Chapter 8 Tulum was all turquoise water, overpriced exclusivity, and a polished sham. It was exactly in line with Ryan choosing it as a way to flaunt a life he hadn't earned. The resort sprawled along the coast like a sun-drenched fever dream. Whitewashed villas framed by swaying palms, staff in linen uniforms passing out chilled towels and some kind of fruit-infused water the second your feet hit the tarmac, private bungalows and open-air spas and curated playlists likely humming through invisible speakers. It was a wedding for royalty. And it was funded entirely by me. Zach slept in the back seat of the hired SUV, his tiny mouth open, one fist curled around the stuffed dinosaur he insisted on bringing everywhere he went. He looked far more peaceful than I felt. I let the silence stretch as I sat in the car in front of the resort, staring down at a sign gilded in gold leaf that read, Bienvenido, Strathmore Wedding Weekend. Subtle as a sledgehammer. Of course he'd flaunted our last name. Of course. Finally, forcing myself to come to terms with my decisions, I stepped out of the car, rolling my shoulders as I circled the vehicle. Palm trees swayed overhead, the humidity wrapping around me like wet silk, and I opened Zach's door carefully. "Hey, tiger," I murmured, brushing my thumb against his cheek. "We're here." Zach stirred, squinting and blinking from the sun I was trying to block with my head. His dark little curls were flattened on one side, his voice all raspy from sleep. "Tulum?" A smile broke across my cheeks. "Mhm. Good job on the pronunciation," I said, unbuckling the seatbelt from his car seat. "Come on, you're gonna love the pool." He rubbed his eyes. "Will there be smoothies?" "Nothing but smoothies." He grinned sleepily and held his arm out, his dinosaur still clutched in his grasp. I lifted him into mine and carried him through the breezeway, nodding to the concierge who stammered out a welcome in Spanish. Inside, the air conditioning prickled against my already slightly damp skin like a reprieve, and I shifted Zach on my hip as he babbled about the best kind of fruit to put in a smoothie. Margot, bless her, stood near the concierge desk already, tapping a card against the counter and trying her absolute best to speak Spanish with the woman behind the desk. Sixty-five, smart, and blessedly unflappable, she spotted us in an instant. "Zachary!" she chimed, stepping toward us with her arms outstretched, her loose linen trousers and shirt flitting about her short frame, her wide-brimmed hat flopping dramatically. "Come here, little man." I passed him off to her, Zach practically launching himself into her arms with a sleepy but desperately excited hug as if he hadn't seen her last night before she helped put him to bed. Margot deserved at least quadruple what I paid her to nanny for me, but every time I tried to up her salary, she refused. "Can we go swimming?" Zach asked, his legs kicking on either side of her hips. "You know what? How about you and I take a little walk around and check things out while your dad checks us in, and then we can do so much swimming that you'll grow gills by dinner," she promised. He beamed at her. I ruffled his hair, fixing the flattened side. "Be good for Margot, bud." "I am good," he said seriously. "Is she coming?" Margot asked, arching a brow at me. I swallowed. Sienna. "Yeah. She's flying into Cancun later this evening. Had to teach this morning, so she's flying StrathOne." "You're not sending the jet back for her?" My jaw ticked before I took a deep breath and leveled it out. "She refused the offer." Margot nodded as if that explained far more than it did and turned, shifting her attention to Zach, and stepped out the back doors toward the beachfront area of the resort, Zach already babbling about working on his cannonball. Check-in was easy when they realized that everything had been booked in my name, but I nearly popped a vein in my forehead when they'd asked me if I wanted to approve the upgrade for Ryan's villa to have masseuses come in the mornings. I'd declined, tried to control my breathing, and asked for a singular masseuse tomorrow morning for my villa as an added reward for Sienna instead. But the moment I turned away from the front desk, I stopped dead. Ryan was standing by the entrance to the bar, a cocktail in hand, his head thrown back in faux laughter at something a short, older man was saying to him. He looked almost exactly the same as the last time I'd seen him almost a year ago - expensive sunglasses perched high in his tousled, mousy brown hair, a perfectly tailored linen shirt that likely cost as much as some people's rent hanging open around his chest, his skin already tanned like he'd hit a sunbed a few days ago at my expense and fallen asleep inside. And from the way he moved as he turned toward me, I could tell he was absolutely tipsy. "Matthew," he drawled, flashing that bleached white grin at me that he reserved for when he wanted something. "Was wondering when you'd show up." "Ryan." He stepped forward, his arms outstretched like we were friends, but I didn't move. The hug didn't happen. His mouth twitched like he wanted to roll his eyes at me. "Fine, don't hug me," he muttered. "What do you think? Swanky enough for 'ya? Had them add extra bits of that gauzy curtain shit by the doors, looks awesome." God. You'd think he was twenty-three with the way he spoke sometimes, not thirty-five. "It's definitely your kind of wedding." "Wouldn't have happened without 'ya," he said, his smile wide, but didn't come close to meeting his eyes. "You're a saint." My jaw ticked. "I haven't paid for all of this for you." "Yeah, yeah, Mom and Dad would be real proud," he droned. "Anyway. Minor thing, we wanted to order masseuses for the next couple of days, y'know, limber up before we say I do, but front desk said they needed your approval since it's your card, so⁠-" "I already told them no." He blinked at me, brown eyes swallowing the light whole. "What?" "I'm not paying for that," I said simply. "You want it? Charge your maintenance account like everything else. Or is that drained right now?" His fake smile faltered. I took a step backward away from him, rolling my eyes at his lack of an answer. "My girlfriend's arriving separately," I added. "You'll be down a van from around four this afternoon, I'm sending someone to go get her from Cancun." His brows knit together. "You're seeing someone?" "She'll be here for