It’s been a week since Kent’s wedding. His social media page—an account opened and managed by his wife—is chock full of pictures of them strolling the streets of Paris and dining at charming little cafés.

Good for him.

Meanwhile, back in the real world, my life is falling apart.

“Mr. Barton? Sir?”

I straighten and focus on Milton Anderson, the chief financial officer of the company. “Yes, I’m listening.”

“Are you?” Milton frowns. His lips are long and stretch across his face like the Joker’s so my eyes immediately drop there as he speaks. “I was asking—how long are we planning to keep the other Mr. Barton on the payroll?”

“As long as this company is running. There will be no changes to the structure.”

“But, sir, he hasn’t reported to work in months.”

“So?”

“I…the others are getting anxious. Mr. Barton is receiving his full salary without putting in the work while—”

“While what? Are we cutting anyone’s pay? Threatening mass lay-offs to keep Kent in the system?”

Milton’s naturally glassy brown eyes roll to the floor. “No sir.”

“If it wasn’t for Kent and the B-Jogger app, we wouldn’t have a company and you, Milton,” I thrust a finger, “wouldn’t have a job.”

“Yes, sir. I understand that, sir.”

“Tell anyone who has complaints to see me. I’d be delighted to give them a history lesson. Also, Kent is developing another app as soon as he gets back from Paris so he’s not working for free.”

Milton is trembling so much I’m afraid he’ll crap his pants. “I didn’t mean any disrespect, Mr. Barton.”

I lift a hand in dismissal.

He scampers away and slams the door behind him. The silence wastes no time filling the room. I tap my fingers against the wooden desk and spin the chair toward the floor-to-ceiling glass windows.

My gaze falls on the city skyline—there’s a sliver of sky above hundreds of towering buildings. It’s stunning in it’s own way, but I can’t help comparing this concrete jungle to the beauty of Belize. I can count the skyscrapers there on one hand.

Belize is all natural. Authentic. The land of the free. Everywhere I turn, I can see sky, earth and sea. I didn’t realize how much I enjoyed being there until I came back home.

I’m due for another visit soon. Which is exactly why I’ve been so off my game lately.

Belize no longer represents vacation time. It’s the home of my child’s mother. If the baby is born there, it’s the nationality of my child.

My child.

I’m going to be a father.

I still can’t believe it. Don’t think it’ll sink in until I hold the kid in my arms and stare at his or her wrinkly, caramel-colored face. If I’ll even be invited when he or she is born.

The truth is Zora and I weren’t friends when we slept together. She caught me at a moment when my inhibitions were low, my sex drive was high, and my attraction to her felt like the most blazing hot thing I’d touched in my life.

But now that night is gone and all we’re left with is a kid we didn’t ask for.

Zora and I have exchanged a few texts in the name of civility, but there’s no connection there. No relationship.

She’s carrying half my DNA in her womb, but I know next to nothing about her except that she’s a nurse; she has a brother who hates me, and she has a thing for neck kisses.

Not that I’ll be laying any kisses on her anytime soon.

Now more than ever, we need to keep those physical boundaries. After mulling it over, I’ve decided that I want to pursue Violet again. More intentionally.

To convince her that she has nothing to be jealous or wary about, I need to keep Zora in her lane. Forge lines. Build walls. And never cross them.

The most we can ever be is friends and—from where I’m looking, even that will be a stretch.

But I’m not complaining. Mom’s favorite line growing up was ‘if you make your bed, you have to lie in it’. I didn’t just make my bed. I broke it. And now I have to take responsibility.

My telephone rings, disturbing my thoughts.

I pick up. “Tracey?”

“Mr. Barton?” My elderly receptionist always speaks to me in running sentences as if she’ll forget what she has to say if she doesn’t get it all out at once. “Remember you have a flight in an hour. Your bag’s all packed and waiting for you.”

“Thank you, Tracey,” I say after puzzling through the gist of her message.

I hang up and then pull my cell phone out of my pocket. Violet’s picture stares back at me. I run my thumb over her pale cheek, pretending I can feel the texture of her lily-soft skin.

Violet’s dark hair and brilliant blue eyes demand attention wherever she goes, but it’s especially striking when captured in a camera lens.

Photography was a hobby of mine, and Violet was my favorite subject. I have a hard-drive filled with pictures of her. In my weakest moments, I look through all of them, regretting what could have been.

But I haven’t done that for a while. Not since last year.

Violet came to Belize, expecting Kent to be his usual self and found him completely transformed by Amaya’s love. She came running back to me. Sort of. We’re not into labels. Something I’m going to change as soon as I get back from Belize and have a nice long chat with her.

I dial her number just to hear her voice. When she picks up, my heart expands. “Hey, Vi. You busy?”

“No, I just got through with a client. What’s up?”

“I’m heading to Belize in a few. You want me to bring back anything? Except the usual Marie Sharp pepper, of course.”

“No. I’m good.” Her tone is subdued.

Strange. Violet’s usually full of energy. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Have a nice flight.”

