“No one with as beautiful a heart as you could ever do such a thing. Besides, the fact that you have that fear already tells me you’d ever hit your own child. You want kids then?”
I grin at her slight change in topic. “Yeah. You?”
“Mhmm,” she hums, rolling onto her back again. “How many?”
“Four.”
“Four?” She sits up so fast I’m surprised she doesn’t get whiplash.
I laugh at her disbelief. “Why is that so hard to believe?”
“Four is a lot.”
“Maybe it’s because I’m an only child that I always saw myself with a whole football team. The more the merrier. What about you?”
“I don’t know. Two. Three.”
“Three,” I chuckle, wrapping a piece of her hair around my finger, “what’s one more?”
She’s saved from answering—more like I’m saved from hearing her answer—by a soft knock on the door.
“Mr. McCallister? Ms. Hughes?”
With a groan, I rise from the bed and stretch my arms above my head before opening the door. The staff member who escorted us to our room stands there waiting.
“Hey, what’s up?” If my father heard me speak so casually to one of the staff, he’d be pissed.
“Your parents are requesting your presence for dinner on the upper deck at six this evening.”
“Okay, thanks.”
He nods and walks down the hall. Closing the door, I dive back into bed.
“Dinner in three hours with my ‘rents,” I relay to Vanessa, crooking my elbow over my eyes. “That gives us enough time for a nap and shower.”
“I think I’m too hyped to nap.”
“Trust me,” I lower my arm, “you’re going to need it.”
Despite Vanessa not believing me, I wake up two hours later to her body curled against mine. We both have a bad habit of octopusing one another in our sleep. Not that I’m complaining. The feel of her breasts against my chest is worth it.
Nudging her lightly, I brush my lips against the top of her head. “Van, we need to get up.”
“Vuttamizit.”
“What was that?” I laugh, knowing exactly what she’s saying but hoping to hear her ask in her cute sleepy voice again.
“What time is it?”
Ah, disappointment, my old friend.
She slowly blinks her big blue eyes open. “Five ‘til five. We need to get moving.”
“Ugh. I didn’t even think I was sleepy.” She sits up, scrubbing a hand over her face. There are red lines on her left cheek, imprints left behind from my shirt.
“You can shower first.”
“It’s okay.”
“I insist, ladies first.”
She bites her lip, lids lowering. “Teddy?”
Please ask me to kiss you. Please let me roll your body beneath mine and peel the clothes from your body. Please—
“If I’m going to shower first, you’re going to have to stop touching me.”
“What?”
I realize then that my hand is under the back of her shirt, my fingers playing with the band of her bra. Apparently, I’m not fully awake either.
“Fuck.” I yank my hand away. “Shit, I didn’t mean to grope you, Van.”
“It’s okay.” She looks down, trying to hide her pink cheeks from me. “I know you didn’t mean to.”
The way she says it I don’t think she means it like “Oh I know it was an accident and you wouldn’t purposely paw me,” but more like, “I know you wouldn’t mean to touch me.”
She’s already climbing off the bed, and when I call after her, she hesitates to turn back to me. When she finally does, I have to swallow down words that might scare her, ones that speak of feelings I shouldn’t have. Lust? That she’ll understand. But love? It would send her running for the hills. The last thing she wants to hear is that I’ve fallen that hard for her.
“I want you,” I tell her, my voice still deeper than normal from a heavy sleep. “I want you in all the ways a man wants a woman. Don’t try to diminish this. I’m attracted to you, Vanessa.”
She’s quiet, but I can see I’ve made her nervous in the way her tongue slides out to moisten her lips. “I-I have to clean m-myself. Wash myself. Shower!” The slam of the bathroom door is the exclamation point on the end of her spiel.
I lay back onto the fluffy pillows and glare at my right hand. “It’s just you and me, dude.”
30
Vanessa
Greece.
I, Vanessa Ann Hughes, am in Greece.
A country rich with history and beauty and bursting with life.
When Teddy suggested we explore the city, I was more than game, plus after last night’s cold shoulder dinner where only his mom and I spoke, trying to fill the awkward silence, the last place I wanted to be was on the yacht and risk the chance of running into his father.
Teddy holds his hand out to me after he hops out of the small boat that he drove from the yacht to here—yeah, there’s a boat inside a boat, in fact there was more than this one plus several jet skis. I can’t imagine having enough money to own a basic boat, and Teddy’s father not only owns one of those, but several, a mega yacht, jet skis, a private plane, and God knows what else.
It’s more than a little horrifying thinking about one person having control of so much wealth.
“You act like you know where you’re going.” The palm of his hand is warm in mine, a bit rough, but it feels nice.
“That’s because I do. It’s a little café about a ten-minute walk from here. It’s my favorite.”
“Where all have you traveled?” I blurt incredulously. I can’t imagine living a life where I’ve been to a place like Greece so many times that I have a favorite café to visit.
“Too many to name.”
“Wow.”
We grow quiet on the walk, mostly because I can’t stop staring around me at the bright white buildings and the bustle of life on the island. We pass a chaotic fish market where it seems like everyone is yelling to be heard. I don’t understand a word they say, but I’m certainly fascinated.
We continue along, eventually turning down a narrow street where Teddy tugs me inside a building. The café is tiny, with only two tables, but the scent of coffee and pastries permeates the air, making my stomach growl. We skipped out on breakfast, choosing to come straight here.
“What would you like?”
I look at the menu that’s very much in Greek, not English. “Um … something like I usually get back home … I guess.”
He laughs. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes.” The answer rolls off my tongue effortlessly, and I realize it’s true. Over the past few months, I’ve come to trust him more than anyone.
He steps up to order, my jaw dropping when he starts speaking Greek.
What the fuck? It seems there’s still a lot I don’t know about my fake boyfriend.
Looking behind him, he chuckles at my open-mouthed expression, and my stomach churns with … oh no.