sleep well on the plane,” he says after a moment. “I think I might take a nap. Feel free to swim, lay out, whatever you like. But don’t leave the villa just yet,” he adds. “I brought plenty of security along, Gia. So don’t think that they won’t stop you if you try to go off and explore on your own.”
Just like that, my enthusiasm dampens, just a little. I’m afraid he’s going to confine me here, and that just makes me all the more worried that that’s true. But he said don’t leave just yet, which makes me hope it won’t be a permanent situation for our entire stay here. That he’ll loosen up before too long.
Although loosened up isn’t a phrase I would ever really think of to describe Salvatore.
He slips off his shoes, setting them neatly next to the bed before lying back on it and closing his eyes. He’s still fully clothed, and I bite my lip, trying not to look too hard at the muscled v of his chest showing in the open space of his shirt, or think of how it might feel to touch him there.
Instead, I go to the bathroom, and change into one of my bathing suits. I throw a sundress on over it, grab a book, and head out to the deck. The sun is warm and welcoming, the scent of salt and flowers in the air, and I take a deep breath. Despite everything, I feel some of the tension I’ve been carrying drift away, and I sink into one of the soft lounges on the deck in the sun, opening up my book.
I lie out there for a long time, at one point stripping off my sundress to take a dip in the cool, crystalline pool, and then drying out in the sun again while I read more of my romance novel. At some point, I fall asleep, because I wake to the sky blazing with the vibrant colors of a tropical sunset, and the air cooled off a little.
Inside, I hear Salvatore moving around. I throw my sundress back on, gathering up my book, and pad back into the villa to see him stepping out of the bathroom, freshly showered. He’s barefoot, his chinos rolled up at the ankles and his linen shirt half unbuttoned, his dark hair wet against his head. There’s that faint shadow of stubble, and my fingertips tingle as I think of what it might feel like to run them over his cheek.
He looks up as I walk inside. “Ah, there you are. I was about to come get you.” His gaze flicks over me, taking in the sheer blue swimsuit cover I’m wearing and the outline of the bikini beneath it, and he clears his throat. “Dinner will be delivered soon. They’ll set up on the balcony.”
“Okay.” I swallow hard, trying to ignore the tension that feels as if it’s sprung up in the fifteen or so feet of space between us, thick enough to cut with a knife. “I’m going to shower, if I have time.”
“Of course.” Salvatore glances at me once more, as if I were something that might bite, and walks out onto the deck.
