The good news was, I woke up alive in Mexico. The bad news was, I woke up alive in Mexico.
Even worse, I may have drooled a little on Bennett’s shoulder in my sleep. He was polite enough not to mention it—which, frankly, was out of character for him.
Then there was the fact that I got tipsy and let him kiss me in the middle of the airport bar, like some kind of lust-filled teenager. Fine, I may have leaned in to kiss him too, but I’d take that to my grave. Either way, it was my second such lapse in judgement regarding Bennett. While disembarking the plane, I made a vow to stay sober for the remainder of the trip to prevent any additional mistakes.
But after enduring a fifty-minute shuttle ride to the hotel with Millie and Adam, that vow went straight out the window. Not even sunshine, palm trees, and the balmy Caribbean Sea breeze could make their company tolerable. I was dying for a margarita. Or better yet, a bottle of tequila, straight up.
Upon checking into the resort, we discovered that everyone in our group had been placed on the same floor. Everyone else opted to get drinks in the lounge while the porters brought our luggage up, but I desperately needed a breather in our room. When I mentioned my concerns about being overheard by someone while we were arguing or simply talking too loudly about things that we shouldn’t, Bennett chuckled and said I needed another drink. Then I closed the elevator door on his foot. ‘Accidentally,’ of course.
We turned the corner and headed for room 206. Bennett stood beside me while I fumbled with the key card, adrenaline coursing through my veins. Mid-swipe, his arm brushed against mine, and my hands turned unsteady in response. The digital lock on the door flashed red, beeping at me angrily.
I swiped the card twice more, trying in vain to get it to cooperate, letting out a curse under my breath. Bennett wordlessly reached over and took the key from my fingers, gaining entry on his first try.
“After you.” He held the door open for me, and I squeezed past him, into the suite. Our suite, to be precise.
It was much like the photographs online; the furnishings were clean and modern, decorated in white and shades of tan. A small loveseat and armchair sat in the living room with a wooden desk and lamp off to the side. And directly across from that was one bed. A king-sized bed, at least, but only one.
Two towel swans perched with their necks intertwined to form a heart, surrounded by crisp white bedding and a pile of decorative pillows to match. To the left of the bed was a door leading to a bathroom that looked almost as spacious as the rest of the suite. While I wasn’t serious about one of us sleeping in there, I’d have gladly sacrificed the ten feet of walking space beside the bathtub to gain some breathing room in the living quarters.
My stomach bounced around in my chest like it was performing high-intensity step aerobics. One bed. Two people. It was what I’d expected, but now it was actually happening. Bennett might not have thought it was a big deal, but it was a big deal to me. Sharing a bed with him was the definition of danger. It wasn’t the sleeping part that worried me; it was the possibility of other bed-related activities that had me worried.
Bennett leisurely strolled inside, and his gaze slid over to me, questioning, while I stood staring at the bed like someone who’d never seen a bed before.
“It’s nice,” I squeaked. “The room, I mean.” Great. I could not have sounded less composed if I tried.
He snorted, slamming the door behind him. “It’s small.”
“We won’t be in here much, anyway.” The less, the better, considering the situation.
“We won’t?” He set his carry-on bag on the armchair, raking his fingers through his dark tousled waves. His expression shifted into one of distaste. “That was sort of my plan. Avoid Adam and his bros as much as possible.”
“You can’t hide in here the whole time.” I drew in a calming breath, noticing a subtle floral fragrance in the air. While researching the resort—as I always did before I stayed anywhere, because even nicer hotels weren’t immune to issues like bed bugs—I read that they’d hired a world-renowned perfumer to develop a signature scent specifically for the rooms. Reportedly, it was formulated to be relaxing, but it wasn’t helping me one bit.
“Fine, I’ll hide at the lobby bar.” Bennett smirked.
