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Foster cups my face. “It was the worst two months of my life. I wanted to see you, I really did. I watched you come and go.”
“Come and go?”
“Video. All my buildings have video surveillance.”
“That’s creepy. You were stalking me?”
“You’re my wife. I wasn’t stalking you. I wanted you to be safe, and I missed you. I’m very much in love with you.”
Shaking my head, I tell him, “Stop saying that.”
“It’s true.”
The captain’s voice interrupts us as it blares from the intercom. We are landing in twenty minutes. The two attendants come through to clean the table as we belt ourselves into our seats. Foster strokes my face with his knuckles.
“I love you, Paige.”
“I wish it was that easy.”
He exhales loudly. “I don’t want to keep having this discussion. Can we move forward?”
“We’ll see.”
A half-hour later, we are being transported to the same resort we stayed in on our second honeymoon, then to the very same villa. It is just as I remember it.
“Where are you sleeping?” I ask as we bring our bags to the large master bedroom.
“Right there,” Foster indicates, pointing to the king-sized bed.
I purse my lips. “Not with me.”
His shoulders sag. “You’d make me sleep on those uncomfortable wicker couches in the living area?”
“You could sleep in the hammock out on the lanai.”
Foster scratches at the scruff on his face, asking, “You’d do that to me?”
“Baby, love hurts.”
“And so will my back after a night on those couches.”
I chuckle. “I told you I’m going to make you work for it.”
It is after ten, and I am exhausted having worked out earlier this morning, put in a full day at the office, and unintentionally traveled. I yawn and hunt through the suitcase Foster packed for me, unsurprised to find my clothing in it. Since Foster already violated my privacy by searching my apartment for my passport, I figure he wouldn’t have stopped there. I notice he also chose to include the skimpiest of bikinis I have. I also find several brand new lingerie sets. Foster must be hoping to make this trip romantic.
He uses the bathroom in the hall while I change and brush my teeth in the one attached to the master. After I slip on a long gray t-shirt, I pad toward the kitchen for a drink. I am sure the refrigerator is well stocked as it was on our last visit. By now, Foster is curled up on the longest couch with his feet hanging off the end. He looks uncomfortable, but I’m not ready to let him sleep with me.
Foster glances up at me as I enter the room, his eyes traveling over my legs. “Are you here to give me a reprieve?” He sits up, and I can’t help but gaze at his bare muscular torso. He must have turned things around to keep in shape during our separation.
“Not one bit. It’s a lovely evening, though. I would’ve thought you would opt for the hammock instead of the couch.”
“The hammock brings up memories of where we spent time together.”
I grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator, pop the top, and gulp down half of it before I recap it and retreat to the bedroom.
“Have a good night!” I call out before I shut the door.
I am startled awake around midnight by the dirtiest of dirty dream about my husband. My core aches for relief, and I toss and turn, hoping I can fall back to sleep. The bottle of water on the nightstand is empty, and I am thirsty. In the kitchen, I am careful not to wake Foster, but he is no longer on the couch. A warm breeze ruffles my hair as I go to open the refrigerator, so I turn and see the slider partially open.