the party tonight," I added, not daring to elaborate as I offered a fake smile back to him and turned toward the villas. ---- The bar inside the main lounge was all stonework, gold accents, and seashells, filled with the scent of orange blossoms and spiced rum. I stood near one of the open doorways that looked out over the ocean, drink in hand, collar loose, eyes trained on the front door while waiters in white jackets floated past with trays of ceviche and champagne. Zach was back at the villa with Margot, sun-kissed and passed out after hours of pool games and mango smoothies. I'd kissed his damp curls post-shower before I'd left, whispered that I'd see him in the morning. He hadn't even stirred. Now it was just me and the hum or conversation around me, the performative laughter of new-money guests who had no idea who they were supposed to impress, so they tried anyone and everyone. My phone buzzed in the pocket against my chest, and I slipped it out. Sienna: I'm outside. Just need two minutes to fix my makeup in the car. I started typing back, but another one came through a second later. Sienna: Please tell me it looks less like a gaudy, dressed-up prom inside. I snorted into my scotch. Me: It doesn't. Ryan was leaning against the bar across the room from me, chatting up a group of people with a bravado that could've swayed anyone who wasn't me or Sienna. Lauren was draped over him, tucked into his side in a short little white dress with flowers in her hair, looking like she'd just stepped out of a bridal magazine shoot for rehearsal dinners with her glossy, pristine curls, and an artificial saccharine smile. I slipped my phone back in my pocket. I wasn't sure if I should expect chaos or angry indifference, but I was perfectly happy to deal with either. I didn't watch the door anymore. I watched Ryan. And I could tell the second she walked through those doors without turning my head. Ryan's glass paused halfway to his mouth, his smirk dead, his gaze locked across the room like it was actively trying to murder him. He might've hidden the shocked agitation from those around him, but I knew him too well, knew his little tells - the way his jaw ticked near the hinge, the way his throat worked like someone had punched him square beneath the jaw. Then Lauren looked up at him, saw what I saw, and followed his gaze like a hawk. Her eyes narrowed. Her mouth twitched. Her shoulders drew back like a snake before they struck. I let myself turn. God. It was like taking a punch I willingly didn't block. She stood just inside the doorway of the bar, perfectly still, perfectly framed, the last bits of golden hour spilling over her shoulders like she'd been dropped off by Helios himself. Her dress was deep red, bold as blood, floor-length silk that clung in places my hands ached to touch again with a slit high enough to make any man in this room forget his vows. Her hair was pinned up in a way that looked effortless, with little waves of rich brown falling around her cheekbones, and her lips were painted just as dark as her dress. She looked like sin wrapped in silk packaging. And she looked like she knew it. It took far more mental effort to reroute blood away from my cock than I'd ever admit as I crossed the room with purpose. The room buzzed around me, laughter from people who had no idea what was happening, the faint notes of jazz from the trio playing in the corner of the room, but I didn't hear any of it. Just her breath, just the way she swallowed as she purposely avoided looking at anything else but me. She didn't smile. She didn't need to. I could see the relief flicker in her gaze as I stepped up to her, but I could see something else there too, something darker, something she'd shoved down so hard that barely anything remained. But I knew it was there. She was nervous. And I fucking loved that she'd done this anyway. "Sienna," I said, my voice low enough that it was just for her. She rolled her lips between her teeth before glancing down along my body as if mentally calculating both whether we matched and how easy it would be for her to climb me like a goddamn tree. "Matt." I lifted my hand carefully, slowly, and brushed off a strand of hair that was stuck to her lashes before letting my fingers hook along the side of her neck, my thumb brushing her jaw, and leaned in, lips just beside her ear. "You look lethal," I murmured. She let out a quiet, breathy laugh, one that sounded both nervous and high on adrenaline. I could feel her pulse spiking beneath my fingertips, and as much as I wanted it to be from my proximity, I knew it likely stemmed from the fact that Ryan was in this room, too. And Lauren. "Ready?" I asked. "To see him? Not really⁠-" I nudged her head in my direction and pressed my mouth to hers. Not politely, not something dressed up in bells and whistles like I was making a statement with it. It was a kiss like we'd kissed before, like I knew the shape of her mouth, the way her body would naturally lean into mine - because it was. I remembered how she tasted from the flight, and I sought it back out. I leaned into the ease of what we'd had when she was on that mattress with me and ran with it. Because kissing her was easy. Far too easy. My fingers curled at her neck, my drink still clutched in my free hand, and one of hers hesitantly lay flat against my chest, digits slipping under the lapel of my jacket like it was instinct. Like she hadn't noticed. I pulled back, just enough to look at her, just enough that I could see where her lipstick had smudged a little, and wiped it clean with my thumb, dragging it gently just beneath her lower lip. She snorted when her eyes opened. "It didn't dry down enough," she said as if it somehow explained the grin creeping across her cheeks. She licked her thumb and lifted it to my mouth, something I did stupidly often for Zach but looked like the devil herself was doing it when it was her, and wiped away what I could only assume was her lipstick from my mouth. I nipped at the pad of her thumb before I thought better of it and let go, watching the way her brows furrowed, and her cheeks heated like it was just for me. For the briefest second, I let my gaze flicker to my right, toward Ryan, toward Lauren. Ryan looked like he'd seen a poltergeist, and Lauren was just staring like it would do something. Like it would will us both from existence. She let out a shaky exhale. "Are they angry?" I smirked. "Probably. Let's make them angrier."