“You agreed to play along. We’re both getting something out of this arrangement. Remember, honey?” I pulled my suitcase into the bedroom area, hoisting it on the luggage rack with an excessive amount of force. To his credit, his tendency to annoy me was helpful, because it eliminated my nervousness and replaced it with irritation.
Bennett turned away and started to hang up his shirts in the closet, voice half-muffled. “This weekend is all for you, babe.”
Was he being serious? This entire scheme was his idea.
“I’m sorry, was pretending to like you in front of Ian and Laura not sufficient? Not to mention, plastering photos of us all over my social media to help sell your story.” I crossed the room and planted my hands on my hips, glaring up at him. “Are there more dog and pony tricks you require me to perform so you don’t spill my dirty laundry to the world?”
“Really?” He arched a brow, peering down at me, and suddenly, I became aware of how close I was standing to him. Too close for my own good, because I could smell his heavenly cologne, and it was going straight to my head—not to mention, other places. The slightest hint of stubble shaded his jawline, urging me to reach out and touch it. I bit my bottom lip, hoping the pain would bring me back to my senses, but it didn’t.
Bennett’s gaze dropped to my mouth, his eyes darkening. “If not for our arrangement, I would have told Adam to take a flying leap when he asked me to be a groomsman. Which means I just gave up four days to come here and help you.”
There was an edge of frustration in his tone, and not the kind that meant he was annoyed.
“Then help.” Clearing my throat, I took a step back, trying to break the spell. I side-stepped around the coffee table to put more distance between us. “And stop being such a whiner.”
We began to unpack while simultaneously trying to avoid being too close to the other person. It was challenging, given the size of the room, and at one point required me to climb over the bed to avoid him.
Minutes later, Bennett’s deep voice broke the silence. “What does your sister have planned for tomorrow night?”
“Huh?” I looked up from my suitcase, where I’d been sorting through clothes. Then I realized I was holding a handful of underwear—a black-and-nude lace bikini, charcoal satin boy shorts, and a frilly white thong. Bennett’s mouth tugged into a wolffish grin, and I quickly shoved them beneath a pile of sundresses.
“Oh, not much,” I said, fighting the heat creeping up my neck. “Quinn wanted to have a drink in here while we do our hair and makeup. Then we’re heading down to meet the other girls at the lobby bar. Why?”
“Adam paid me a visit on the plane while you were asleep. He wants to go to Señor Bongos.” Bennett’s face was sour. I didn’t blame him. From what I’d heard, Señor Bongos was a cheesy nightclub where drunken co-eds went, looking to hook up. The kind of place with deafening music, blinding strobe lights, and people vomiting in the bathrooms before they rallied and kept drinking.
Unease settled in my gut. A tiny part of me liked that idea even less than Bennett. There would be no shortage of ready and willing attractive women there. I told myself I didn’t want him to derail our plan, and that was definitely part of it. But the truth was, I didn’t like the thought of him with anyone else at all. It went way beyond worrying about my reputation, somewhere into ‘I’d lost my ever-loving mind’ territory.
I forced a laugh. “Have fun with that.”
“Don’t worry,” he said, “I won’t.”
WAVES LAPPED GENTLY at the shore while the sun dipped closer to the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. I slid out of my sandals, nestling them in the soft white sand before turning to recline in my lounge chair. It was almost relaxing, or it would have been if I let myself forget everything else that was going on behind the scenes, which was a Machiavellian puppet show.
Quinn sighed happily, stretching out her toned legs. She gestured at me with her half-empty mojito. “I’m so glad we got to have twin time.”
“Me too.” Her invitation for a one-on-one pre-dinner drink came as a surprise, especially with Millie helicoptering around. I did enjoy spending time with Quinn alone—rare as it was lately—it was just the other people in her life who made things uncomfortable.
“How are things with Bennett?”
“Great,” I lied. In all honesty, I didn’t have a clue. They were more like good, bad, great, awful, and everything in between. In a word, confusing. I felt him getting under my defenses a little more every time we were alone, which made me want to fortify those defenses with brick walls and steel reinforcements.
