Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
“Qué? Are you joking? Not intense? This spa has a whole menu of things you can put in your nose. Is that normal?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Yes,” I say, reading from the pamphlet. “ ‘An ancient Ayurvedic practice called Nasya is the nasal administration of medicinal herbs and oils to clear sinus congestion and expel toxins from the head and neck.’ ” I read farther down. “Oh, this is good: ‘Because the nose is the gateway to the brain, you’ll relax knowing you’re treating your mind and your body together.’ ”
“This…” His frown deepens. “I don’t know if you should choose to ingest any oils this way, Anna.”
“Hello, I’m pretty sure I’m the medical doctor in the family.” I grin at him. “I will, of course, be putting nothing in my nose.” I look back down at the menu pamphlet. “I know I’m probably overthinking this, but I’ve never been to a fancy spa before. Unless you count the one Vivi took me to before I came here.” I cup my hand next to my mouth, adding in a loud whisper, “The waxing one.”
His brows flicker up as he goes back to untangling the cords. “Ah.”
“I swear I blacked out after one particularly delicate part of the Brazilian. At one point they had me get on my hands and knees and—”
“I’m going to stop you there,” he says gruffly, but when I look at him, he’s fighting a smile. I bite my lip to force the laughter down, but it fails, and the sound bubbles up and out of me, a rolling belly laugh. West breaks, covering his eyes with a hand. “Jesus Christ, Green, the shit you say.”
“I just wanted to hear that sound,” I confess. “I didn’t really have to get on my hands and knees to be waxed. But I did have to hold on to my ankles like—”
He holds up his other hand, laughing hard. “Stop.”
I want to hug him again. The urge feels like a breath held in, the tension ratcheting up with every passing second. But there’s an invisible force field there now. I don’t know how I know, but I do.
Finally, he gets his smile wrangled and looks over at where I’ve composed myself. “What are you worried about? The rules? The price? It’s all-inclusive. You can get anything you want.”
“It’s just the intimidation factor. That’s all. All the fancy ladies.”
West runs a finger below his lip. “You’ll be okay, you know. You come across as incredibly sure of yourself.” Now, this I can’t believe, and I make a dorky face. “And right now?” he adds. “You look very fancy. Don’t let them intimidate you.”
I look down at my beautiful blue-and-white floral sundress. “That’s just clothes. Not me. Stop trying to distract me with your flirting. Are you going?”
“I think all the groomsmen are scheduled for something.”
“Are they splitting up the guys and girls?”
“I assume so.”
I push out my lower lip in a pout, but stand, checking the time on my phone. Strange that the Westons chose an island that specifically prides itself on its lack of schedules and then created a packed itinerary. “I guess I’ll see you later? At dinner? We have that Old Hollywood party tonight, right?”
He trains his gaze over my shoulder, staring at the wall, deflating. “Yeah.”
I don’t know why I do it; I probably shouldn’t. Everything about his posture since yesterday screams, Leave it. But I’m terrible at leaving it. So, on my way out the door, I bend down, pressing my lips to his warm, smooth cheek. “I know this trip is draining, but I’m here with you. Try to relax and enjoy today—you deserve it. I’ll see you tonight.”
I’m sure I went too far. I am being too intimate, feeling too protective of a man who doesn’t need protection. Besides, no matter how good the kissing is, we aren’t really married. I mean, we are legally, but not, like, emotionally or—even sadder—biblically. With a smile plastered to my face, I leave before I can make it weirder, walking straight out of the bungalow and onto the beach.
Twenty
ANNA
The paradox of a fancy spa on a private island, of course, is that you are meant to immediately feel relaxed and calm, but I’m not sure I’ve ever been more stressed in my entire life.
Not to be dramatic, of course. It’s just that on my walk over, I can’t stop mentally tabulating all the ways I might completely fuck things up. Blaire was delightful and surprisingly down-to-earth, but she was an outsider. Today I have to breach the inner circle. I have to be in an intimate and chitchatty setting with West’s mother and sister. They could ask me something as simple as his shoe size and the only answer I’d be able to muster would be a wink and a “way above average.”