“Champagne, Mr. Scott?”

A pretty young lounge attendant stood in front of me, practically purring as she offered me a drink.

Georgie was perched on a velveteen seat next to me, snoring gently. We’d just arrived in Bermuda after a long flight, and we were stuck at the cruise port for the next three hours awaiting the boat which would take us on the two hundred mile journey south to the Bunbury Islands.

Thank god I still had my connections, which allowed Georgie and me to pass the time in one of the cruise port’s luxury guest lounges… although you’d think the free Wi-Fi in such a place would actually work. It didn’t.

I shook my head at the attendant. “No thanks. It’s a bit early.”

“Of course. Can I get you anything else?” She cast a smoldering look at me and flicked her long black hair over a shoulder. I ignored her stare and glanced over at Georgie.

“No. But my girlfriend will probably need a coffee in about an hour.”

She looked disappointed and nodded before slinking away. I looked back over at Georgie, wondering how on earth she could possibly be comfortable sleeping sitting up. She must’ve worked overtime at the studio before taking the time off for this trip, because she’d slept most of the flight here, and now she was napping yet again.

Overworking herself would explain that, and it could also explain why she’d practically ignored me for the last week and a half before we set off on this vacation.

I suspected there was another issue at hand, though. Something between us had shifted, something barely perceptible. Georgie hadn’t actively said or done anything to make me think she had a problem with me, but I could still tell our dynamic had changed. She was no longer joking around with me or throwing my flirty jests back in my face with her deft wit. Instead she was cool, stiff. Aloof.

It was fucking irritating, to be frank, because for the life of me, I didn’t know what I’d done to deserve the cold shoulder. It was probably for the best that we not get too close, though. I’d already made up my mind that I was bad news for her, so the less I invested myself in her, the better.

I knew I was great at a lot of shit. Physical stuff, academic stuff, work stuff—I’d always excelled at it. But when it came to my personal life, all I seemed to do was let people down. Georgie would probably be no different if I tried anything with her. I was bound to screw up sooner or later.

It was hard dealing with the mental push/pull phenomenon which had resulted from the vague feelings I’d developed for her, though. One second I’d be telling myself it was a bad idea to touch her or get close to her, and I’d swear off her for good. The next I’d be staring at her the same way a college girl stares at a pumpkin spice latte, wishing my hands and mouth were all over that sweet body.

Very hard, literally and figuratively speaking.

When she stayed at my house during that rainstorm, I’d been fairly reserved with her, as I’d just come to the conclusion that I wasn’t good for her and needed to pull back. But the next morning, I hadn’t been able to resist making her breakfast and flirting with her. She was just so fucking sexy in my white shirt. I couldn’t fight the temptation, not when she made my cock throb like that. But that was when she first started pulling away.

So perhaps that was why she was being frosty with me—she was picking up on the mixed messages and didn’t like it one bit. I wouldn’t either, so I suppose I couldn’t blame her.

I looked out of the window at the clear blue sky, wondering if Georgie would be cold toward me for the whole trip. Surely she couldn’t. We had to play at being a couple for her family’s benefit, after all, and that meant acting like we were deeply in love.

My phone suddenly vibrated in my pocket multiple times, letting me know it’d finally connected to the free Wi-Fi.

“About fucking time,” I grunted to myself, pulling it out.

I spent the next twenty minutes going through work-related emails, and another ten after that catching up on the latest story an online gossip rag had written about me. Apparently I was having an affair with the Mayor of San Diego’s wife. Hm. That was the first I’d heard of it.

I looked at the time and puffed out an annoyed breath. Still over two hours to go before our boat docked.

Georgie stirred next to me at the sound I’d just made. “What time is it?” she asked, rubbing her bleary eyes.

“Eight.”

She groaned. “Is that all? Our boat doesn’t leave till ten-thirty, does it?”

“Nope. But hey, the internet is finally working. So you can check your emails. Or you can post an Instagram teaser about all your upcoming beach and bikini pics.” I snorted with amusement at the thought of her ever doing such a thing.

A big yawn escaped Georgie’s pouty lips before she replied. “I’ll probably just have another nap soon. I’m so exhausted. Long flights really mess me up.” She sat up a little straighter. “And I don’t have Instagram, by the way, let alone post bikini shots. I don’t even own a bikini.”

I raised an eyebrow. “We’re headed to a tropical paradise and you don’t have a bikini?”

“I have a swimsuit. It’s not like I didn’t bring anything.”

“Let me guess. It’s a plain navy blue one-piece which covers up all the fun parts.”

Her cheeks turned ruddy, and I knew my description was spot-on. “It’s sun-smart, okay?” she said indignantly.

I gave her a playful grin. “Repels all those nasty UV rays, and repels all the men too.”

She groaned and swatted at me. I was just teasing. I actually liked one-piece suits on a woman. They were sexy in an elegant, classy way. Although I was starting to get the impression that Georgie regularly went out of her way to attract as little attention from men as possible.

“Look, it’s not like I’ve never worn a bikini before! I went on Spring Break a bunch of times when I was in college. I even went through that whole ‘woo!’ stage,” she said.

“What’s the ‘woo!’ stage?” I asked, lifting a quizzical brow.

She gave me a rueful smile. “You know, those girls who are always excited and cheering about everything while they take about a million photos of themselves and their friends. Woo!”

