"Will you let me take you out on a date? Properly, as you deserve. Not as equals, because you're much better than me, but I think I can change," he says. "It just won't be overnight."
I shake my head. It's slow at first, but soon becomes so strong my hair whips at my neck.
His eyes look pained. "No? You wouldn't go out with me afterwards."
"No, I don't want to divorce you. I don't want this piece of paper."
"You don't?"
"No. Not at all. Victor, I… God, the stupid timer on my computer. I'd forgotten about that. I'm so sorry you saw it. It was something I had when I worked as your assistant. Because I heard you say to Tristan that you doubted I'd last a year."
A flush creeps up his cheeks. "I don't know how to apologize to you for all the shit I've pulled. I could spend a lifetime trying to make it up to you, and it wouldn't be enough."
I grab his hand with mine. It's stiff beneath my fingers, but then he flips it over, fingers twining with mine. "You're a different man now than you were back then. You're letting me see a different side of you."
"I can't relate to the person I was then. To have you right under my nose and not recognize the treasure. I'm sorry, Cecilia."
"I forgive you. You know that, right? The timer was such a silly thing. I reset it when we married, and then forgot all about it."
"You don't want to get rid of me?"
"No, and don't you dare try to get rid of me either. I'm not going anywhere."
His eyes search mine, and I look back at him, letting him see just how serious I am. A smile starts on his lips. It spreads, transforming his face. "Really?"
"Yes. Really."
"Well, then. I like that."
I laugh. "I like that too. But Victor… a divorce. Wouldn't you lose the house if we're not married for a full year?"
He nods. "Yes."
"But it's your grandfather's house. It was where your father grew up, where you grew up. You couldn't-"
"It's just a house," he says, and there's steel in his tone. "It's the past. I'm looking at my future right now."
My tears well again. His eyes turn alarmed, the hand beneath mine tensing. "Cecilia?"
"These are happy tears. Victor. I really thought you were going to divorce me. I saw the papers yesterday."
"You saw them?"
"I always opened your mail when I was your assistant. The envelope was from Irving and Hardmann, and I thought it might be urgent. I'm sorry."
"Was that why you were so nervous tonight?"
"You noticed?"
"Yes. I've learned to read you pretty well."
"You have," I say, tightening my fingers around his. "God, Victor, what are we going to do? Stay married? Are we truly married?"
His lips curl into a smile. The sight sends an ache through my chest. "Yes, we are. Although I'm going to take my wife out on a lot of dates. More than most husbands."
"More than most husbands, huh?"
Victor slides his chair next to mine, ignoring the disapproving looks of the people sitting behind us. He puts his arm around me. I grip his hand, resting on my shoulder, and feel the cold metal of his wedding band against my palm.
"If we're going to be married," he says, "we're going to be the best married couple ever."
I laugh. "You're too competitive for your own good."
He kisses me, right there in the restaurant. I feel light enough to float away at the touch. A proper marriage. A proper relationship. Dates. My husband.
Love is a beautiful ache in my chest, and the words dance on my tongue. I swallow them for now and give him a wide smile. Not yet. Not now. They'll be my secret for a while.
"I don't have to be competitive anymore," he says. "I won you."
My grin widens. "Flatterer."
"I'm learning."
"But I have to tell you," I say, tapping my fingers along his jaw. "If you ever have your assistant send me flowers, I'm going to refuse them by the door."
"White lilies with pink peonies," he says. "I remember, and I'll get them for you myself. I promise."
"He shouldn't be emailing you this much," Victor says. "You're on vacation."
I look over my shoulder at my grumpy husband. He's lying in the shade, a dog-eared biography beside him on the wide lounge chair. Despite the privacy of our backyard and private pool, he's wearing swim trunks.
Not me. I'd packed cute bikinis I hadn't used yet.
"He's not on vacation," I say. "You know Carter is helping me set this up. I can't afford to be picky about when I answer an email."
Victor's look tells me I should be pickier. I smile and finish off the quick email, sending it off. I close the laptop and shove it back in the shade.
I turn to him. "That's not what's really bothering you, is it?"
His eyes run over my body with naked appreciation, stopping at my breasts. My skin is picking up a tan in record-speed here in Barbados.
"No, that's not what's bothering me," he murmurs.
I push him back on the lounge chair. He leans back with a grin and grips my hips, settling me cross-legged over him.
"A private pool was an excellent decision," he says.
"It was," I say. "But you're still annoyed that Carter's investing, despite it being your idea."