In these stolen, sun-streaked moments on the shore, being kissed as I’ve never been kissed before, I taste true happiness for the first time in my life. My heart fills to bursting as I’m hit with the sensation of something very right finally falling into place, after an eternity of breathless expectation.
We belong together.
It’s as simple as that. We are a perfect match, his hard edges absorbing my soft ones as my hands splay out across his skin. He buries his face in my neck as I trace the muscled planes of his back with hurried fingertips, exploring all the bits I’ve dreamed about from afar. It’s been sweet torture, wondering about the taste of his lips, the feel of his hips digging into mine, the sound of his groans when I stroke my hands low across his abdomen, tracing the thin strip of hair that leads down into his shorts. My imagination is not half as satisfying as the real thing.
My fingertips are skimming the elastic strap of his black boxers when his mouth rips itself from mine.
“Stop.” He’s on his feet before I can blink, backing away from me like I’m a bomb with ten seconds left on the timer until detonation. “We have to stop this.”
I scramble up, eyes locked on his, confusion clawing at my insides.
“What? Why?”
He doesn’t answer. His eyes are on my bare chest, scanning my naked body up and down. The expression on his face is full of such acute torture, I feel my heart skip a beat; he’s in physical pain, not being able to touch me.
“Beck…” I whisper. “If this is about my age… I’ll be eighteen in a few days. The Fourth of July. Frankly, I don’t think it should matter how damn old I am—”
“It’s not your age.” His voice is so tight, I could pluck his words from the air and snap them in two.
“Then what?”
He stares at me across the bank, tension emanating from his skin like steam off the water. There’s an unreadable expression on his face, but I know him well enough to recognize the pain brimming over in his eyes. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
“You can tell me anything.”
His fists clench and unclench rhythmically at his sides.
“Beck…” I take two steps toward him, certain if I can just put my arms around him again, this — whatever it is — will all be cleared up. Certain there’s nothing in the world that can keep us apart, now that we’ve finally smashed the wall between us into dust. “Beck, please, whatever this is about… we’ll fix it.”
He cuts me off before I can take a third step. His words are the sharpest blades, cutting the world out from beneath my feet until everything I thought I knew shifts to something unrecognizable.
“I’m married.”
Married.
Married.
I can’t stop saying it. Can’t stop thinking it. Can’t stop feeling it twisting around inside my stomach like a poisonous snake, its venom spreading a little farther through my system with each passing moment.
Married. Married. Married.
I murmur it under my breath like a curse, until it loses all meaning. I can feel his eyes on me as I pace back and forth, dress whipping around my legs, feet creating divots in the sand with each furious stride. I’m angry at him for not telling me, angrier at myself for not figuring it out sooner.
And heartbroken beyond belief that I’ve fallen in love with a man who wasn’t free to claim.
Were there signs?
Did I miss them somehow?
I rack my brain for any indications he gave me that he was someone’s husband, but come up short. I’m certain he never mentioned any woman, even in passing. Not a mom or a sister or even a distant female cousin. I would’ve remembered.
Then, of course, there’s the small fact that he doesn’t wear a wedding band. The only time the subject of marriage ever arose was the day he overheard me talking to Ian about the perfect life. I’d said maybe a passionless existence with the perfect husband, house, and kids would be preferable to life on a deserted island… and he’d snapped something back at me.
What was it he said?
I wouldn’t put my money on that, princess.
“Violet—”
“Shut up.” I cut him off, throwing out a hand to silence him. I don’t want to hear his explanations. I don’t even want to look at him. The only thing I truly want to do is hurl a coconut straight at his head.
“If you’d just let me—”
“SHUT. UP.”
He falls silent.
I pace some more, trying to sort out my emotions. It’s hard to focus on anything with his eyes tracking my every step. I feel them like a physical weight, skating across my skin in a featherlight caress. It was difficult enough to ignore him before today. After our ten — or was it twenty? — minute make-out session, earlier, I fear I’ll never be able to focus on a damn thing again. The memory of his mouth is inked permanently on my brain. I can’t expunge him. He’s embedded deep under my skin, an irreversible tattoo.
I’m going crazy just standing this close to him. Angry as I am, my body calls out to his, desperate for his touch. Reedy breaths slide from my mouth as a dangerous thought enters my brain.
So, he has a wife.
She’s not here.
I shut it down so fast, my world spins. Clearly, I need a little distance to sort through my unraveling emotions. A few days apart, to get some perspective. Halting a fair distance from him, I’m careful to keep my gaze averted. I clear my throat and do my damnedest to hold my voice steady.
“I need some time to process this. Time… and space.” I swallow. “I realize that’ll be difficult, since we share a camp. That’s why I’m going to bring my things here for a while. You can keep the beach.”
I hear him suck in a shaky breath. “How much time?”
“I don’t know, Beck.” My voice breaks on his name. “I don’t know anything anymore.”
“Violet—”
“Just don’t, okay?” I curl my hands into fists, eyes on the sand at my feet. “You’ve done enough.”
A long exhale escapes him, an indication of his deep frustration. I can feel his impatience, tangible in the air between us. The inability to explain himself, to justify his actions, is tearing him apart.
Good, a small, vindictive part of my psyche whispers. I hope it hurts like hell.
“I’ll go get my stuff. When I get back here… I’d like it if you weren’t.” Heart aching, mind reeling, I pivot on my heel and walk away from him without another word.
Being away from him right now is for the best, I tell myself. Even if it tears you apart.
It sounds like total bullshit, even to my own ears. Apparently, Beck thinks so too, since I only make it about three steps before a hand closes over my arm and he hauls me back toward him.
“Beck!” I snap. “Did you not hear a word I just said? About needing time and space to process?”
“Fuck time. Fuck space. Fuck that whole idiotic plan, Violet.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me perfectly fine.” He leans close, eyes spitting fire. “You don’t get to set all the terms of our relationship and then storm out of here without giving me a chance to explain.”
“We don’t have a relationship,” I hiss. “Because you have a wife.”
A growl rumbles in his chest.
“Let me go!” I yank at my arm, but he’s holding fast. “I mean it, you unbelievable asshole!”
“No.”
“No?” I blink, amazed at his audacity. “I’ll… I’ll scream!”