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)
“What a relief,” I say, laughing as I attempt to unbuckle them. My nails are a real hindrance here, and adding to the comedy is the giant diamond on my finger that slides around, weighing an entire pound. When West sees me struggling with my talons, I feel his firm hands slide down my calves and cup my ankles, his fingers making quick work of the straps. I like it a lot more than I should. “My hubby loves me in tall, sexy shoes but the little wifey in me loves the feeling of being barefoot!”
She laughs politely at this and turns to lead us to the exit.
“Tone it down a little,” West says, straightening to hand me my shoes.
“I’m just being playful.”
“Play a little less.”
I turn to face him, whispering, “I know you think it’s fine if we don’t get along, but didn’t you say your dad wants you to come back to the family company to be the chief something officer?”
“Operations.”
“Right. And you think he might suspect our marriage isn’t real and use your inheritance as leverage to pressure you? Why not be a little lovey? We can’t get him off your back if we’re cold and robotic.”
“There’s a wide gulf between getting him off my back and you calling yourself a ‘little wifey.’ ”
“I’m just playing the part, dude. I’m just going with the tiny scraps of information I have here.”
West stops me before I reach the stairs to exit the plane, his big hand wrapped around my forearm. “Have I grossly miscalculated this?”
“Uh, undoubtedly?”
Panic washes him out, makes his eyes a little wild. “Can you play the part? Don’t call me ‘dude.’ Don’t rave about your favorite bongs and Takis and flavors of White Claw. These people aren’t kidding around, Anna. My father spends millions—I mean millions—destroying people who fuck with him. You think he won’t do the same to me if he knows I’ve been lying about our marriage? You think he won’t destroy you?”
I make a little meep sound because that hadn’t occurred to me. I also want to yell at both of us for how I ended up here, but his anxiety is already palpable. One of us has to keep our shit together.
“You told me it was fine to be a Muppet-human hybrid, remember?” I hiss back at him. “And listen, I get it. This is stressful for you. I’ll cut you some slack and I won’t call you ‘dude’ anymore, okay? But you’re his kid. He’s not going to destroy you.” At least, I think. The most I know about rich families I learned from Succession, and I concede there’s some brutal shit there. “Besides, it’s not like he’s a weapons dealer. He’s a grocer. What, is he gonna ban me from every Weston’s in the greater Los Angeles area? I’ve got news for him, I can’t afford it anyway.”
West looks at me with unmasked concern. “Please, Anna,” he says gently like I’m very, very naive. “Just follow my lead.”
* * *
I MOVE TO TAKE my first step onto the dock and stop, seeing West’s outstretched hand, his expression expectant and the tiniest bit pleading. I reach forward and his fingers wrap firmly around mine. Yes, it’s part of the show, but it’s also a physical reminder that we’re in this together. If he sinks, so do I.
We follow the pilot down the pier and it’s somehow even more beautiful up close. I spy brightly colored fish in the water beneath us, and the corner of a guest bungalow on tall stilts in the distance where the shore begins to curve. What I don’t see—or hear—are the things one usually associates with a resort. Aside from a pair of kayaks cutting silently through the water, there’s no marina traffic, no noisy tourists, no cheeky steel drum serenade. There are no flower beds, pots of foliage, or anything remotely manicured. It feels a little wild; truly isolated but not deserted. A utopia.
At the end of the narrow boardwalk, our feet sink into the sand. It’s so soft and fine it sifts like warm water between my toes. Waiting a few yards up the beach is a group of four employees. The vibe is very White Lotus—all of them stand shoulder to shoulder, smiling in welcome, wearing matching khaki shorts and white polo shirts, and holding something for us: small bunches of local flowers, a bowl with cool, wet cloths, a tray with cups of ice water, a plate with sliced fruit. The four hosts introduce themselves as Maria, John, Eko, and Gede before handing us their items. While we wipe our hands, drink the water, and eat the fruit, Gede steps forward.
“Welcome to Pulau Jingga,” he says. “I am your private butler for the duration of your stay. May I tell you a little about the reserve?”