She nibbles her bottom lip as though she’s not sure, staring into my eyes vacantly, and I wonder what thoughts are spinning in that head of hers. The possibilities make me smile.
“Oh, right here,” she tells me finally, pointing to the center of the table. “And Janey, set that down and we’ll spread those out.”
Janey glares at me with a raised brow. “Oh, no worries, I’ve got this.”
I have the decency to look remorseful as she sets the tray down.
“These are beautiful,” I tell Abigail earnestly, which earns me a soft smile.
Before I can say anything else, I hear those tell-tale heels clicking across the floor. “There you are, Miss Andrews. Is this what you’ve made for today’s luncheon?” Meredith couldn’t be more condescending if she tried as she looks at the vibrant symphonies of color Abigail and Janey have created. She reaches toward the main arrangement, frowning as she flicks a bloom with her red-tipped fingers.
“Please don’t touch them,” Abigail scolds automatically. Gentler, she says, “They’re fragile and will blacken from the oils on your hands.”
Surprisingly, Meredith drops her hands back to her sides.
“Yes, each setting has a palm leaf, and the tablescape will have lush greenery accented with the main arrangement, smaller collections of buds, and freshly halved coconuts. The beauty of the tropics,” Abigail explains. She makes flowers sound like a vacation escape.
Meredith continues her barely veiled insults. “I guess they’ll do. It’s better than the overly simplistic one from yesterday, at least.”
Abigail’s back goes ramrod straight, and her teeth click as though she’s choking down the words she really wants to say. I’m pretty sure what she’s swallowing is ‘Fuck you and the horse you rode in on.’
Not able to stand by and watch, I step forward. “Great job, Abigail. I’m sure Claire will love them.”
Meredith cuts her eyes to me as she likely prepares to go mano a mano again. Measuring the distance between me and her and me and Abigail, a light goes off in the depths of her dark eyes. “Oh, I should’ve introduced you two, but it sounds like you already know each other?” Curiosity and calculation are palpable as she looks me up and down once more.
I let Abigail handle this one. It’s reasonable for us to know each other from before, and even if we weren’t familiar through Violet, we could’ve met here at the resort. At yesterday’s meeting, even. But we specifically discussed keeping the whole honeymoon thing to ourselves.
“Yes, Lorenzo is my best friend’s cousin. I was surprised to see him here.” That’s the truth, and her smile makes it seem like a pleasant surprise at least.
“Hmm.” Meredith doesn’t give anything away, and neither does her Botoxed face. “Well, let’s get everything set. Miss Johnson will be here shortly, and we won’t have you standing around when she approaches.”
I dip my chin in agreement, but my eyes wander to Abigail as I step into the kitchen. I can’t help it, nor do I stop the smile I give her, hoping it’s enough to get her through the afternoon’s festivities.
“So, she loved them? I knew she would,” I murmur into the darkness of our bedroom hours later.
We survived the luncheon, even the chef table visits where they didn’t ask about ingredients or anything food-related. No, the bridal party might’ve oohed and ahhed about their dishes, but what they really wanted to know was all about me.
How tall are you?
Can I see your muscles?
Say something in Italian.
Are you single?
Can you sing?
I’d done my best to play the flirtatious asshole, walking the line of pissing them off and making them want more.
But now, lying under the blankets with Abigail, the day disappears into a bubble outside a world of the two of us. Without a word about it, we’re facing each other to talk through the darkness. We are both on our ‘sides’ of the bed, but very close to the middle, making me yearn to reach out and caress Abigail.
“She did. Claire said they were amazing and asked if she could take the main arrangement back to her suite because she liked it so much,” Abigail whispers back, and I can hear the unfiltered delight. “What about you? Did they love the food?”
I balk in faux offense, even though she can’t see me. “Of course they did. Though I mostly felt fortunate to leave the luncheon with my clothing on. That bridal party was hungry, and I think they thought my chef’s jacket was simply a charade for a stripper.”
“No way,” Abigail says slowly, and I’m sure she’s going to say more, but then I just hear the poof of her breath releasing as she begins to fall asleep.
