EXPECTATIONS HAVE A FUNNY WAY of morphing into reality’s most unsuspecting surprises. When boarding the yacht yesterday, I expected a relaxing week with a few island escapades.
A loud, eight-am knock on the door was definitely not part of the plan.
Neither was waking up with a mouthful of Addie’s hair, our bodies jumbled in a less-than-comfortable pile. It’s not cute. She’s not cuddling into my side like I see Mia do with Nico all the time when she falls asleep on the couch while they watch a movie.
No, this is… the wrong way around. My head’s under Addie’s chin, her hair a curtain over my face. It’s uncomfortable and painful thanks to her knee lodged in my junk and her elbow digging into the hollow of my neck.
She’s sprawled all over the place, half on the sheets, half off, half on me, half not, her weight dead center on my now-numb right arm. Another knock reverberates through the suite and I spit out Addie’s hair, rolling her off me.
In the process, I learn a few fun facts about my fake girlfriend. One, her wake-up routine is a symphony of grunts and mumbles. Two, the way she kicks herself free from the sheets would result in a knee to my balls had I not already moved her a safe distance away.
What is it that they say about animals? That they mirror their owners, right? It might be the other way around with Addie. Looks like she channeled her inner animal kingdom, charging at the door like a pissed-off emu, her feet stamping against the wooden floor.
“What?” I hear her snap at whoever’s at the door.
Fun fact number three: she needs to braid her hair in the evening because that nest on her pretty head will forever give me nightmares.
And four… she is not a morning person.
With more grunting and grumbling toward whoever dared to wake her, she slams the door shut, then stomps back to bed. She burrows headfirst under the sheets to end up completely covered, just a few stray locks peeking from underneath.
I wonder if she ever rescued a meerkat.
“Morning.” I lift her pillow, earning myself a kick in the shin. Seriously, what’s with all the kicking lately? “I said, morning, Addie. What gets you going? Coffee?”
“Sleep,” she huffs.
“Breakfast?”
“Sleep.”
“It’s eight in the morning, who was at the door?”
With an incoherent string of muttered complaints, a hand shoots out from under the covers, slapping a crumpled envelope onto my face.
“So aggressive…” I chuckle, tearing it open.
I bet I could lift her mood in three minutes if I got my head between her thighs. Not the best visual considering my morning hard-on is fucking raging.
Back to my initial train of thought… another thing I didn’t expect when I agreed to help Addie was a week of activities. Participation mandatory. I skim the invitation to the task-filled adventure, then read it aloud.
“They’re so lame,” Addie mutters, tugging the sheets until her face pops out. “Is there at least a prize?”
I check the back of the card. “For today’s task it’s a whatever-you-desire dinner on the top deck tonight.”
“Lame,” she repeats, scrunching her nose.
“There’s more. Whoever wins can keep the same partner for the next task. Everyone else gets shuffled into new teams.”
She sits up, looking marginally more awake. “Ugh, fine. We better get moving.”
“Afraid to lose me?”
“Would you like to be paired with my mother?”
“Fair point.” I get to my feet, ignoring Addie staring at the scar marking my chest.
At least she’s not eyeing the bulge in my pants.
Not that I’d mind.
“Grab a shower and tame that.” I motion to her hair. “You look like you got struck by lightning.”
She rolls her eyes but smothers her hair into something less horror-movie looking before stumbling into the bathroom.
Within forty minutes, we’re on the main deck where people are enjoying breakfast in the morning sun. The seating arrangement has changed from last night. We’ve been moved up from halfway down the table to sit next to Addie’s father.
Over the next half an hour, during which two cups of black coffee wake me up and sharpen my focus on the conversation, all twenty-two people at the table—including three children—polish the food off their plates, while listening to the minute details of Amara’s wedding plan, even though she was only asked if they’d set the date.
Detailed, and by the sound of it, ridiculously expensive: Seychelles, three hundred guests, a performance by her favorite singer, and so on and so forth.
“Full?” I ask Addie, pointing at her untouched slice of pie.
From the corner of my eye, I catch her mother’s head whip toward me, eyebrows theatrically raised.
“The pie is topped with cashews. Audrey’s allergic to most nuts,” she denotes loud enough to draw everyone’s attention. “How long have you been…” She wrinkles her nose, looking between us, “…dating that you don’t know such a basic thing?”
Looks like someone started their day on the wrong side of the bed. Don’t ask why, but her hostility seems hilarious.
Truth be told, I was a little disappointed with her smiles last night. I hoped she’d give me shit at some point during this trip. People like Victoria—narcissists—despise when things don’t go their way, so my strategy for tackling her rude ass is bound to drive her nuts. Pun, obviously, intended.
“I can’t say I noticed Addie having any aversion to nuts,” I say, my tone casual, but I add a small emphasis on nuts for good measure. Addie’s kick under the table and Victoria’s eyes bulging from their sockets let me know the innuendo hit the mark. Playing coy, I add, “She had a walnut latte on our flight yesterday.”
“I’m only allergic to cashews and pistachios,” Addie says, sounding more defensive than I did. “They’re hardly a popular ingredient, Mom.”
Victoria narrows her eyes, cheeks reddening as I’d hoped.
Mother dearest: 0.
Colt: 1.
“You purposely haven’t answered my question. How long have you been seeing my daughter?”
“Three months,” Addie answers, sliding her untouched plate toward me. “You can have that.”
“Can Colt not speak, or is he as ignorant as all the other charity cases you bring home?” Victoria seethes.
“That’s enough,” Henry snaps, his tone level but sharp enough to cut glass. “You will immediately apologize, Victoria.”
“There’s no need.” I hold her lethal gaze. “It’s only natural for a mother to be protective over her daughter.”
She nonchalantly turns her head, glaring at Henry. Amara quickly starts a new topic, drawing everyone’s attention. Within moments Victoria excuses herself, heading straight for the bar.
It seems a little early to start downing drinks if you ask me.
Addie grabs my hand under the table, squeezing hard three times, her beautiful, big eyes full of apologies. The smile on my lips doesn’t reassure her. She looks ready to flee.
Aware we’re under scrutiny, I close the distance between us, kissing her head as I mutter, “I think she compared me to Emmanuel. I’ll take it. You like that pig.”
“You’re impossible,” she huffs, doing a lousy job of biting back a laugh. “She’ll go out of her way to provoke you now.”
“Let her try.”
“Colt.” Henry’s suddenly behind me, stealthy as a mountain lion. I need to keep that in mind. He drops both hands on my shoulders, squeezing once. “Come on, let’s have a smoke.”
