on? It hasn’t been an act for me for a long time. Every day, I find myself falling more and more in love with her. I no longer want her as my fake fiancée. Now, I want her to be my wife—to share my home, my life. But I don’t want to speak about it yet, so I ignore it altogether by looking at my watch. “We’d better get moving.”
The two of us stand and I take our bags, leading the way to the door.
“Brazil? We’re in Brazil?” she asks, eyes wide as she looks all around us as we’re loading up in a cab.
“We are, but we’re not staying in the big city. Just passing through,” I tell her, taking her hand in mine.
If this were just an act, you’d think she’d pull away, given that no one we know is watching, but she doesn’t. Her fingers wrap around mine as she continues to take in the sights.
We eventually make it to the boat, and I load up our bags before holding out my hand to help her down. She steps into the boat and takes her seat. I climb behind the wheel and start the engine. She looks beautiful in the early morning light. The sun is just starting to peek up over the horizon, but the stars are still lingering in the sky, holding on to every minute they have left. I get how they feel. I feel quite similar with Poppy. I’m the stars clinging to the sky as the sun threatens to push me away.
The air around us is warm and thick with moisture as we speed across the water in the direction of the island. By the time we reach it, the sun is fully out and the stars are completely gone. I shut off the boat and climb out to tie it to the dock. Then I grab our bags and her hand, pulling her up to the wooden platform.
“This is where we’re staying?” she asks, looking up at the house.
“This is it. What do you think?” I ask, looking between her excited expression and the one-story house. Even though the place is old—my grandfather built it long ago—it gets minor and major renovations every year due to weather and storms that pass through.
“This is amazing. Did you rent this?”
“It belongs to my grandmother,” I reply, stepping up to her side and taking her hand in mine. “My grandfather built it many, many years ago. They would come here for a month once a year. Usually the month of their anniversary. He was a real romantic—I have no idea who my father inherited his attitude from,” I joke, leading her toward the house.
She stops at the end of the dock and removes her shoes, walking barefoot across the soft, pale sand. I lead her up the two steps of the porch, then we open the double glass doors.
She steps into the entryway and spins in a circle, taking it all in.
“The kitchen is to the right, obviously,” I say, pointing. “This is the living room.” It’s big and open—nothing but floor-to-ceiling windows that show the ocean to the side of us and the green forest behind. “The bedroom and bathroom are through there,” I say, pointing toward the two doors on the other side of the living room wall.
She smiles and heads for the bedroom. I follow her in, setting down our bags.
“This is amazing,” she says, throwing herself back on the king-size bed.
“I’m glad you like it,” I say, moving toward the bed.
I crawl up and lie by her side. She curls into me, placing one hand on my chest while her thigh rests over my hips.
“Let’s just take a little nap, then we can explore,” she says in a soft whisper.
I can’t help but turn my head and watch as sleep takes her away. It’s been a long night (and day) of traveling and it was impossible to sleep on the flight. Even though I feel tired and weak from no sleep and constant travel, I don’t want to miss a minute of this. Watching her sleep in my arms feels better than heaven. It reminds me that my time with her could be limited. She could tell me “no” at the end of the week, and if she does that, I’m sure this arrangement will be over. I mean, who would want to stay with a guy who loves you when you can’t stand him?
But right now, we’re lost to