There’s more to say, but for now, I’ll let her rest. Tomorrow’s another day in paradise.
Chapter 11
Abi
“Rise and shine, mia rosa,” Lorenzo’s voice sings. He’s way too alert, and when I crack open one eye, he’s also way too dressed in a pair of gray athletic shorts and a white loose-fit tank top.
Fitness Lorenzo looks good.
Pleasantly surprised by how well-rested I feel, I stretch out my arms and legs with a happy moan. “What are you doing?”
“Wrong question. You should be asking what are we doing?” he corrects.
I sit upright, giving him a look of suspicion. “Okay, what are we doing, then?”
He sits down on the edge of the bed and holds out a steaming cup of coffee as a peace token for the wake-up call. I take it from him and note that it’s the perfect shade of creamy tan. One sip and I sigh in bliss. It’s got the exact amount of cream and sugar I like. It’s a small thing but ridiculously sweet that he’s noticed my habit of way-too-much cream.
Hearing my own ‘that’s what she said’ in my head, I cover the smile with another sip. Over the rim of the mug, I lift my brows to ask if he’s going to answer me.
He leans in close to tease me. “It’s a surprise. Get dressed. Workout wear, if you have any, or any shorts will do.”
Workout clothes? What in the world does he have up the nonexistent sleeves of his tank top?
A hike, maybe? Or a walk on the beach?
Hopefully not a jog because I will legit die. Running is not my favorite by a long shot. Basically, if you ever see me running, it’s because there’s a knife-wielding zombie chasing me.
But the suspense and surprise of it are thrilling. So is the gleam of ‘gotcha’ in Lorenzo’s dark eyes. Whatever he has planned, he’s excited too.
A tiny warning bell goes off in my head reminding me to be careful because his attention, his romantic ways, and his hot body are all my kryptonite. But Violet’s advice turns the alarm off.
Just chill. I can do that. I am so chill, like the frozen sangrias they serve on the resort beach.
I hop out of bed with energy to match Lorenzo’s now, all sleep burned away with eagerness. “Give me fifteen minutes.”
Smack!
Before I make it one step past him, Lorenzo swats my ass hard, and I yelp in surprise as a jolt shoots to my core.
“Ten. We can’t be late.”
Oh, shit. I don’t know what we’re doing, but I’d be ready in five if that’s what he wanted.
I yank on pale lavender yoga shorts that hug my ass and have a handy-dandy pocket for my phone on the hip and a matching sports bra with a strappy back. I hold up my tennis shoes and my flip flops, unsure which to choose.
“Flip flops,” Lorenzo advises hesitatingly. If he thinks that’s some major clue, he is sorely mistaken because all that tells me is that I don’t have to run. Hallelujah!
In the elevator, I pull my phone out to text Janey but Lorenzo stops me.
“I talked to Janey this morning to make sure you had space in your schedule. I wouldn’t want to interfere with your work.” I stare at him in shock. I don’t know why I find his respect for my work such a surprise, but it is. It’s also a ridiculous turn-on given the way some of my previous dates have treated my passion for flowers and plants.<
br />
Oh, you have that nurturing gene. You’ll be a great mother one day.
That’s so cool. You don’t have to work. You get to just play with flowers.
Anybody can toss a bunch of flowers in a vase.
“She said to tell you, and I quote, ‘Fuck off, and that’s an order.’ ” He holds his hands up as though I might take offense. “Literally what she said.”
I laugh because it does sound exactly like something that would come out of Janey’s mouth. I can’t help but mentally check my to-do list, though. There’s nothing on the schedule for today, no luncheons or photo shoots or meetings, and we can’t begin the rehearsal dinner arrangements until tomorrow.
Feeling freer than I have in ages, I boldly slip my hand into Lorenzo’s. “Okay, all yours then. Let’s do this, whatever this is.”
Lorenzo leads me out the back of the resort to a grassy sea overlook area. There are a few other couples sitting on brightly colored striped blankets.
“Welcome, welcome!” a smiling woman with dreadlocks says. “Have a seat.”