I hear a click and realize she hung up. My instincts warn that Violet cutting our conversation short isn’t a good sign, but I don’t want to acknowledge the warning.

Maybe she’s just in a bad mood today. Maybe she doesn’t want to act unprofessional in front of her client. There are a million reasons she’s being cold.

For now, I need to see Zora and finalize some things then I can fly right back and make my relationship with Violet official.

My flight to Belize is uneventful, as usual. I work on the way and only close the laptop when the flight attendant announces that we’re making our descent.

I flip my window shade and admire the groves surrounding the small airport. The sunshine slices through the foliage. It’s a gorgeous display and I get excited just staring at it.

When we land, I disembark and zip through customs. The woman behind the window knows my face and strikes up a conversation as she stamps my passport.

By the time I drag my suitcase through the exits, I’m in a much lighter mood.

I slip my shades on to help adjust my eyes to the glare from the cars parked in the lot across the street.

Coconut trees rise from the concrete. The sky is even bluer on land than it was when I was in the plane. If that’s possible. A stiff wind blows hot air beneath my T-shirt.

Chatter rides the wind. Taxi men lounge on the side of the building, their black eyes sharp and focused on the tourists streaming out of the double doors like hunters waiting to seize on their prey.

I look for my favorite driver and, when I realize he’s not there, wave another man over. He takes my bags. With a forced American accent, he welcomes me to Belize and gives me a ‘complementary tour’ on our way to the city.

I just smile and nod. The truth is I’ve been here a hundred times already. Kent chose this place at random last year, but when he decided to stay I visited him frequently.

I consider myself an honorary Belizean. Rice and beans is my favorite dish and I’ve tried making it a few times in my own kitchen.

Reggae and dancehall music clutter my IPhone and I, like any self-respecting Belizean, can safely drive the streets no matter how crazy traffic is.

Amaya’s also taught me a few phrases in Creole, and I can understand the language better than I speak it.

By the time my self-proclaimed guide stops in front of Queen Hotel, I realize that I’ve learned far more about Belize than I thought I had.

After paying him, leaving an extra tip for the tour, I walk into the hotel and greet a thick, buxom woman with dark skin and dark brown hair.

“Uniqua,” I greet with a smile.

She tosses her head and nods. “Wilson! I’m glad you arrived safely. Your room is ready.”

“Tell me something.” I lean over the counter. “How do you get more beautiful every time I see you?”

She ducks and giggles. I wink at her and straighten intending to walk away, but she calls me back. “Oh, Wilson. Someone’s been waiting for you in the café. He asked that you meet him there right away.”

I turn back around. My thoughts race as I struggle to figure out which of my acquaintances in Belize would wait for me. “Who?”

“He said his name was,” she glances around a stack of papers on her desk, “here it is. Thomas King.”

Thomas?

My eyes widen. “Where did he say he was?”

“Uh, the café.”

I whirl around and sprint to the café. Through the glass walls, I spot Thomas sitting in a chair at a table crammed into a corner. His head is down and he’s staring at a cell phone in his hands.

The moment I step inside, the bell above the door jangles and Thomas glances up. His brown eyes narrow when he sees me. I swallow. He’s menacing and I’m instantly concerned.

What did he drive all the way here to discuss?

My funeral?

“Thomas.” I dip my head.

“Wilson.” He sets his dark hands on the table and clasps them. “Nice to see you again.”

That’s a lie and we both know it.

I clear my throat and fall into the seat across from him. “Is Zora okay?”

“She’s fine. Still reeling from the fact that she’s pregnant.” He glares at me like I made the baby on my own. “But she’s getting there.”

“I’m glad.”

Silence falls between us. I hate awkward pauses almost as much as I hate squirming, but here I am. Involved with both.

I glance at my watch. “Is there something else?”

“What do you plan on doing about the child?”

“That’s what I came to discuss with Zora.” I study him suspiciously. “We’ll figure it out on our own, but I’ll do right by the kid.”

“How are you gonna do right by my sister?”

I blink. “What?”

“Zora,” Thomas’s jaw clenches, “she’s been through a lot. Life’s never been easy and she had to grow up fast.”

Is he blaming me for that too?

“Despite how we might look, we’re a traditional Caribbean family.”

“Meaning?”

He leans closer, his eyes focused on mine. “Meaning, if you knock her up, you marry her.”

“M-marry?”

“I told Zora I’d fix this.” He arches an eyebrow. “Make an honest woman of her and maybe I’ll forget you conceived a child under circumstances with dubious consent.”

“Dubious… are you accusing me of assault?”

“I never said that.” Thomas shrugs, but the implication rings loud and clear.

“I didn’t assault Zora.” I rise from the table and stare him down. “I’ll let this slide because you’re Zora’s brother, but the next time you threaten me or my reputation, I won’t be this gracious.” I reach for my wallet and slap a twenty on the table. “Have a frozen coffee. It’s on me.”

Thomas half-rises from the table like he’ll come after me, but I just ignore him and stride away.