Page 129 of The Temporary Fiancée
I breathe in the scent of coffee - nowthathits the spot. “Not too bad. I could use a little more sleep, though. I have a killer headache.” I sip the coffee, then add, “It’s been a while since I wasthishung over.”
He gives me a sympathetic smile. “You can sleep it off on the plane.”
I freeze, staring at him. “Thewhat?”
“The plane,” he repeats. “I’m taking you somewhere for the rest of the weekend. Just the two of us. Get away from everything. What do you say?”
For a second, my jaw drops, and I have to force myself to close my mouth.Just the two of us?Am I imagining this? What in the world could have…
Oh. Wait.
A memory from last night flashes through my head, all at once.
I broke down in front of him. I gave in, and I kissed him—and then Icried.Oh, god. I remember his arms around me, and I think I remember asking for them, too.
I can feel the heat in my face, and suddenly, I can’t look him in the eye anymore. I bite my lip, looking at the ground. “Um, listen, if this is about last night…”
“It’s not,” he says gently. “I just want to take my fiancé someplace nice. Okay?”
My heart skips a beat as he says that, and uneasily, I nod. That soundsreal—more real than it ever has before. I want to be able to relax and enjoy it—this is all part of the Eastwood fiancé experience, right? When I signed those contracts, I should’ve figured that the perks would look like this.
But… after last night, and even before that, things between us were undeniably complicated. We haven’t resolved the question of what the hell is going on between us, and I know that I’m still careening toward heartbreak.
Inevitably, this is going to ruin me. At this point, that fact is the only thing I’m certain of.
I take a deep breath, closing my eyes to ease my headache.Come on,I tell myself.Get it together. You signed a contract, and he wants to take you on vacation. At leasttryto enjoy this while it lasts.
“Okay,” I say finally. “Let’s go.”
He grins. “Okay. Be ready to leave in an hour.” He pauses, half-shrugging, and says, “Or whenever, really. I mean, it’smyplane. It’s not like it’s going to leave without us.”
I head to my bedroom to hop in the shower—I’m not about to get on a plane this hungover. To my surprise, when I look in the bathroom mirror, my face is clear. I was expecting to have raccoon eyes from my mascara smearing, but it looks like I removed it last night.
Which is impossible, since I was a total mess last night. So Reed must have done it.
I push the thought out of my head before it can make me freak out again and climb in the shower, turning the water temperature up so that the steam can clear my head. By the time I’m done, I’ve managed to relax a little.
I pack a bag quickly. I’m not sure how long we’ll be away, so I opt to bring some extra clothes, and make sure to pack my knitting supplies. Then I head out into the foyer to meet Reed.
His driver is waiting for us at the entrance to The Luxe, and loads our bags into the trunk while I pepper Reed with questions.
“It’syourplane? You mean youownit?”
“Yeah.”
“And it just sits at the airport?”
“Until I need to go somewhere, yeah.”
“Do you pay a pilot?” I’m a bit flabbergasted. I knew that he was rich, but I guess I miscalculated justhowrich. It shouldn’t take me by surprise—I’ve known the Eastwoods since I was a child—but somehow, I’m still blown away.
“Of course,” he says, chuckling. “What, did you think I flew it myself?”
On the way to the airport, another question occurs to me. An important question.
“Wait—where exactlyarewe going?”
He gives me an amused look, like he was wondering how long it was going to take me to ask. “You ever heard of Turks and Caicos?”