I sit on an empty blanket as she indicated, and Lorenzo sits down beside me. I look around to see if I can figure out Lorenzo’s plan, but I can’t pinpoint anything specific. The dreadlocked woman who greeted us is wearing a swimsuit, and the man seated at her side has on compression shorts. The other couples are also in a mix of workout gear, swimsuits, and casual attire. The only thing we have in common is that we’re all barefoot and in paradise.
Leaning over to him, I whisper, “What are we doing?”
His smirk says that he’s not telling me . . . yet.
Fuck, that ‘yet’ is my undoing. It’s the moment on the precipice of an adventure when you know that something amazing or something awful might happen but you have no idea which. The possibilities feel infinite. I feed on that chaotic anarchy roaring in my blood like a starved animal.
But I don’t let any of that show. Nope, I sit still and wait patiently. My mother would be proud. Shocked, but proud.
Thankfully, I don’t have to wait too long.
“Welcome, everyone. My name is Amalya. I’ll be your instructor for couple’s yoga today.” Her voice is soothing and calm, but my heart jumps into my throat. “This is my assistant and boyfriend, Stefan.” The man sitting beside Amalya bows his head in greeting.
I look to Lorenzo with a huge smile. “How’d you know I love yoga?” I whisper.
Yoga is my jam. I take classes at One Life Gym at home several times a week. I’m not exactly a headstand-meditation sort of yogi, but I can sure as shit touch my toes and do a damn good Goddess pose. I’m also ridiculously skilled at savasana, I think with a grin.
Lorenzo leans so close that I can feel his breath on my ear. “Violet.”
Of course. I’m about to ask what in the hell she said when a voice I don’t want to hear breaks into the quiet group.
“Come on, Doug. I don’t want to be late.”
Shit. No way. God, please not now. Not when I have a chance to get my yoga on.
Despite my plea, Emily and Doug come around the corner and stop short when they see every pair of eyes on them.
“Sorry,” Doug says apologetically. “We took the wrong path and got a little lost.”
Amalya gives them the same warm welcome and directs them to a blanket. Right next to Lorenzo and me.
“Oh! Hey, guys,” Emily mouths exaggeratedly as she waves.
I smile tightly in response before turning my attention back to Amalya.
“Today, we will honor existing connections and create new ones from you to your partner and your partner to you. This process is one that must be done with patience, led with the heart, and energized by the body.”
I can see couples looking to each other with questions in their eyes, not sure what mumbo-jumbo Amalya is talking about. I’m sure they thought ‘couple’s yoga’ would be Kama Sutra foreplay, but yoga is so much more than that.
“To begin, face one another with crisscrossed feet,” Amalya instructs, and everyone moves to follow the order and the example she sets with Stefan. “Good, now place your palms together. Your right to your partner’s left, your left to your partner’s right. Once this connection has been forged, close your eyes and feel the energy exchange begin.”
Lorenzo’s palms are soft and warm against mine, and as we sit in silence, I become acutely aware of his breaths and mine becoming synchronous.
After a long few minutes, Amalya tells us, “Open your eyes. Look into your partner’s unflinchingly. See the thoughts, feelings, and desires there.”
Lorenzo’s eyes open, and the dark orbs lock onto me. In their depths, I see so much—heat and lust, but respect and intimacy too. I try as hard as I can to stay vulnerable and not throw up my shields of defense, though it’s hard to not fall into the lust alone.
“Mia rosa,” he whispers.
From beside us, a sigh huffs out, breaking our connection.
I cut my eyes to the left to find Emily fuming as she stares at us instead of Doug. She rolls her eyes, making fun. My returning sigh is one of frustration, not competition.
I’m going to enjoy this moment with Lorenzo, Emily be damned.
Amalya leads us into the first pose. “Yes, one partner standing in front of the other, back to front. Good,” she coaches with a slow, melodic voice. “Place your hands on the hips of the partner in front for support as they caress their hands down thighs, to the earth, and out. Hips stay raised as you find a downward-facing dog pose.” Amalya demonstrates, becoming an upside-down V with Stefan’s hands holding her hips to deepen the stretch.
