The morning after the wedding, I woke up before she did. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft, golden glow across the room.
Megan was still asleep beside me, her head resting on my chest, her dark hair spilling out across the pillow like a halo. She looked peaceful, her lips slightly parted, her breathing slow and steady.
My wife.
The thought kept echoing in my head, louder than it had the night before. This wasn't just a dream anymore.
She was mine during the duration of our contract. Legally, physically, and—maybe emotionally? The last part of that thought made my breath stagnant.
Did she want me the way I wanted her?
I didn't know what to do with it, I didn't know how to process the way my heart raced every time I looked at her, the way I needed to touch her, to feel her warmth against me.
I'd spent most of the night watching her sleep, my mind spinning with thoughts I wasn't ready to admit out loud. I kept asking myself the same questions over and over again: Were we still acting?
Was what I was feeling genuine or I was just getting carried away? Did she feel the same way? And if not, could I still make this real?
I wanted to. God, I wanted to.
I shifted slightly, trying not to wake her, but her body stirred, her eyes fluttering open. She blinked up at me, her lips curving into a sleepy smile, and my heart did that stupid thing again, that little stutter like it didn't know how to beat properly when she was around.
"Morning," she murmured, her voice soft and husky from sleep.
"Morning," I replied, my hand brushing a strand of hair away from her face. I didn't miss the way her body instinctively leaned into my touch, and for a moment, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, this was as genuine for her as it was starting to feel for me.
She yawned and stretched, her fingers lightly brushing against my chest as she moved. "So," she said, her voice teasing, "what happens now, Mr. Drake?"
I swallowed hard, my mind racing. What is happening now? We were married.
We'd had a wedding night that had been more than I could have ever imagined. But the contract... the contract still loomed over us, a constant reminder that this had all started as a business arrangement. A way to protect the Drake legacy from my family's greed.
But now, as I looked at her, I didn't want to think about that. I didn't want to think about contracts or business or legacy.
I wanted to think about her. About us. About what came next for us.
"Well," I began, trying to sound casual, "we've got a honeymoon, don't we?"
Her brows raised in surprise, and she sat up slightly, propping herself up on one elbow. "A honeymoon?" she echoed, her voice laced with disbelief. "Is that necessary?"
I smiled, but the expression felt tight, forced. I couldn't tell her the truth. I couldn't tell her that I needed this honeymoon to figure out what the hell we were doing, to figure out if this was true, if we were real.
So instead, I shrugged, trying to play it off like it was no big deal.
"Of course it's necessary," I said, my voice light. "What kind of husband would I be if I didn't take my wife on a proper honeymoon?"
She laughed, the sound light and musical, but there was a hint of something else in her eyes—something like uncertainty. "I didn't think you'd be the kind of guy who cared about things like honeymoons."
"I'm full of surprises."
She rolled her eyes but smiled, the tension between us easing. "Okay, fine. Where are we going?"
"The Cayman Islands," I said, leaning back against the pillows.
Her eyes widened, and I could see the excitement flash across her face before she quickly tried to hide it. "The Cayman Islands?"
I nodded. "The Drake family has a private resort there. It's secluded, beautiful. Perfect place to get away for a while."
She sat up fully now, her legs crossed beneath her. "I've always wanted to go there," she admitted, her voice soft. "I've always dreamed of it."
Something about the way she said it made my chest tighten again, that familiar ache I'd started associating with her. I wanted to give her that dream. I wanted to give her everything she'd ever thought of—everything she didn't even know she wanted yet.
"Well," I said, "now you get to see it for yourself."
Her smile was genuine this time, wide and bright, and I felt that stupid little flutter in my chest again. Damn it.
We packed quickly. It didn't take much—just a few essentials. Neither of us needed much, not for a trip like this. It wasn't about the clothes or the things we brought. It was about us. Or at least, it was starting to feel that way.
The flight to the Cayman Islands was quiet. Megan sat beside me, gazing out the window as the plane soared over the ocean, her hand resting on the armrest between us. I wanted to reach out, to take her hand in mine, but I didn't.
I wasn't sure if I could.
When we arrived, the sun was beginning to set, casting a warm orange glow over the island. The resort was as beautiful as I remembered—white sand beaches stretching out as far as the eye could see, palm trees swaying gently in the breeze, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore.
It was paradise.
Megan's eyes lit up as we stepped off the plane, her gaze darting around, taking in every detail. "This is... amazing," she whispered, her voice filled with awe.
I smiled, watching her. "Yeah, it is."
We were greeted by the resort's staff, who whisked us away to our private villa—secluded, luxurious, with its own pool and a view of the ocean that took my breath away. Megan wandered around the villa, her fingers trailing over the furniture, the curtains, the marble countertops, like she couldn't quite believe it existed.
"This place is incredible," she said, turning to me with wide eyes. "I've never seen anything like it."
"It's all ours for the week," I said, leaning against the doorway. "We can do whatever we want. Relax, explore, swim..."
Her smile was soft, almost shy. "It sounds perfect."
The next few days passed in a blur of sun and sand and laughter. We spent our mornings walking along the beach, our afternoons lounging by the pool, and our evenings watching the sunset from the terrace of the villa.
It felt... easy. Natural. Like we had been doing this for years, like we weren't two people who had just entered into a marriage of convenience.
But every time we left the villa, I felt a knot of tension settle in my gut. Megan was beautiful—too beautiful—and it didn't escape my notice that other men couldn't stop staring at her.
The way their eyes lingered, the way they looked at her like she was something they wanted to claim. It made my blood boil.
I stayed close to her, my hand always either on her waist or her arm, making it clear to anyone watching that she was mine. But it wasn't just possessiveness. It was something more.
Something that simmered just beneath the surface, the awareness that my family was probably watching us, even here.
I had no doubt that my grandfather had men keeping an eye on us, making sure we were truly married.
Megan seemed to sense my unease one afternoon as we strolled through the local market, her arm linked with mine. She glanced up at me, her brow furrowed in concern.
"Is everything okay?" she asked.
I hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. Just... keeping an eye on things."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Keeping an eye on what?"
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "My grandfather likely has people watching us. Making sure everything looks... legitimate."
Her expression softened, and she nodded in understanding. "I get it. We have to play the part."
I nodded, but the words felt hollow in my chest. Whenever I heard those words coming out of her mouth, it irked me.
We spent the rest of the day wandering through the market, browsing the stalls filled with handmade jewelry, local art, and fresh fruit. Megan seemed to forget about the men watching her, about the contract, about everything but the moment we were in. And for a little while, I did too.
That night, as we lay in bed together, the sound of the ocean lulling us to sleep, I couldn't stop thinking about her. About the way she laughed, the way she smiled, the way she looked at me.
I wanted to ask her. I wanted to know if this was real for her, too. But I couldn't. I didn't dare. Because if she said no, if she told me this was still just a deal for her, I wasn't sure I could handle it.
So instead, I just held her close, my arm wrapped around her waist, my face buried in her hair, and I let the sound of her breathing lull me to sleep.
One day, I'd ask her.
But not yet.