I didn’t like him, didn’t want to like him, didn’t want things to change. But maybe they already had.
“You guys looked adorable on the plane,” Quinn mused. “You were holding onto him for dear life.”
That had everything to do with my fear of takeoff and nothing to do with Bennett. Or at least, that was what I was going to tell myself.
“Mmm-hmm.” I forced a smile to hide the embarrassment brewing in my gut. My oversized sunglasses, which hid half my face, were a godsend.
She sighed dreamily. “I think it’s sweet how you two ended up together after all these years. Especially since you were so head over heels for him back in high school.”
A tsunami of sadness crashed over me, soaking me to the bone with sorrow. Quinn wasn’t wrong, but it hurt to admit that even to myself. That’s why I’d spent so long rewriting history in my brain, trying to convince myself I hadn’t cared about Bennett nearly as much as I had. Because when I thought back on what I’d lost, and how abruptly it had happened, little hairline cracks started to form in my heart.
“Yeah,” I managed to say, my chest painfully tight. “Meant to be, I guess.” Clearing my throat, I tried to channel the grief into anger at Bennett. It was easier that way.
“Have you guys set a date yet?” Excitement crept into her voice, because Quinn loved nothing more than planning parties. “I can’t wait to help you with all the details.”
Yeah, the fifth of never. Reception to follow when hell freezes over.
“No,” I said, reclining on the blue-and-white striped lounge chair. “He’s pretty swamped with work right now. You know how it is. Soon, I hope.”
There was a lull while I drained the last of my lime margarita, gathering up the courage to broach what I knew would be a sensitive subject. A flock of birds flew by overhead, peppering the silence with their cries. Something nagged at the back of my mind; a question I was afraid to ask but needed to know the answer to.
Reaching down, I brushed a few grains of sand off my white linen dress and tried to seem casual. “Are you, um, happy with Adam?”
“What?” Quinn shifted in her seat and turned to face me, sliding down her pink chrome aviators. Pale blue eyes stared back at me, a mirror image of my own. “Of course, I am.”
“Okay,” I said, a little too quickly. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know Adam isn’t always perfect,” she interjected, tone turning defensive in a way that made it clear I was on thin ice. Leaning back in her chair, she pushed her glasses back up with a manicured finger. “But we aren’t married yet. He said he takes his vows very seriously. It’ll be different after the wedding.”
I swallowed, debating what the morally correct response would be. Technically, Adam didn’t cheat on Quinn with me. And if she was openly admitting that on some level, she’d made peace with his suspected indiscretions…what was there to be gained by telling her something that happened before she even entered the picture?
“Well, only you know your relationship.” If this was anyone other than my sister, and anyone other than Adam, I liked to think I’d be honest. I liked to think I’d tell the truth: that he was a colossal douchebag and she deserved better. But given the circumstances, I only stood to look jealous or bitter or both.
If Quinn had indicated she had some doubts, maybe it would have opened the door to more honesty on my part. Maybe with the right leading questions, I could have helped her come to see the truth about Adam in a gentle way. But Quinn’s immediate, knee-jerk insistence that she was happy told me she would not only would shoot the messenger, she’d assassinate me. That was one reason Millie and Quinn were so close: Millie was the ultimate sycophant. Quinn once didn’t speak to me for a week after I gave her an honest, though nicely worded, negative opinion about a dress. She didn’t take constructive criticism—or bad news—well.
“Speaking of relationships…” Quinn trailed off. “Have you ever… have you ever had your doctor look into your fertility? Just to check?”
“Uh, no.” Of course, I attended my annual physicals religiously, but fertility wasn’t a topic I had ever thought to broach with my gynecologist. Well, aside from making sure I had my bases covered with birth control so as to not be fertile.
