I pushed the hair back out of my eyes and pulled the cover over the clay. I'd promised Jack I wouldn't swim again without him, and I'd kept my promise. But I wandered out to the edge of the water anyway, squinting from the sun. There was no one around to see and I bent down splashing water over my hair and tee shirt. It was really getting too cool to swim anyway, but the sun was warm on my skin and I stretched out on the white sand.

The night Jack and I had… well… let's say been together… was almost a week ago now. I could still feel him on my skin. Every time I looked at him, I felt the same hot, flood of desire roll over me. But something had changed between us. And we hadn't talked about it. Not yet.

It was almost as if he'd had his fill of me. Oh, he was still kind and attentive. Almost too attentive. It seemed like he knew what I needed before I did. And he was always there, with a warm smile and those velvety brown eyes… But he'd never reached for me again. And I wasn't sure he ever would.

Sometimes, I'd catch him watching me. In the evening, when we were curled up in our matching chairs. Watching a movie… or just watching the fire in the fireplace. We talked about his work and mine. How I was feeling. What the baby might look like. If I could feel her inside me yet…

His eyes would shine and we would laugh together. We'd spent hours on the phone with his mom and India, vetoing or approving wedding ideas. I couldn't think of a time I'd ever felt so completely content. So truly happy. And when our eyes would meet, I could swear he was feeling the same deep pull inside that I was. That instinct under all the rest that draws us toward that one right person…

But he'd never reached out for me again. And despite my crazy baby hormones, I think I knew it was for the best. After all, it had never been me he truly wanted. Even though he was kind and thoughtful and caring… The only reason I was here was all about the baby. I had no right to want anything more from him. And the contract made that perfectly clear.

When I was alone like this, I knew it was really all for the best. What sense was there, in developing the sexual attraction between us any further? After the baby was born, I had a life of my own and a career to pursue. It had been enough for me before Jack, and it would be enough for me again. For the next nine months, it had to be the baby that came first. That was a commitment I took very seriously. But after that, Jack and I would go our separate ways. It didn't matter that I'd allowed myself to fantasize about having more. No matter what we were pretending at, we weren't a real couple. And nothing about the marriage would be real either.

It was just that sometimes, if I let my mind wander, it felt good pretending it could be real. That he was taking care of me, too… and not just the baby. I liked to imagine having a real family of my own… even though I knew it just wasn't in the cards. I didn't even know what it felt like, to be part of a real family. How can a woman be a mother when she never had one herself?

I heard the tires roll up the drive and turned toward the sound. Jack was heading toward me, India smiling at his side. I'd forgotten our plans until just then.

Today she was taking us both out to lunch. And later, while Jack was being fitted for his tux, his sister and I would be picking out my wedding gown.

"If you don't choose this one, you're out of your mind, that's all I have to say." India sat with a glass of champagne in her hand while I looked at my backside in the mirror.

"But it's so… so…" I twisted around to look from the other direction, as if that would somehow make it appear smaller. "Big," I added.

"Like the rest of us would kill for, you mean." She stood up and waved her glass. "You've got all the right curves in all the best places, Libby. Now stop being critical, and just look…"

The gown was creamy white and clung from my shoulders to my knees. From there it flared out in a sweeping froth of embroidered lace. It was daringly low and exposed more cleavage than I was strictly comfortable with. And it nipped my waist in tight before hugging my hips.

"Now, take a deep breath and tell me it's not perfect." She raised a brow, daring me.

"I can't take a deep breath in this, India. And it's so… so… formal. I always imagined getting married on the beach somewhere." I tugged at the neckline. "Wearing a light, flowy sundress or something."

Her brow wrinkled as she looked at me hard. "So you have imagined it?" she asked slyly. "I thought that tough, independent Miss Jones never dreamed about her wedding day the way the rest of us girls do."

I cringed. "Everyone imagines all kinds of things…," I said, turning my attention back to the mirror, "that they don't necessarily intend to follow through on." I tucked my hair behind my ears. "I used to dream about growing up to be a forest ranger… Doesn't mean it's what I want today."

"No, it doesn't. But we are still planning a wedding here," she said, putting down her glass. She stood behind me, watching my reflection in the mirror. "And even a casual ceremony in the Mason family means tuxedos and formal gowns, and shoes that hurt your feet." She kept watching me, her eyes narrow and shrewd.

"Do you know what you really want?" she asked softly. I swallowed hard, unable to answer.

She smiled a gentle, secretive smile.

"The dress, Libby? Is this one a yes, or a no?"