Charlotte turned. “Yep, that one goes out to the beach in front of area B.”
“Great,” Pete said. “I’m going to go this way. I’ll meet you guys back at the villa.”
Emma turned. She was in front, walking with Antonio. “Okay,” she said, her face hard to read in the darkness. “We’ll see you back at the villas.”
Villas? Plural.
Mallory made a move to go with him, but he shook his head, tamping down the snarl that was rising in his throat. She took his meaning, or maybe his face, to heart and kept walking with the others.
“We’ll see you later, surfer dude,” she called over her shoulder. “And I, for one, can’t wait.” Then she blew him a loud, smacking kiss.
Pete turned, angry at how this night had turned out. He fisted his hands as he walked. His muscles were beginning to ache because of all the clenching and unclenching. His brain was moving in eighty different directions. This was brand new territory for him. Emma had always been doting—first as a doting girlfriend, and then as a doting wife. She’d never given him any reason to doubt her love for him. Now? He had no idea what was going on. It was making his chest ache all the damn time, a dull thudding pounding continuously against his ribs.
The trouble was, he had no idea what it meant.
He’d never experienced any sort of emotion like this before. It sounded lame, but he’d never loved anyone like Emma. And she’d never given him any reason to feel like this.
After a few twists and turns, Pete made it out to the beach. He’d exited onto the sand at the very far end of the resort. It was dark, but the moon was out. He was wearing light linen pants that Emma had bought him especially for the trip. He stopped to roll up his pant legs before he hit the water. For a moment, he wished like hell this island had a good wave break. Surfing had been his life growing up in California. He’d attended USC, and when he hadn’t been playing baseball, he’d spent most of his time in the water. Mallory hadn’t been far from the truth when she called him a surfer. He looked like a surfer, and he certainly identified with the lifestyle. Choosing to move to Chicago, and then to Madison, had taken him far from what he loved to do, but being with Emma made him happier.
As he walked up the beach toward their villa, he thought about his life with Emma. She’d been happy with him all these years, hadn’t she? They’d gotten married fairly young, but lots of people did. Originally, she hadn’t wanted to move to the suburbs, but once they’d found their neighborhood, she’d seemed content. Their house was something they were both proud of. They’d each put their blood, sweat, and tears into it. Their neighbors were a little eye-roll-inducing, but whose weren’t?
He ran a hand through his hair.
How had things gotten to this point?
That was the question he kept going back to. He and Emma had been happy. They’d been living the perfect life. Now all of a sudden she was unhappy, and he was miserable. The problem was, her unhappiness could drive her into the arms of another man—a man with millions of dollars and a tantalizing lifestyle Pete couldn’t compete with. Emma could leave him and the suburbs behind forever with a snap of her fingers.
“Damn,” he muttered. “How did things get so jacked so fast? I am so fucked.”
* * *
Emma absentmindedly stroked the stem of her wine glass. Pete hadn’t arrived yet, and neither had Mallory. She had no idea what was going on, but she was heartsick. At that very moment, she was trying to scrub visions of them together out of her mind. She wanted to enjoy the night, but she couldn’t.
“Why such the long face?” Charlotte asked as she sat down beside her on the deck.
Antonio was down on the beach, getting the bonfire started.
“Oh, just thinking about stuff,” Emma mumbled. “Nothing too exciting. It’s so beautiful here, it’s a wonder that doesn’t cure all ills.”
“What stuff are you thinking about? The fact your hunk of a husband hasn’t shown up?”
Emma darted a glance at Charlotte. “Why, do you know where he is?”
“No, but I can promise you he’s not with Mallory.”
“How do you know that?” Emma questioned. “He could be. They were all over each other at dinner.”
“I know because Mallory went to her villa alone. I escorted her there myself. Your hubby just needed to get some fresh air, and I don’t really blame him. He’s competing with a lot right now. A lesser man would’ve packed up and gone home already.”
“Competing? How do you mean?” Emma asked.
“Come on, you seriously don’t know?” Charlotte raised her eyebrows. “I find that hard to believe.”
Emma blushed. “No, I don’t know. He’s my husband. He doesn’t have to compete with anyone.”
“Really? Is that why you were eye-fucking Antonio on the beach today? You totally got off on him watching you, and it wasn’t too bad for him either. I was a recipient of that intensity, and it was terrific.”
“You saw that?” Emma felt terrible. She bowed her head. “I’m so sorry. I honestly don’t know what’s gotten into me. This is not my normal behavior, I can promise you that.”
“I know what’s gotten into you, and he’s a tall, Cuban drink of water. That man is charisma personified. He draws you into his web very easily, like giving a child a lollipop. Then you add in the ridiculous amount of money, all the flashy things like yachts and expensive champagne, and most women don’t stand a chance.”
Emma politely snorted. “I’d like to think I’m not most women. To tell you the truth”—she turned toward Charlotte, crossing her legs—“I’ve always been head over heels in love with my husband, since the first time I ever laid eyes on him. Done, finished, met my soul mate, in love. But very recently things have changed. I’m tired of doing the same things over and over again. For such a long time, our relationship has been about pleasing others…I don’t know,” she said miserably. “I’m just craving attention, I think. I need to feel noticed. I guess Antonio is filling that need for me right now, but I can assure you I don’t want him. I want Pete. But I’m so sorry for earlier this afternoon. I really am. I was incredibly turned on, and Antonio is your boyfriend. I crossed a line. Please forgive me.”
“Are you kidding?” Charlotte hooted, tipping her head back. “Antonio is far from mine. And thank goodness I know that, or I’d be one heartbroken woman. What I told you guys today was the truth. I’m his girlfriend until he decides otherwise. I haven’t let myself fall too deeply in love with him for that very reason, and by doing so, I’ve managed to protect my heart as well as I can. I’m always truthful with myself. If it wasn’t you on the beach, it would’ve been someone else. I get that. He’s the kind of guy who is always searching for that next thing to excite him. I guess that’s what makes him such a successful businessman. Who knows?” Charlotte shrugged. “But your husband is super gorgeous and clearly very much in love with you. He’s miserable witnessing Antonio showering you with so much attention, knowing that if you wanted to become the new girlfriend of the filthy-rich bachelor, you could. You guys have gotten off track a bit, but I believe it’s fixable.”
“It’s not fixable if he chooses to be with Mallory,” Emma said. “I’ve seen them with their heads together, and they’d actually make a beautiful couple. It’s the same way Pete feels about Antonio. I can’t compete with a rich supermodel.”
“Now you’re talking crazy! You are totally gorgeous, and besides that, Mallory doesn’t want Pete. She’s only trying to help him.”
“Help him?” Emma said, her mouth gaping open. “What do you mean?”
“Yes, help him. You thinking Mallory is interested in him makes him a little more desirable and you a little jealous, yes?”
“I guess,” Emma admitted. “But I hate games like that.”
Charlotte shook her head, clucking her tongue. “Tell me if I’m right. When you first met Pete, he was the guy at a bar who got all the attention. Beautiful girls draped themselves all over him. He never had to want for any attention his entire life, because it always came looking for him. Does that sound like your husband?”