I wasn’t even sure I wanted to have children, which was a highly unpopular thing to admit as a woman. People always acted like I was some kind of evil puppy killer whenever they found out. It’s not that I didn’t like children, I just didn’t have that deep-seated, burning desire to have one of my own. Considering the commitment it required, it seemed like something you should really, really want.
When Quinn didn’t elaborate, I pressed. “Why?”
She paused, long enough for me to know something was up. “I went for a checkup a while ago because I was having all these bizarre symptoms. Weight gain, hair loss, my body temperature kept running hot and cold. I thought it was a thyroid issue, like mom had. You know, something easily fixable with a few pills. But I guess it turns out I have something called primary ovarian insufficiency?” Quinn huffed shakily. “Basically, my ovaries aren’t working properly.”
A tiny, hairline crack formed in my heart. Quinn had wanted to be a mother for as long as I could remember. Growing up, her baby doll was her prized possession; she carted that thing everywhere in its toy stroller, toy baby carrier, even insisted on putting the tiny toy crib beside her bed. When we got older, she began to babysit as soon as she was allowed. And when one of her good friends got pregnant unexpectedly last year, Quinn had been more than a little wistful about the whole thing. She wanted a big family—at least three kids in some enormous SUV, running around between soccer practice and ballet.
I tried to keep my voice even. “Are they sure?”
“I made them check my labs twice. Then I got a second opinion, and a third.” Her voice grew thick, and I nodded, scrambling inwardly for the right thing to say, but coming up short. I reached over, gently resting a hand on her forearm.
“I’m sorry, Quinn.”
She waved me off, but her face twitched like she was fighting back tears. “It’s okay. I mean, I still might be able to have children. There’s just no guarantee. My doctor said the sooner, the better, because it could mean years of trying or fertility treatments. And it might only be one, if I’m lucky. You know, mom tried to have more after us, and she never was able to…”
Turmoil sparked within me, immediately igniting into a five-alarm fire. Wait a minute. Was this why Quinn was with Adam? Because the clock was ticking, and she believed he was the best she could get on short notice?
“Do you think it’s my fault?” Quinn asked, snapping me back to the moment. She pulled herself upright in her seat and shifted to face me. Chin down, she fidgeted with the hem of her pink sundress and wiggled her toes in the pale sand. “I’m sure all those years when I was under-eating and over-exercising had to take a toll on my body. My doctor said it isn’t because of that, but I feel like they tell you that so you don’t blame yourself. I feel like I did this to myself.” Her breath hitched. “I know I did.”
“I’m sure your doctor would tell you the truth,” I said. “Sometimes these things just happen, even if they’re shitty and they don’t make sense.”
She gave a tiny nod, gaze still fixed on the beach at our feet. Her phone chimed inside her purse, and she leaned over, checking it. “Our reservation is in five minutes.” Drawing in a breath, she let out a deep sigh. Like the flip of a switch, she shifted back into her default, face-the-world-with-a-smile mode. “We should go meet everyone.”
We gathered up our belongings and slipped back into our shoes, cutting a line across the resort to the hibachi restaurant Quinn had booked for tonight. Ever the social director, she’d booked our entire weekend solid.
Our walk was quiet, both of our minds evidently clouded from our earlier conversation.
This explained so much, like the fact that Adam insisted on referring to Lace & Grace as Quinn’s ‘jobby.’ Similar to how people call it a ‘momtographer’ or ‘mommy blogger’ to undermine a woman’s perfectly legitimate career. You ever hear anyone call it a dadtographer? It was obnoxious. His master plan was to have Quinn barefoot and pregnant at home while I got stuck shouldering the load alone. Factoring in her vulnerable position, it had to be intentional. It also explained her diminishing interest in our store.
Just when I thought I couldn’t hate him anymore, it soared to record-breaking heights.
As we approached the group clustered outside the restaurant, a grim realization hit me. I had to tell her about how Adam and I slept together right before they started dating. I didn’t know how, I didn’t know when, but I needed to—and sooner, rather than later. Problem was, I knew I would be starting World War III when I did it.
