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I escape as quietly as possible out of his bedroom, promising myself I’ll never, ever do this again. And when we go into work together tomorrow, I’ll smile, I’ll simper, I’ll play the part he’s so clearly written for me.

The wife that’s so temporary he still has another woman’s photograph on his dresser.

thirteen

EDEN

“Oat milk cappucino, one shot of cinnamon,” West murmurs, passing me an insulated cup with ‘Brewed Awakenings’ embossed on the side. He’s not in his suit today, I guess because of the dust on the construction site. Instead, he’s in jeans and a plain black t-shirt that is so perfectly cut for his body I know it isn’t from Old Navy.

“How did you remember that?” I ask him. I swear I’ve only ordered coffee in front of him once –the morning after our sham wedding. But when I lift the cup to my lips and take a sip it’s absolutely perfect.

“I’m here to please,” he says, lifting a brow. And for a second all I can think of is last night. Him in the shower. Pleasing himself.

The way his palm wrapped around his erection. And god, what a gorgeous specimen it was. Just the right length and girth – not so big it looks like a damn can of beer – but enough that I know I’d feel it hard inside me.

It’s not going to be inside of you, doofus. He has another woman’s picture on his dresser.

“Nice coffee,” I squeak as I almost spit it out.

He gives me a strange look.

He knocked on my bedroom door this morning, telling me he was planning to leave at eight.

Which I’m assuming is late for him, but he’s obviously trying not to drag me out of the house at the crack of dawn.

I avoided him at breakfast. And during our ride to the resort site I scrolled through my phone, trying to hide the embarrassment from my cheeks after last night.

I’m pretty sure I failed.

And for the last hour, I’ve been on a site induction. I’ve watched videos, had a safety talk from the team’s head of site, and then I even had to answer a quiz about everything I learned before they gave me a hard hat and the go-ahead to roam the land with West.

They take things seriously here, I’m discovering. And I don’t know why, but I like it.

West emerged from meetings about five minutes ago, right as the order he’d sent to Mylene arrived, brought by Simon, Liberty’s elusive taxi driver who is harder to track down than a unicorn.

Though apparently not when it comes to bringing West a hundred cups of coffee.

The whole place is a hive of activity. There are teams everywhere – some working on the accommodation buildings, others welding metal frames or leveling pathways. A bunch of guys in safety vests are arguing good-naturedly about the best kind of decking while another crew preps a landscaped garden area with native shrubs and giant rolls of irrigation tubing.

In the distance, I spot a crane swinging a massive steel beam into place, like it’s no big deal. It should feel chaotic, but somehow it doesn’t. There’s a rhythm to it. A purpose. Likeeveryone here actually wants to be part of building something amazing.

The first thing West does is gesture for me to follow him. “Come on. I want to show you the splash zone.”

“Is that a euphemism?” I ask, then immediately regret it, because apparently I’m physically incapable of not being an idiot around him. But he just glances at me and smiles softly.

We start walking down a narrow gravel path between two half-built buildings. The sun’s already heating up the air, but West looks completely unbothered, gesturing to the steel supports and curved walkways like he’s presenting the crown jewels.

“This is where the shallow pools will go,” he says, pointing to a large dug-out area surrounded with temporary fencing. “We’re using a smart irrigation and recirculation system to minimize water waste. It’s designed to be low splash, but high fun. Less about volume, more about sensory. Kids can activate the jets themselves. Make them feel like superheroes.”

That’s stupidly sweet. I run the tip of my tongue over my dry lips. He’s staring at the mess of a site in front of us like he can see the finished product. Like the bulldozers and scaffolding and piles of gravel have melted away, and what’s left is a living, breathing dream.

“There’ll be a whole oasis of trees here,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Kids running barefoot to the pool. A bar in that corner with couples sitting under the trees at night with a drink, listening to music.”

I glance at him. His jaw’s tight, but his eyes are shining. He looks like the West I remember. Excited yet relaxed, and completely in control. He lifts an arm to run his hand through his hair, and I try not to watch as his biceps flex deliciously.

“So,” he says, tipping his head to look at me.

“So?” I frown, trying to figure out what he means.