“Bagels? For real? Of all the choices in the world, you’re telling me your favorite breakfast food is a bagel? You live in the Twin Cities. Can we even get a good bagel there?”
He apparently thinks my question is rhetorical, because he turns back to his meal, completely happy to blink those lashes at me and remain nonverbal. I realize why I hate him—he food- and fat-shamed me, and has always been a monosyllabic prick—but what is his deal with me?
I give friendly one last try: “Why don’t we do something fun today?”
Ethan looks at me like I’ve just suggested we go on a murder spree. “Together?”
“Yes, together! All of our free activities are for two people,” I say, wagging a finger back and forth between us, “and as you just pointed out, we’re supposed to be acting married.”
Ethan has retreated into his neck, shoulders hunched. “Could you maybe not yell that across the restaurant?”
I take a deep breath, counting to five so that I don’t reach across the table and poke him in the eye. Leaning in, I say, “Look. We’re deep in this lying game together now, so why not make the most of it? That’s all I’m trying to do: enjoy what I can.”
He stares at me for several quiet beats. “That’s awfully upbeat of you.”
Pushing back from the table, I stand. “I’m going to go see what we can sign up for tod—”
“She’s watching,” he cuts in tightly, quickly glancing past me. “Shit.”
“What?”
“Sophie. She keeps looking over here.” In a panic, his eyes meet mine. “Do something.”
“Like what?” I ask tightly, starting to panic, too.
“Before you go. I don’t know. We’re in love, right? Just—” He stands abruptly and reaches for my shoulders, jerking me across the table and planting his mouth stiffly on mine. Our eyes remain open and horrified. My breath is trapped in my chest, and I count out three eternal beats before we burst apart.
He fixes a convincingly loving smile on his face, speaking through his teeth. “I can’t believe I just did that.”
“I’m going to go gargle bleach now,” I tell him.
No doubt it was the worst version of an Ethan Thomas kiss, and it was still . . . not terrible. His mouth was warm, lips smooth and firm. Even when we were staring at each other in horror, he still looked nice that close up. Maybe even nicer than he does from a distance. His eyes are so insanely blue, his lashes are long to the point of absurdity. And he’s warm. So war—
My brain is short-circuiting. Shut up, Olive.
Oh my God. Pretending we’re married means we might have to do that again.
“Great.” He stares at me, eyes wide. “Great. See you back in the room in a few.”
• • •
THE IDEA OF BUILDING A house from the ground up has always terrified me, because I know I’m not a person who cares about details such as doorknobs and drawer pulls and stone pavers. It would be too many choices that I simply don’t care about at all.
Looking at the list of activities feels a little like this. We have the option of parasailing, zip-lining, four-wheeling, snorkeling, taking hula kahiko lessons, enjoying a couple’s massage, and much, much more. Honestly, I’d be fine with any of them. But Trent, the overeager activities planner, stares at me expectantly, ready to ink “my” name into the schedule wherever I desire.
The issue at hand is really which activity would make Ethan scowl the least?
“A good place to start,” Trent says gently, “might be a boat ride? Our boat goes out to the Molokini Crater. It’s very calm out there. You’ll get lunch and drinks. You could snorkel, or try Snuba—an easy mix of snorkeling and scuba diving—or you could even just stay on the boat if you don’t want to get in the water.”
An option to sit down and shut up instead of join the fun? Definitely a bonus in the holster when I have Ethan in tow. “Let’s do that.”
With gusto, Trent enters Ethan and Ami Thomas onto the boat manifest and tells me to be back downstairs at ten.
Upstairs, Ethan is already in his board shorts but hasn’t yet put on a shirt. A strange, violent reaction worms through me when he turns and I see that he has actual muscles on his muscles. A dark smattering of hair over his broad chest causes my hand to curl into a fist. “How dare you.”
I know I’ve said it out loud when Ethan glances at me with a smirk and then tugs his shirt over his head. Immediately, with the abs out of my sight, the fire of hate in my lower belly is extinguished.
“What’s the plan?” he asks.