Page 94 of Pandora's Pleasure
“Do you want anything?” I asked, trying to act like this was no big deal. “Becca was going to make some lunch.”
“We’ll have lunch when we get to Sanibel,” he said. “Go relax.”
With a nod, I turned around and made my way back down the aisle, my hands using the seatbacks on either side of me for balance.
There was so much more to this man I didn’t know.
When it came to a weekend getaway that would suit our purposes, Sanibel Island in southwest Florida was the perfect place, with its pristine beaches, crystal waters and beautiful landscaping. It had just the right amount of exposure to the public while still allowing us some privacy.
The luxurious beach resort promised hours of relaxation.
If only that was on the agenda.
I guided Pandora around our holiday cottage, showing her where she could hang out and chill.
“Your room.” I gestured to the king-sized bed and continued on over to the window that overlooked the pool. “Will this do?”
She studied me, as though realizing this meant we didn’t have to sleep together. I saw confusion reflected in her eyes.
She followed me out, continuing down the hallway to the double glass frontage of the cottage.
“Your father owns an island,” she said.
“Your point?”
“Why did you choose this place?” She peered out the window. “I do love it. Only, people might be able to see us.”
“Do you want the romantic version or the truth?”
She spun round to look at me. “This isn’t just about getting us out of Washington?”
“When we’re in here we can spend as much time apart as we want. Out there—” I pointed to the beach. “We act like we care about each other.”
“Why not just call off our engagement, Damien?” She gestured her frustration. “No one need know.”
“Everyone must play their part.”
“I’m feeling very used.”
“Your father has many supporters. They adore you. We can’t risk losing one vote.”
“I’m aware of my currency.”
“Look, I know you and I haven’t always seen eye to eye. But as a form of punishment, spending a weekend in paradise isn’t too bad in the scheme of things.”
She studied me carefully. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d be flying the plane?”
“Thought it would be a fun surprise.”
“A jet liner, though.”
“I once wanted to be a commercial pilot. Obviously, it didn’t happen.”
“I thought you studied history?”
“It’s possible to do both.”
She looked sad for me. “Were you expected to join your dad’s business?”
