Fuck. I’m going to have to let her go.
The thought is quickly followed by, Over my dead body.
Toast. That’s the only thing I can force down this morning. Let it be known once more that alcohol and I can no longer be friends. I really need to work on that. Even the sweet-smelling freshly cut pineapple seems to mock me from the bowl on the table.
I crunch on the bread and groan. Why is toast so freaking loud? Shouldn’t the traditional morning-after remedy be quieter? My head pounds, and yet it doesn’t force away the memories I have of last night.
I’m so screwed. Does it help to know in advance? I mean, walking into this with my eyes wide open should make it less painful when Cav crushes my heart beneath his Hollywood heel.
No expectations, I tell myself. That’s the key. Recalling the deal we made yesterday, I decide it’s the only way I can keep myself intact. I’m going to pretend. Pretend I don’t care that Cav is keeping secrets from me. Pretend I’m not dangerously close to getting used to having him in my life. Pretend I’m going to be okay when this is all over.
I drop the toast and reach for my orange juice. It’s light, sweet, and freshly squeezed, but still I grimace at the acidity in my mouth.
“Are you going to survive?”
Cav’s been watching my attempt at enjoying a normal breakfast since I dragged my ass out of bed when the sun was too blindingly bright to keep my eyes closed any longer.
Thank you for the beautiful sunrise, Belize, but let’s work on respecting some boundaries.
After taking another sip of my orange juice and replacing it on the table, I answer Cav’s question. “I’ll survive.” Neither of us mentions last night, and I tell myself it’s a truce. We’re both going to adopt Greer’s fantastic pretending plan.
“Anything in particular you’d like to do today?”
When I consider doing anything that requires any sort of sudden movements, my stomach flops in rebellion.
“Nothing exciting. Laying around the pool tops my list.”
“Fair enough.”
He rises and disappears for a moment before returning with a bottle of ibuprofen. “I should’ve made you take some last night with more water, but you were out as soon as you hit the bed.”
That’s a generous assessment. I think I was actually out before we even made it in the house. Not that it matters, but my morning-after hindsight is incredibly clear.
There’s still one question I can’t answer. Am I ever going to be able to get over this nagging feeling of dread? We have limited time here—presumably until Creighton sends his jet back and demands my presence at home.
That can be at any moment. Am I going to get hung up on things I can’t change—at least, not until Cav decides to share whatever he’s not telling me? Or am I going to live in the moment and suck this opportunity dry like I promised myself I would?
The latter is my only logical choice.
My hangover gives up around noon, and Rea brings out an enormous cold lobster salad and a fresh baguette.
Cav, I’ve noticed, eats way more food than any man I’ve ever met. Probably because he isn’t like any other man I’ve ever met. For the last hour and a half, I’ve watched him turn this deck and the beach into a gym. Sprints, push-ups, pull-ups on the railing outside, and he even dug up some weights somewhere and used the chaise as a bench. Sweat glistened on his bronzed skin before he finally dived into the pool and began a solid half hour of laps.
Curled up on the chaise, I lower the worn Lisa Kleypas romance novel I found on the shelf inside, finally admitting to myself that although I’m madly in love with the hero of the book, Blue-Eyed Devil can’t compete with the man in front of me.
No wonder Cav stays so ripped. He works his ass off for it. My eyes lock on his ass, clearly outlined by the board shorts he’s wearing as he hauls himself stroke after stroke through the pool.
I’ve also firmly pushed away reality to focus on the pretend world we’re living in. Except for the fact that I’m kicking myself I didn’t ask for a continuance on the motion I was drafting for my prisoners’ rights case. I know the judge will probably waive the late filing because of the type of case, but I can’t bet on it. I know better. I should be better.
One thing I haven’t missed since I walked out? The law firm. And yet I don’t have a clue what I want to do with my life, although living in paradise seems to be a rising option on my list. If only it could stay like this forever.
But it can’t. Life will intrude sooner rather than later.
Cav lifts himself out over the side of the pool, water streaming off his body, muscles flexing and rippling. It’s like watching one of his movies up close. He truly does look like he belongs on the big screen. Three years ago, it was obvious he was capable of so much more . . .