by Lush, Tamara
I kiss those beautiful lips slow and soft, cupping her face with one hand. Breaking away, I say her name, once, twice.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” she gasps.
I grin against her skin and brush my lips against hers again. She tastes like spearmint and cool water.
“Thought I’d perform a magic trick. It’s called ‘win my girlfriend back.’ What do you think so far?”
Her eyes glisten in the amber light of the club. Chaos surrounds us—from the three women taking group selfies to a man in leather pants holding a leash attached to a woman in a cat suit.
I weave my fingers through Lauren’s curly hair. “I came to apologize. We need to talk. Away from this craziness.”
She looks up at me, then lifts her hands to her face. She goes to rub her eye, but stops. I think she’s wearing false eyelashes because they look longer, sultrier.
“My hotel’s a couple of blocks away.” I reach for her hand and kiss her fingers. She doesn’t budge.
“Wait, Kate’s supposed to meet me here any minute.”
I lean in and kiss her forehead. “Kate’s on Paradise Beach at the bar.”
“No, she’s not.”
“How do you think I knew where you were?”
“Wait. You and Kate…” Her voice trails off, and she presses her fingertips to her bottom lip.
“Yes. We hatched this plan together. Now c’mon. We need to talk.”
She takes a halting step, and I slide an arm around her waist.
“What’s wrong?” We both look down. “Does your leg hurt?”
She shrugs. “I have to go slow.”
“We’ll take it easy. And grab a taxi out front.”
As we walk through the throngs of people to the front door, I’m glued to Lauren. She’s in front, and my hands are around her waist, my nose in her coconut-scented hair.
When we’ve cleared the crowd and are in the hallway leading to the exit, a woman in a red turban, a sparkly black bra top and a peasant skirt jumps in front of us. She’s wearing gold bracelets attached to her fingers that look like tiny, interconnected coins. When she raises her hand to stop us in our tracks, jingles from her jewelry bounce off the dark corridor walls.
“Would you like me to tell your fortune?” she asks in a thick English accent.
I roll my eyes. This circus shtick has become tiresome, and all I want is the serenity of my bland hotel room.
Lauren giggles.
“Fine,” I say, wrapping my arms all the way around her midsection and kissing the back of her head. I can’t wait to get lost in her coconut scent tonight. In her.
The woman grabs Lauren’s palm and studies it. Then reaches for mine and traces down the middle with her thumb.
She looks up, a serious expression in her dark eyes. “You must marry this woman.”
I squeeze Lauren tight. “I’m trying to, but you interrupted.”
Twenty-Seven
Lauren
Did he just say what I think he did?
I gnaw on the inside of my cheek as Max hails a cab and helps me inside. The chilly London spring evening is making my ankle hurt, and I’m moving gingerly.
Or maybe I’m feeling raw and vulnerable because Max is here with his granite-etched jawline and panty-melting grin and those kind blue eyes.
Because he told a total stranger that he wants to marry me.
He’s giving me another chance…
Trembling from the flicker of hope igniting in my core, I lean against him in the taxi in an attempt to steady myself. He shifts so he’s holding me in both arms.
“How…why…What’s with the tuxedo?” I run my hand over his knee, unsure where to begin the conversation.
How I missed that rich, easy laugh of his.
“Kate and I organized this with the precision of a military mission, but that part was unplanned. I walked into the club in my nicest suit, but when I saw you were in that silly VIP area and I couldn’t get past the bouncer, I bribed one of the magicians to switch clothes.”
“So there’s a guy back at the circus club wearing your suit?” I giggle.
“Yep. I don’t think he was enthused about doing magic tricks.” Max presses a kiss to my temple. “On the other hand, I believe I make a pretty damned amazing magician.”
“Considering the lengths you went to get here and find me, I’d say so.”
I snuggle against him in silence for the rest of the short trip. My eyes widen when the taxi pulls up to the door; he’s staying at one of London’s most exclusive hotels.
