"This lobster is delicious," I declared to the Foors and Rogan at the dinner table in the mansion.

Rogan stopped eating and held his fork mid-air to watch me suck the meat from the cavity of a claw.

"Yes, caught fresh for you today," Bastien said as I blushed at Rogan's acute stare.

Rogan resumed eating slowly, but his gaze darted from my lips to my cleavage and back again as I wiped the dripping butter from my chin. We'd breached an intimacy levee today, causing steaming hot floodwaters to flow over the barriers. He'd better tone it down or his mom and stepdad would catch on. The sexy button-down shirt and dark jeans he wore to dinner didn't help with my trying to play it cool act.

Maybe talking to his mom would divert his attention. "So, Gwen, what's it like being the wife of the prime minister of Saint Amalie?"

Nope. He continued to devour me with his eyes.

"I'm very fortunate, Tessa." She smiled and touched Bastien's hand. "I live in paradise with the man I love."

"Don't paint it so idyllic, Gwen," Bastien replied as he took her hand. "The people here face unique challenges, and though we are a small contribution, we share in the global economy."

"Yes, Bastien, but Tessa and Rogan are on vacation. Let's not speak politics and world devastation." She smiled at her husband.

His eyes softened as he gazed at her. "You're right, my love."

"My mother is a decorated humanitarian." Rogan spoke up. "She fights for displaced people and women's rights."

"Speaking of which, have you heard from Marla Brightman lately?"

Rogan's shoulders stiffened at his mother's question.

"Who's Marla Brightman?" I asked.

"I thought you said we'd skip the politics." Rogan didn't look up from his plate.

"She was the director of central intelligence when I first worked with her." Gwen continued as if Rogan hadn't spoken. "She's been appointed American secretary of state. Hasn't she, Rogan?"

Rogan clenched his jaw and dropped his fork on his plate.

"He serves under her. She—"

"Mom." He glared at her.

"I'm sorry, sweetie. I should follow my own advice, shouldn't I? So, change of topic. How was your ride today?"

I coughed and took a sip of my tangy sorrel tea.

"Good." Rogan turned his gaze to Bastien. "You should take Morning Glory in the water more. She loves it."

"I'll make a point of it. If Gwen and I can't do it, her handlers will see to it."

We ate in silence for a while, everyone chewing on the subtle tension between Rogan and his mother.

"If you two get married"—Gwen smashed the silence with a sledgehammer—"you'll have the wedding here. The Amalian ceremony is so romantic."

"Mom."

"You can't deny your mother the attendance at your wedding. Not twice."

I gulped down the bite of coconut rice in my mouth. Twice?

"My only son will allow me to be present at his marriage, and you will take your bride," her eyes flickered to me, "in the traditional way. She can still wear white if she wishes, but the Amalian silks are stunning. She might enjoy incorporating them with her gown."

Rogan stood and tossed his napkin over his plate. "Thank you for dinner, Mom. Bastien." He stomped out of the room, leaving me staring at his back as he headed for an exit.

Gwen wiped the corners of her mouth with her napkin. "Dessert, anyone?" She looked from me to Bastien.

"No, thank you. I'm stuffed." I glanced at the doorway Rogan had passed through. "I'd like to get some rest now, if that's okay?"

"Yes, dear. You'll sample the local sweets tomorrow. Let me show you to your room." Gwen stood and walked to me.

"Thank you for dinner, Bastien," I said as Gwen took my elbow.

"You're welcome. Sleep well."

His mother led me up the stairs. "This will be your room. Rogan's room is there." She pointed to a door at the end of the hallway. She looked back the way we came. "He's probably at the pool now."

"Okay. Thank you. I'm so happy I met you."

"You too, darling. You're lovely for him."

I waited five minutes before embarking to find Rogan. As his mom thought, he was in the pool, racing punishing laps with no breaks, not even for a breath. Each angry stroke of his arms transmitted pain and goodbye. His mom intentionally dropped a bomb that would separate us for good. Rogan was married. Our fledgling love deflated to the ground again before it could take flight. It didn't make sense. If he was married, why would his mom say I was good for him? Why had he never told me about her?

Two hours later, Rogan's voice echoed in the hall as I lay in my bed. I cracked the door open to peek out. Rogan stood in his swim trunks, dripping water on his mother's carpet. His head was bent low as he towered over Gwen standing by his side. She placed her palm on the E on his bicep. He tilted his head and looked at her hand. She added another hand at the base of his neck and spoke softly to him. He nodded and bent to kiss her forehead. He walked toward his room with his head down. I ducked back inside, hoping he didn't see me spying on his private moment with his mom.

I ran to my bed and pretended to be asleep in case Rogan came to see me. But the knock never came. The door never opened. He'd passed by my room to be alone in his.