Face down, ass up, I decide maybe this will be a bit more Kama Sutra foreplay, after all. The idea excites me.
I take the pose with Lorenzo standing behind me. His hands pull my hips back, and I feel his cock nestle into the cradle of my ass.
Oh, shit . . . this is definitely not like yoga at home. It’s better. A lot better.
I press my heels to the blanket and my ass into Lorenzo even harder, swaying my hips slightly to massage his thickening length.
“Abigail,” he warns gruffly, and I giggle softly. I like knowing that I can drive him wild.
But he doesn’t laugh in response. Oh, no, he smacks my ass hard and the stinging pain surprises a loud gasp past my lips.
The slapping sound has gotten the attention of all the other couples too. The women look at me with jealousy and the men look at Lorenzo with awe.
I feel like a goddess with my god claiming me for all to see. It might be pretend, it might be fantasy, but fuck, it’s hot.
I swear I hear Emily mutter ‘whore’ under the cover of a fake cough. But all I can focus on is Lorenzo. Emily’s cattiness can’t touch me when I’m under his spell.
“For our next pose,” Amalya instructs, “you have a choice based on your comfort level. For the first variation, one partner should be seated. The other partner sits in their lap, facing them with legs interlocked behind their back.” She demonstrates by sitting in Stefan’s lap, their cores pressed together. “As you begin to feel the intimacy deepen, you can allow yourself to become more vulnerable by opening your heart.” She shows us that too, laying back to the blanket with Stefan holding her hands to support her.
A few people move to mimic the pose.
Standing up, she tells us, “The second variation is similar but requires a higher degree of trust.”
Stefan holds a finger up. “And strength. She makes it sound graceful and pretty, but it does require strength.”
Amalya smiles at her boyfriend’s addition but teases, “Are you saying I’m heavy? I know you are not saying I’m heavy.”
Stefan’s eyes go dark as he shakes his head. “You are my queen, perfection in every luscious inch.”
With that, they demonstrate variation two. Amalya jumps up to wrap her legs around Stefan’s waist. He supports her weight under her ass for a moment, but then they transition to holding hands as she arches back toward the blanket. Her lock
ed feet keep her core pressed to Stefan’s belly, and his grip on her hands and arms keeps her head from smashing into the sand.
He bounces her a couple of times to adjust their position and eyebrows raise. For all the heat they’re creating, the rest of us might as well not even be here. I think Stefan and Amalya have a rather interesting sex life.
“Whatcha thinking? You want to see if you can hold me up or hit the blanket?” I ask Lorenzo.
He doesn’t wait for me to jump, simply grabs me and hoists me up his body. I try to lock my legs around his waist like Amalya showed us, but his loose shirt makes it nearly impossible and I keep slipping down.
“Like this,” Emily advises. I look over to see her hiked up Doug’s body with her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms hanging on to his neck. The smile on her face is one of smug arrogance that she’s doing something I can’t. She’s getting such sick joy out of being better than me even though Doug looks like he’s one heartbeat away from bursting an aneurysm.
“I can’t grip you through the shirt. I keep sliding,” I tell Lorenzo. Resigned, I start to sit down, thinking he’ll do the same and we can go with variation one.
Instead, he rips the shirt over his head. “Get up here, Abigail. I want those thighs squeezing me like a damn boa constrictor.”
Uhm . . . well, alrighty then. Let’s try this again.
I face Lorenzo and let my eyes trace over his tattoos. I can’t help myself and lean forward to kiss the filigree linework over his chest. I’m rewarded with a vibration under my lips from the purring growl he barely holds inside.
His hands go down to my ass and he lifts me once again. This time, without the shirt in the way, I grip him tightly with my thighs and it works much better. We carefully switch to holding hands, and I squeeze him even tighter so I don’t fall.
“You got me?” I ask.
“Always.”
I want to believe that so much, but it’ll have to be enough that he has me for this moment in time.
I lean back as far as I can with our eyes locked. When both our arms are outstretched, he nods, and I discover that I do trust him with my safety. I arch my back to let my head hang closer to the blanket, and he holds me easily.
My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon Page 15