He helps me out of the car and keeps a tight grip on me all the way to his room, which is a suite on the fifteenth floor. It’s understated, decorated in tasteful beige and cream with accents of navy blue in the throw pillows and the drapes.
I sling my jacket over a chair and ease onto a loveseat. “This is so soothing compared to the club.”
Max slowly takes his tuxedo jacket off, then sinks onto the ottoman. His big hands swallow my knees. By the serious look on his face, I know it’s time for The Talk. For a minute, I wonder if I should try to brush off the discussion. Isn’t it enough that he came all this way for me? My reasons for being angry and hurt are evaporating by the second.
“Lauren, I owe you an apology.”
I shake my head. “No. I owe you the apology.”
“Please listen. I shouldn’t have asked you to help me with the resort’s social media like I did. It was selfish of me. It was as if I was thinking of what you could do for me as opposed to who you are. And what you mean to me. Like usual, I was caught up in work.”
I rub my lips together, hoping to stave off the tears.
“You’ve come to mean everything to me. I love you.” His voice is gravelly and low. “I’ve missed waking up next to you. Missed getting you coffee. Missed your laugh and the way you ask me questions about everything. The way you force me to relax and to think of something other than making money.”
“I’ve missed you, too,” I murmur, swallowing the lump that’s formed in my throat. “So much. You don’t even know.”
“Kate told me about your dad, and how he hounded you for money that night I made my proposal. And then I put that together with your social media job, and how everyone asks you to do things for them. And I realized I was doing the same thing. Not cool.”
“No, you weren’t out of line. I overreacted.”
He squeezes my knees. “I thought we could be a team at the resort. But that’s not what I want.”
“But it’s what I want. I’m sorry. You’re more to me than what I know how to say.” I lean forward and run my fingers through his light brown hair flecked with strands of gold.
“I want us to be a team in life, not in business. You should follow your muse, whether it’s photography or social media or something else. Regardless, I’ll support whatever you choose. As long as you’re happy.”
My lips tremble, but I shoot him a tiny grin anyway. “I never thought a man would say that.”
“Well, I’m saying it to you right now. And I’ll say something else. Will you stay with me on Paradise Beach while I get the resort up and running? Once that’s finished, we can figure out what to do, whether we stay on Paradise or not.”
I run my thumb over his cheekbone. “Yes. Of course I’ll stay. I’d prefer to. I love Paradise Beach.”
He lets out a breath. “We can look for a place together, or if you think that’s moving too fast, maybe you and Kate can find a house. And there’s always the apartment above my parents’ garage.”
“We’ll work it out. There’s plenty of time when we return. Come here. Kiss me.”
He leans in and our mouths meet like metal to magnets. Sparks shower through my body at the sensual, familiar gesture.
I rub my nose against his. “I’m sorry for leaving like I did. It wasn’t fair. Wasn’t right. I should’ve told you how I felt. I panicked. I also felt like you were so harsh about Damien and Kate marrying so quickly, that you would judge me i
f I told you how I truly felt.”
He gathers a lock of my hair and sighs. “For this to work, we’ll have to be honest with each other. I misjudged Damien and Kate. It’s a fault of mine, thinking things should be done one way. My way.”
I press my nose into his neck. “We all have our faults.”
“I also shut down because I was pissed you hadn’t told me about Kate and Damien. It brought back bad memories of my ex, who kept some secrets from me.”
“Oh, babe. I didn’t think it was my place to tell. Then I did, and I felt like shit. I lashed out, and I was wrong. I have no other secrets. You know everything about me, the good and the bad.”
“I know. It wasn’t any of my business. You were right not to tell. It’s okay. Kate’s not upset and neither am I. You’ve made me realize some important details, Lauren.”
“Like what?”
He moves to sit next to me on the loveseat, which is so small it’s easier if I crawl into his lap. Grinning, he wraps his arm around me.
“Being back on Paradise Beach and being with you are intertwined. I’ve seen the light. Figured out what I really want out of life.”
