The Paradise Problem (46)

Blinking away, I focus on her shoulder, and on the strap that has slipped an inch to the side, revealing a tan line from her bikini today. I reach up, stroking the line with my thumb. I want to suck her there, bite it. I want to leave a mark.

She reaches up, touching her lips, speaking behind them. “You’re good at that.”

“At what?” I ask, distracted.

“Fake-kissing.”

I hum. Nothing about that felt fake.

“Wonder how you kiss when it’s real,” she whispers.

I’m about to open my mouth and suggest she follow me outside to find out, when a man approaches.

“Anna?”

She pauses, searching his face. After a couple seconds, recognition lights her features. “Holy sh—Jamie?”

“Yes, my God, it’s so crazy to see you here!” They hug easily and pull away, both smiling.

“No kidding! I’m—” She cuts off, looking around, and her startled eyes meet mine. “West, this is my—well, okay, a little awkward—” They both laugh, sharing some inside joke I don’t follow until she says, “My ex.”

My body temperature plummets. “Ex. Wow.”

“Jamie, please meet my husband, Liam Weston.”

We shake hands, smiling, but it’s tense. With the way she looks tonight and even if he saw that kiss just now, I’m sure he’s thinking about all the times he made love to her. And now I’m thinking of all the times I haven’t.

I manage an even “Nice to meet you.” He’s tall, but I’m taller, and God I know it’s childish, but I straighten my spine, emphasizing it. He’s also extremely good-looking, with the same kind of easygoing smile that makes it possible to imagine them together.

“You, too,” Jamie says, and turns back to her. “Married? And to a Weston! Anna, I swear I never would have called this.”

“I’m not sure I’d have called it either back then,” she says, laughing. “That and running into you on a private island.” To me, she adds, “Jamie and I met in a pottery class.”

“She was a virtuoso with her hands,” he says, and I know he means it playfully, but the innuendo lingers like a sneering echo. I imagine landing an uppercut that sends him through the ceiling.

“Meanwhile, Jamie finished his project. Pretty much all I can say about that,” Anna teases.

“Hey,” he protests, laughing. “My grandmother still uses that coffee mug.”

“She would have to,” Anna says. “That thing was so huge, I’m sure it’s still full from the first time she poured coffee into it.”

I am not here for this flirting. I step closer, sending my hand around her waist, pulling her into my side. Redirecting, I ask, “Jamie, what brings you to the island for the wedding?”

“My father is the US head of operations for Bimbo, but he’s under the weather, so I’m here in his place.”

Beside me, Anna startles, delighted. “Did you say ‘Bimbo’?”

He nods, laughing, but I cut in. Jamie has had enough screen time. “Grupo Bimbo,” I explain. “It’s a global food company. They have some American brands now, like Oroweat, Thomas’ English muffins, Entenmann’s… a few others.”

Leave it to my father to invite business contacts to his daughter’s tropical wedding and use it as a tax write-off.

“I had no idea you’d even gotten married,” he says to Anna. “And five years ago, too, wow. I must have been living in a cave.”

Some unspoken communication passes between them, some disappointment on his end that he’s run into her too late, and I can’t read in her silence whether she’s sharing his regret. I look down at her, drawing her attention to my gaze.

Fuck, I hope she wasn’t dating him when we were roommates.

“When did the two of you…?” I begin.

“Sophomore year,” she says quickly, understanding, I guess, the tension in my eyes. “For about six months from, what was it? October to March? Something like that.” Anna puts her hand on my stomach in that way I’m starting to like too much, stretching to kiss my cheek. Warmth spreads down my neck. “You and I met that summer and had our whirlwind romance.”

I’m relieved that she wasn’t dating this guy at any point since she and I got married, but for the first time the broader idea feels sour: of course Anna has been with other men while she’s been legally mine.

I can’t look away, even when the wake of this thought leaves me feeling both ashamed and increasingly possessive. I want to take her away from this party and find a dark place to kiss her until she’s gasping for more.

I realize we’ve been staring at each other too long only when Jamie leans in, chastely air-kissing her opposite cheek. “Good to see you, Anna. Nice to meet you, Liam. I’m sure I’ll see you more this week.”

We shake hands and he walks away, but I don’t take my arm from where it circles her waist. Instead, I pull her closer.

“You had a little bit of a vibe there,” she says, grinning up at me.

“A vibe? I did?”

“A little…” She curls her fingers into claws, pretending to growl at me, but my eyes are drawn to the tan line again. “Like you were on the verge of kicking his ass. That was some good acting.”