almost an hour ago. “You like?” he asked, gesturing at the curved expanse of beach.
“I love,” I answered.
Falling for St. Barts was easy. The teal blue water, the quaint buildings huddled along the palm tree dotted shore, the lush hills, dense with greenery, the white sand—the whole place looked like paradise.
Sure, my family had gone to a fancy resort in the Bahamas for Luka’s birthday last year, and of course I’d been to the beaches of Florida and to Cancun for Spring Break…but this was something else. It wasn’t overrun with tourists or neon signs or souvenir shops, and seemed like more of a low-key hideaway than a party town. I felt like I had truly left the stress of my life behind and arrived someplace utterly charming and magical. Even Ford seemed to be affected by the magic; when I squeezed his hand, he squeezed right back.
When we stepped off the ferry, a uniformed man from our hotel was waiting for us with a wheeled luggage trolley and a grin.
“Mr. and Mrs. Malone?” he asked, holding up a sign with our names on it. “Welcome to St. Barts. I’m Phillipe, your dedicated concierge, courtesy of Eden Rock. I’ll be taking care of all your needs during your stay—twenty-four/seven. Please allow me to chauffeur you to your accommodations.”
We were staying in a private villa at a luxurious boutique resort, and Eden Rock more than lived up to its name. The hotel was practically on its own island, most of it jutting out over the crystal clear water, with a mossy-looking garden of coral just below the cliffs.
The modern-style villa Phillipe brought us to was stunning. High ceilings, light-filled rooms, teak wood and crisp white fabric everywhere, and panoramic windows providing an unobstructed view of St. Jean beach and its azure waters. The windows gave the impression that our villa was floating over the ocean, and someone had thoughtfully placed fresh flowers throughout the house. Outside, the property had a deck with an infinity pool, a fire pit, a bar, woven hammocks and umbrella-shaded loungers, and our own personal palm trees. My God.
It was gorgeous, and so chic that I immediately felt self-conscious about my worn black leggings and rumpled appearance after the four-hour flight and slightly nauseating ferry ride.
“I set up your private cabana on the beach this morning,” Phillipe informed us, “so please let me know if you’d like an escort there or anywhere else. You also have a dedicated chef on call, your own butler, and, of course, the entire Eden Rock Guestcare team at your service.”
“This is incredible,” I breathed. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re very welcome, Mrs. Malone. And congratulations to both of you on your recent nuptials. We’re happy to do everything possible to ensure your honeymoon with us exceeds your expectations in every regard.”
Ford thanked him again, discreetly pressing a folded bill into the man’s palm before sending him away. Then he turned to me.
“How are you feeling? Up for an adventure?”
Even though I was dog tired after what had seemed like an endless day of pretend-wedding followed by hours of travel, I wanted to explore. It was still daytime, and I didn’t want to waste a single moment of our time on the island.
“Hell yes,” I answered. “I just need to change clothes. What do you want to do?”
“Let’s go to the beach,” he said.
I smiled. “Perfect. I’ll put my suit on.”
It was the most we’d spoken to each other since leaving Martha’s Vineyard. Things still felt chilly between us, but they were starting to thaw. Maybe we could treat this trip like a friendly vacation after all.
As I ducked into the bathroom to change into my Agent Provocateur one-piece (black, of course), I couldn’t help feeling a little ridiculous. Ford had seen me naked plenty of times in the weeks leading up to the wedding. But I couldn’t risk what might happen if he saw me naked. If I saw the look in his eyes as he watched me change. I wouldn’t be able to resist him.
Obviously this whole avoiding-sex thing couldn’t go on forever—we were married and it was inevitable—but I still felt too vulnerable, too worn down from the emotional roller coaster of the last few days. It was pointless to think about that now, though.
The deal had been made. Now I had to follow through with it.
I pulled my hair back and threw on a patterned DVF cover-up dress—my sexy swimsuit had seemed like a perfect choice when I’d gone