“Which is?”
“You. Us. Maybe a family, if you want. In a place where I’m not a workaholic. Where I can enjoy a sunset and a beer at night. Where we can go kayaking or have a barbecue. I’m done with the city, cupcake.”
I open my mouth to respond, and he puts his finger on my lips. “And I know you might not be. You also have your business, and I won’t stop you from traveling. You want to come to Europe to promote a brand, I’ll support you one hundred percent. We’ll figure out what’s best for us both when and if we want to move on from Paradise.”
Relief floods me. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’ll do. But I think Paradise changed me, too. It showed me I could thrive in one place with a group of people. Kate and her mom. Your mom and your sister. I’ve never felt as loved as I did on Paradise. And you. Especially you. You make me feel loved and cherished and all those things I’ve wanted.”
“All the things you need. That you deserve.”
He holds me tighter, and I shift so I’m straddling him. I hold his face and stare into his beautiful blue eyes while my pulse races with excitement.
“I love you, Max.”
He grins, and I notice his eyes are suddenly watery. “God, that feels so good to hear. I love you too.”
“Like magic, isn’t it?” I murmur, undoing the buttons on his tuxedo shirt as he draws me in for another kiss, crushing his mouth to mine.
Twenty-Eight
Lauren
TWO MONTHS LATER
“Cupcake, these look amazing. Truly. And they complete the lobby. These were the finishing touches we needed. Hey, there’s Tate. Let’s ask what he thinks.” Max slides his arm around my waist and draws me into his body, turning in the direction of his brother.
“Look what we put up today. I’m so proud of her.” Max beams with pride. “It feels like the place is finished.”
Tate stops in front of a massive photograph in a silver frame. It’s of the Gulf of Mexico, all water and sky. Blue on blue. When I took the photo, all I could think about was serenity and hope.
“Holy crap, are these the ones you took on the boat that day?” Tate glances at me, then back to my photo.
I grin, thinking about the day Max, Tate, and I went out on Remy’s sailboat. I’d just bought a new Leica and was terrified to use it so close to the water.
“There and a few others I took from the beach.”
“They’re incredible. Honest to God.” Tate walks up to one and studies it, his nose only two inches from the glass. “These are going to sell like crazy. You’d better take more.”
“Her photos at ArtSpace already sold out,” Max chimes in, kissing my temple, while Tate wanders off to look at the photos on the other side of the lobby, closer to the reception desk.
There’s a lone woman checking in; the resort hasn’t had its grand re-opening yet, but the hotel is accepting guests. Max calls it our “soft launch.”
Chunky, the not-quite-obese pug, follows close behind Tate, his nails clacking on the polished floor.
The four photos at the island’s gallery sold in their first month on display. Now twelve of my large-scale photos hang in the newly renovated, airy lobby of the Paradise Beach Resort. Since the space is all white walls, white concrete floor, and white furniture, the blue in the paintings don’t just pop.
They explode.
Kind of like my heart these days.
The past two months have been the best of my life. When Max came to London to find me, we spent three days walking through the gloomy city, talking. About our fears, our foibles, and our future.
We also stopped at a jeweler where he bought me an engagement ring. Then we walked for a few blocks and there, near Westminster Abbey, he got on one knee and proposed.
I said yes, of course.
Back on Paradise Beach, we’ve been living in the carriage house above his parents’ garage while we look for a house of our own. At first I was unsure if I’d like being so close to his family.
Turns out, I adore it. His mom and I have coffee a few days a week, often joined by Kate and her mom. I see Kate almost every day, knowing she needs me—Damien’s often unable to contact her for days at a time, and each time it happens, she’s beside herself with worry.
When I’m not with her or Max, I’m taking photos, printing photos at a commercial studio on the mainland, and creating an online course on how to become a social media influencer. I’m also in therapy, talking to someone about my anger over my mom’s addiction. I have a lot of anger, and it’s a good thing Max is patient. Also, it turns out that children of addicts often worry if they let people into their lives, they’ll be disappointed.