“You were like that?” I chuckled. “Nope, can’t picture it.”

She rubbed her forearms. “It was a different time. I was twenty-one, okay?”

“Wasn’t that long ago. Would any of these Spring Break photos happen to be up on your Facebook? I assume you use that, if not Instagram.”

She narrowed her eyes. Her cheeks were beet red now. “My albums are all private now, for work reasons.” She cocked her head to the side. “At least I think they are. I’ll have to double-check later.”

She yawned loudly and settled back into the seat, covering her mouth. “Yeah, check later. You seem really tired,” I said, patting her on the head before gleefully doing an internet search for ‘Georgie Miller Facebook’ on my phone.

I wasn’t some dirty sleaze who wanted to sneak a peek of Georgie in a bikini. I just wanted to see evidence that she wasn’t always this prim, staid workaholic who only wore sensible clothing. And yeah, okay, I kinda wanted to see her in a bikini as well. So sue me.

I scanned the Google results. There were about a million Georgie Millers, it seemed. I added ‘San Diego’ to the search to see if that would help matters, and my eyes widened at the top option in the new set of results.

It was a San Diego engagement photography business’s Facebook page, and a certain Georgie Miller had commented on one of their posts saying, ‘This is my favorite one of us!’

I clicked into it.

The photo in question was definitely of my Georgie, and according to the date, it was taken in 2013. She was standing in a park overlooking a lake, her eyes planted on the face of a man I could only assume was her fiancé. He was tall and blond, and the look of adoration on his face was outshined only by Georgie’s loving gaze.

She looked happy. So very happy.

A cold, creeping feeling slithered its way through my insides as I stared at the photo. Not a feeling I was used to. It was akin to what I imagined a wildly jealous person might feel right before they scratched curse words into their love rival’s car with a set of keys.

That was it. Jealousy, for the first time in my life.

The feeling soon gave way to confusion as I glanced over at Georgie, who was now happily snoring again. From all our pre-vacation prep, I thought I knew everything about her. So how was it possible that I didn’t know she was once engaged? Maybe even married for a short time.

I guess she left a few details out during our long chats. Either she didn’t want me to know, or she thought her family wouldn’t dare to bring it up in front of me, meaning I didn’t need to know. Or perhaps it was a bit of both.

I looked down at the photo again before clicking through the entire series. In the short time that I’d known her, I’d never seen her come close to looking this radiant. That glow on her face, the sparkle in her eyes… it seemed clear that being in a serious relationship was what made her happiest. So what changed? Why did she shun relationships now?

Something terrible must’ve happened.

I clicked onto Georgie’s Facebook profile. I didn’t use the site myself, so it kept slowing me down by prompting me to log in, but eventually I managed to get onto her timeline to see her major life events. Stalker-mode engaged.

After scrolling back, I found the post I was looking for. February 14^th, 2013 – Georgina Miller got engaged to Matthew Martin.

I snorted. This guy proposed on Valentine’s Day? How fucking original.

I scrolled back up again until I found the next post I was looking for. September 27^th, 2013 – Georgina Miller is now single.

There were a few ‘OMG babe, what happened?’ comments on that particular post, but Georgie hadn’t replied to them. In fact, she’d barely used her profile at all since then. There were a few tagged pictures of her with friends here and there, but it was nothing compared with what her profile used to be like in previous years, with countless photos of an exuberant Georgie and frequent posts and status updates.

It was like her broken engagement had sucked the life out of her.

No wonder she didn’t tell me about it. She probably hated even thinking about it, let alone talking about it. And Christ, that also explained why she’d been so cold and humorless lately. The closer we got to heading off on this vacation, the more she shut herself off. A coping mechanism of sorts, to prevent herself from rehashing whatever marriage-related nightmare she’d once endured. It couldn’t be easy watching her younger sister joyfully experience everything that hadn’t worked out in her own life.

Idly, I wondered what happened between her and Matthew to end things. Did he mess it up? Did she mess it up? Did he die? My stomach lurched at the thought, and I quickly shut my phone off and slid it back in my pocket. But that didn’t stop the intrusive thoughts.

Would Georgie and Matthew be right here, curled up together in the seats and giddy with excitement, if whatever tragedy had befallen them never occurred? Would they be holding hands with hopeful adoration in their eyes? Kissing with an endless amount of tongue? Or kissing softly, sweetly, with Matthew whispering promises in Georgie’s ear between nuzzles?

Folding my arms across my chest, I forced the thoughts away, not wanting to go down that road. The past was the past. None of my business. If Georgie wanted me to know, she would’ve made it my business by telling me, so now I felt like shit for invading her privacy. Going through her old Facebook posts made me feel like I’d been caught rummaging through her underwear drawer or flicking through her private diary.

Guilt roiled in my guts, and I darted a glance at Georgie to make sure she was definitely asleep again. Thankfully, she was. I still felt terrible.

Yawning, I sat back and closed my eyes, focusing on thoughts of the Bunbury Islands. In just four hours, we’d arrive at Prideau’s Resort where the champagne was always flowing, the attendants were always on hand, and the cerulean pools were always the perfect temperature for a swim. All that featuring Georgie as my ‘girlfriend’ equaled pure paradise.

Now that was something to feel good about.