Sarah
I tug at the thin red straps, adjusting them over my shoulders. The mirror reflects a woman I barely recognize - eyes too bright, skin bronzed. The Aruba sun seems to be in my favor. I smooth my hands over the bikini, wondering if it is too revealing.
A prickle runs down my spine. I don't need to turn to know Matthew's eyes are on me, watching me. His gaze burns, a physical weight against my skin.
"Planning a show, Sarah?" His voice cuts through the silence, cold and sharp.
I force myself to meet his eyes in the mirror. He's sprawled across the bed, deceptively relaxed, but I see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers grip the sheets.
"We are going to the beach," I say, aiming for nonchalance. "This is what people wear to the beach."
A humorless chuckle. "People that are attractive, perhaps. But you?"
I spin to face him, anger flaring. "What's that supposed to mean?"
