Page 60 of My Favorite Bad Decision
As always, he’s picked up on my change of mood before I’ve entirely figured out how and why it’s changed.
“I don’t know,” I say, swallowing. I look around us frantically. The engine is on, the flight attendant is buckling herself in…we’ll be taking off any second now, and I think maybe I’ve made a terrible mistake.
He crosses over to the seat beside me.
“It’s gonna be okay, Kit,” he says. “Deep breaths.”
“Maren would never forgive me if she found out,” I whisper.
That muscle in his jaw flickers. “She won’t find out, and you’re not doing anything wrong.”
“That would be more convincing if you didn’t keep looking at my rack.”
He cracks a smile. His dimple is all the reassurance I could ever seek. “Resolving to take this trip as friends doesn’t magically erase my interest in breasts.”
I laugh. “I guess that’s fair.”
“And you’re sure not trying to hide them in that dress.”
I elbow him. “Now you’ve gone too far, tentmate.”
He buckles himself in and pulls out his phone. We watch30 Rockfor most of the four-hour flight and while I’m all too aware of my own phone, currently turned off and tucked in my purse, I don’t pull it out. No doubt it’s now full of irate messages from multiple family members and if I read them now, I’ll lose my nerve. I’ll direct the plane straight back to NYC.
I’d be resigning myself to more than an argument with Blake and emotional blackmail from my mom.
I’d be agreeing that a lifetime of Tuesdays is okay….and it’s really fucking not.
* * *
We landon a private airstrip a little after one in the morning and climb down the stairs into a balmy, breezy night. Even if this was a terrible idea and winds up going drastically off the rails…there’s no place I’d rather be, and no one I’d rather be here with.
A waiting car drives us less than a mile to an isolated white cottage that sits right on the sand, surrounded by nothing but a few squat palm trees. Somewhere nearby, waves are lapping gently against the shore.
Miller thanks the driver, grabs the bags, and leads me to the front door, where he quickly presses a key code to let us in.
The door opens directly into the kitchen and living area, which are clean and white, with a soaring, exposed-beam cathedral ceiling, and doors that look out toward a deck, a small pool, and the moonlit ocean. On either side are what I assume are the bedrooms.
“This is amazing,” I tell him, my voice hushed.
His teeth sink into his lower lip. “I was worried you wouldn’t be all that impressed, given how much money your father has. He could probably buy the entire island.”
I shake my head. “I don’t like big places. This…is perfect. It’s the perfect size.”
His eyes catch mine and hold there for a moment too long, thinking something I know he won’t share. “I’m glad you like it. Just wait ’til you see the view in the morning.”
For all of my initial nerves and all the moments since we left New York when I’ve thought this might be a horrific mistake, I am one hundred percent certain now that this is where I’m meant to be.
“Let me show you to your room,” he says, walking toward the doors to the right and sliding them open. It’s nearly as large as the living room, with another exposed-beam cathedral ceiling and wood accents. A ceiling fan hangs over a massive canopy bed, and the entire ocean-facing wall is made of glass. The water is illuminated by a huge full moon. The view tomorrow will be incredible.
“You can lock the doors if you like,” he says, showing me how the glass panels on the ocean-facing wall slide open, “but it’s pretty safe here.” He points toward the bathroom. “I had some basic toiletries delivered, and we can get whatever else you need tomorrow.”
I sink onto the bed. “Miller…I don’t know how to thank you. For everything. No one else would’ve done all this.”
“I hate that it’s so shocking to you that someone finally has,” he says quietly before he walks out.
Once he’s closed the door behind him, I step out of my heels and open the suitcase. My father has had stylists pull clothes for me in the past, and it generally hasn’t worked out all that well. The outfits are either too high fashion, too uncomfortable, or way too skimpy.
This time, though, they’ve done okay. There’s a pair of flip-flops, some shorts, and a few sundresses and T-shirts.
