crest, and I shut my eyes and whispered Ford’s name, bracing myself against his shoulders as the pleasure spread through me in rippling waves, my whole body shaking with the intensity of it. It felt endless.
Afterward I lay there, head against Ford’s chest. As I listened to his pounding heartbeat, I knew without a doubt that he would never, ever forget this night.
Emzee
Chapter 6
I was home in Chicago again, and thank God.
The romantic environment of St. Barts—and the fact that Ford and I had fucked on nearly every surface in the villa—had made it impossible to keep my feelings at bay for the rest of our trip. But despite the fantasy, I’d known we couldn’t stay in our little bubble forever. Because no matter how hot the sex had been, no matter how romantic the honeymoon, none of that changed the reality of our situation.
In less than a year, I’d have to divorce Ford and walk away for good.
Which meant that I had to go back to protecting my heart.
Unfortunately, my head was still swimming with indelible memories of the two of us in paradise. We’d picnicked on the beach every day, marveling at the weather and the free-roaming iguanas. Most afternoons we windsurfed, swam, or went snorkeling, genuinely enjoying each other’s company all the while. And Ford had made my foodie dreams come true by taking me to the island’s best restaurants for dinner each night. Our concierge Phillipe had proven to be an invaluable resource for recommendations of both Michelin-worthy places offering leisurely, lavish, multi-course meals as well as the lesser known beachside spots where you could get insanely good ceviche, spicy Creole food, fresh mahi-mahi en brochette, and rum punch.
Sigh.
Now that we were back, things would return to normal. We’d settle into a routine. I had my job and Ford had his, so our days would be busy and spent mostly apart. The only time we’d really see each other would be at night, and though I figured neither of us would be avoiding sex, at least there wouldn’t be much time for romancing in between. Which I told myself was a good thing. I had to keep my head on straight.
If the next year of our marriage was basically just a lot of hot sex without too much emotion, maybe I could survive this whole thing with most of my heart intact.
However, before we could begin our new life, there was one big task that we needed to undertake.
We had to officially move in together.
Obviously, Ford’s apartment made more sense for us, being bigger and newer and more practical compared to my loft’s mostly open floor plan and complete lack of spare rooms. But for the past few months we’d held off, telling anyone who asked that I was a little old-fashioned about cohabitating and wanted to wait until after we tied the knot to move in. Since Claudia had lived with him before, it wasn’t an excuse Ford could have used, but everyone seemed to accept that he’d agreed in order to please me.
I was grateful for the distraction that the move gave me. Even though I was keeping my loft as a studio space for work (which was a legitimate need), Munchkin and I still had to make ourselves at home at Ford’s to really sell the charade of our marriage. But knowing I’d be moving right back in eleven months hence, I left most of my furniture at the loft. All I really needed were my clothes, toiletries, and a few other sundry items.
And then moving day was upon us. There was no turning back.
Following the movers into Ford’s apartment, I couldn’t help frowning. I’d been over plenty of times, so the uber masculine look of the place—clashing hideously with Claudia’s ultra-girly touches—was no surprise to me. And given the temporary nature of the move, I knew I shouldn’t voice my opinions about the furnishings and design. It wasn’t my permanent home, after all, so there was no point in making a big deal about the décor.
But I couldn’t help myself.
I’d always been loud and clear about my feelings regarding Ford’s bachelor pad. Both before and after Claudia’s hideous “styling” of the place, which had given me the overall impression that a Barbie Dreamhouse and a Ralph Lauren catalog had conspired to simultaneously explode all over Ford’s leather-and-brushed steel wet dream. It was a nightmare.
My very un-secret opinion of the place was partly why we always hung out at my loft.
As I looked