Exactly what I’d worried about with Max. And he’s anything but disappointed in me.
Today I spent the entire morning at the computer and took a break to take Max a turkey sandwich at the resort. He’s mostly still his workaholic self but has been good about taking breaks. With me.
I’m also supposed to do a Chunky handoff with Tate, since he’s going to a meeting and doesn’t want to leave the dog alone. Tate’s thinking about running for state representative here in Florida, and he’s forming an exploratory committee. Today’s the first meeting, and I think it would be hilarious if he brought the dog. I’ve already suggested that Chunky appear in his political ads, but Tate’s nixed the idea.
I kneel down, gathering the hem of my long cotton dress. “C’mere, Chunk. Come on, sweet boy.”
The pug gives me a bored glance then turns back to the end of the new reception desk, sniffing its leg.
“He’d better not piss on that,” Max mutters.
“No, Chunky never pees indoors. He’s a good boy.” I make a kissy noise to try to get his attention, but the dog wants to stay near Tate.
“I don’t want him taking a whiz around a guest. He really shouldn’t be here at all.” Max’s forehead wrinkles, and we watch as the guest who’s checking in bends to scratch Chunky under his chin.
“She’s made a friend for life,” I murmur.
The dog’s no longer obese, but he could still lose a pound or two. He’s also not the fastest-moving animal in the world. Or the smartest. But we all adore him, and I’m totally Team Chunky now.
“She sure has,” Max chuckles. “And I think she’s gotten the interest of Tate, too.”
Giggling, I wrap my arms around my fiancé’s neck. Tate’s always flirting with someone. “I bought steak. Want to grill tonight? I also wanted to talk about some wedding stuff.”
Max brushes his lips against mine. “Absolutely on the steak. And maybe on the wedding. We haven’t convinced Ma that we should elope in London?”
“No chance.” I nuzzle his neck, inhaling his lime-spice aftershave. “Mmm. It’s hard not to want to make out with you.”
“I know. But I have to get back to work.” Max glances aro
und the nearly empty lobby and grabs my ass with both hands, making a little groaning noise in my ear. “Jesus, Tate moves fast.”
“All you Hastings men move fast. What’s he doing?”
“He’s chatting up that woman. She looks really familiar.”
I twist in Max’s arms to peek. The woman has the most gorgeous, shiny, straight brown hair I’ve ever seen. Long, past her shoulders. She looks like she should be watching a polo match or some luxury sport played by men with accents. A sleek black suitcase sits nearby, and I’ll bet she’s the kind of traveler who can pack a month’s worth of impossibly stylish clothing in a carry-on.
“One of your old girlfriend, perhaps?”
“No. Definitely not. You jealous?”
“Nope.” I give his shoulder a soft bite. “You’re mine. I know it. You know it.”
“Damn straight I’m yours. No, she looks like someone I saw in the news.”
I watch as Tate—dressed in a charcoal gray suit, not his usual faded T-shirt and cargo shorts—blasts her with his dazzling grin. The woman tucks her straight, brown hair behind her ear, and a blush creeps across her tanned cheeks.
“Oh, she’s under his spell already. I think this is a record for Tate,” Max says.
“Shhh.”
“We’re far enough away that they can’t hear us.”
“Don’t stare.”
“I’m serious. We saw her in the news. Who is she?”
The woman, who is taller than I am and wearing crisp white pants, a pink polo, and white sneakers, swivels her head in our direction and gives us a wary glance.
“Wait a minute,” I mutter, taking my phone out of my purse. “Wasn’t she…?”
Angling my body so my back is to Tate and the woman, I swipe and tap, then let out a faint gasp when the photos on the Daily Mail news site appear. “Babe, she was in the paper when we were in London!”
“That’s right,” he hisses as he glances at my phone screen. “Isn’t that…what’s her name? The one who was all over the news because her fiancé was caught snorting coke in Las Vegas?”