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Skyler’s eyes light up. “If you need sex scene help, Hudson does this little thing that…”

“Stop!” Autumn and I yell in tandem, putting our hands over our ears.

Skyler starts to laugh. “Hey, I’m just saying your brother has moves.”

“And I never want to know what they are,” I tell her, deadpan. And then, because I’m scared she won’t get the message, I stand up and head for the outdoor kitchen set up on the far side of the yard. I’d rather help than listen to the moves my oldest brother has in bed.

There’s a whole load of mismatched crockery on the tables underneath some trees. Tiny leaves have fallen and covered thesurface of the plates, so I busy myself by grabbing a dishtowel and wiping them off.

I’m making great progress when one of the smaller plates slips in my hand and shatters on the outdoor counter. I instinctually reach for it in my usual heavy manner, and a sharp slice of pain radiates through the meaty part of my palm below my thumb.

“Ow,” I yelp, jerking back, but not fast enough. A bright line of red blooms from the stinging skin, the beads blossoming until they merge into one long line.

“Eden?”

I glance up, still grimacing at the sudden pain, to see West walking toward me. Why oh why does he always have to see me at my worst?

I turn my back on him and grab a piece of paper towel. “Aren’t you supposed to be dominating the table tennis tournament?” I say lightly, even though I want to scream in pain.

Ignoring my question, he gently reaches for me. “You’re hurt. Let me see.”

I try to pull away. “I’m fine. Honestly.” But he takes my hand and turns it over, inspecting the cut, his jaw clenching as he sees the blood covering my palm.

“That cut’s deep,” he says, worry in his voice, even though he’s stupidly calm about it. “We should probably take you to urgent care. Get it stitched.”

I attempt to pull my hand away, but he doesn’t let go. Just holds it gently but surely, his fingers feeling like the softest handcuffs.

“It’s just a nick,” I mutter, continuing to apply pressure as blood seeps through the towel. “And anyway, I don’t want to go to urgent care.”

“Why not?”

I hesitate for half a beat too long.

“Eden,” he says, his voice a low warning. “Why not?”

I lift my chin. “Because I don’t have US health insurance, okay?”

His jaw clenches. “What do you mean you don’t have US health insurance?”

“I’m covered for the rest of the world. The US coverage is expensive and I wasn’t planning on being stateside long enough to need it. And then when… everything happened in Vegas, I forgot.”

“You forgot.” He doesn’t look at all impressed by that explanation. To be fair, I don’t blame him. Even if it is the truth. “What happens if you get really hurt? Or sick?”

“I don’t usually slice my hand open at family barbecues,” I point out.

“That’s not the point.” He grabs a clean towel and wraps it firmly around my palm. “You’re on this island with me. You’re living in my house. That makes it my problem.” Then he pauses for a moment. “We’re going anyway. I’ll pay for it.”

I frown. “No way. I’m not your responsibility.”

“You’re my wife. So yes, you are. And tomorrow you’ll be added to my insurance.”

When he says ‘wife’ everything in me starts to panic. I look around to see if anybody heard.

“Hush,” I whisper, stepping closer – enough to catch the scent of his skin. Cedarwood and something citrusy that always hits me deep in the stomach. “You can’t say that out loud. Not here.”

His brow lifts, but he doesn’t let go of my hand. If anything, he holds it tighter. Steadier.

“You think anyone’s paying attention?” he asks, voice low, intimate. “They’re all too busy getting drunk or losing at ping pong.”