“Why didn’t you stay and handle it, then?”
“I think you know the answer to that already.”
I quirked a brow at him and nodded, happily taking the next glass of wine from the flight attendant. I sipped deeply. “Control freaks gonna control.”
He shrugged. “Well, in his defense, without an IT guy, Adam is the man for the job. I don’t know shit about that part of things. I’d only know who to yell at to get it done.”
“That’s the difference, though. You’d let other people handle it. He insists on doing it himself.”
Jordan opened his mouth to defend his friend—he’d die defending Adam, I was certain. He was like Zoë Washburne to Adam’s Mal Reynolds. The perfect right-hand man.
“It’s okay. Adam is not in the doghouse with me. I’m irked, sure. It’s our wedding. He did all of the planning and managed all the details. But here I am, alone.”
“Well, even superhumans can’t foresee the future.”
I sighed. “You’re right.”
“He’ll be here in time. The wedding isn’t for five more days. If I have to fly back and drag him here, he’ll be here.”
“Well, that’s reassuring.”
He grinned that infuriatingly charming grin of his. “Drink up, Mia. There’s plenty more wine where that came from.”
Me: Fabulous flight. Arrived here safely. About to enjoy four relaxing, exasperating, stressful days till the wedding. Am hoping other half of wedding party shows up soon.
Him: I will be there. I promise you. And long before the wedding starts.
I swallowed a lump in my throat at the realization that he was no longer joking around with me or teasing me. Things must be really hairy at home. I was worried for him.
But as each day passed—our day out on a catamaran, snorkeling; the day we all went parasailing on the bay; the day we went to visit Diamond Falls and then had a bonfire on the beach—I was the odd one out. Almost everyone was paired up, either with a boyfriend, a flavor of the month, or a BFF (as Kat stuck close to Heath’s side most of the time).
Every day, I got a bigger bouquet of flowers and a sweeter, longer note from my absentee fiancé. But that didn’t quell the frustration and loneliness. I wanted him here, not his goddamn flowers and notes.
Finally, I was notified that he was on a plane and would arrive late morning…
The day before the wedding.
Oh, I wasn’t going to let him forget this anytime soon.
Payback could be a bitch, and so could I.
Chapter 19
Adam
Wheels down, Hewanorra Airport. St. Lucia. At last, I was in the same geographical location as my fiancée, approximately thirty-six hours before our wedding. And I was certain she was going to have my balls for this.
I’d forgotten to bring my industrial-strength cup for protection.
Me: Just landed. About to transfer to helicopter. Will be there in 45.
Her: At last! We are down on the beach already. I left your swimsuit on the bed in my room. Change and then come down and meet us. I’m in Cabana #1. We have picnic and spa later, then wedding rehearsal & dinner.
Me: Got it. See you in an hour or less. Can’t wait.
No reply. Huh.
With the exception of the last one, her texts had become more and more terse over the past few days. But I’d attributed that mostly to increasing stress as the wedding date approached without my arrival. I was right there with her on that stress level. In the end, I’d had to cut and run with the majority of the issue solved.
Again, it came down to that control issue, and I mused over it during the quiet moments on that solitary plane ride, realizing what the hell I’d been doing. I’d almost missed my own wedding. Because of a server problem. Because I couldn’t back away once the main problem had been solved.
Because I had control issues. I needed to wake the fuck up before I lost what I loved most. I thanked all the powers that be that she was patient enough to put up with me for this long.
Sarting tomorrow, the day I became her husband, I would be making some major changes. I’d have priorities, damn it. And I’d never do anything like this to her again.
Over a half-hour later, we touched down on the helipad of the Emerald Sky Resort and Spa, which, for the current week, was catering only to our wedding guests and the wedding party. One of the perks of being a joint owner of the establishment.
The lush resort perched on the side of one of the jagged green mountains that St. Lucia was known for. It overlooked a beach, several stories below. Each room, referred to here as a “haven,” had its own infinity pool, and some also came equipped with hot tubs. The rooms were open on three sides to the Caribbean air.
The hotel manager greeted me with a room key and told me the number. I let myself into our room, and true to her word, a swimsuit sat on the bed.
Someone else’s swimsuit.
I picked up the shiny scrap of fabric. A bright blue Speedo. A Speedo.
Convinced it was either a mistake or—more likely, if I knew my betrothed—a practical joke, I proceeded to look through all the drawers and the closet for my stuff. Emilia had brought my suitcase along with hers on the private flight so I wouldn’t have to bother with luggage. That way, I could rush to the airport at the drop of a hat and fly out the first moment I could.
So now…here I was with not a scrap of clothing in sight except for what I had on my back. And this goddamn Speedo.
I was not dressed to hit the beach, either, wearing khakis and a button-down shirt with leather loafers.
Fuck it.
I pulled off my pants and underwear and put on the Speedo, taking time to inspect the result in the mirror. The swimsuit left nothing to the imagination. Nylon lined my crotch, emphasizing the lines of my dick and sac. Looked like Emilia had found a way to have my balls after all, no athletic cup needed.
Oh, I was so demanding payback for this one. Everything I owned was on display for all to see.
Not being able to fathom being seen in public like this, I slipped the pants back on and tossed my underwear onto her pillow as a calling card. Something for you to cuddle tonight, my love.
Maybe I should let her have her laugh. No, Emilia. Not this time.
She probably had my proper swim trunks in her beach bag. I’d change into them once I hit the cabana.