Made For Marriage by Abby Knox

Author:Abby Knox [Knox, Abby]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Author Abby Knox, LLC
Published: 2020-06-24T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Hugo

Enjoying my morning coffee at a small beachfront cafe while watching the sun rise over the turquoise water of Fiji, I admire my boat that's anchored offshore. It's not a yacht, and it's not quite seaworthy enough to get me all the way to the South of France, but it's good enough for now.

Laney said Fiji was her favorite vacation spot, so this is where I came. I may never see her again, but the island makes me feel closer to her, in a way. It's a peaceful, simple life. I try not to ponder too deeply on the one thing that could make it better. One person, rather. Her.

I left prison with just enough money tucked away in my Swiss bank account to make it to this tiny island and buy that floating barnacle bucket masquerading as a sailboat. I couldn’t bring myself to face my proud grand-mère and ask for the favor of letting me stay with her while I get back on my feet. My parents have understandably disowned me, and I can’t face the family matriarch until I’ve made something of myself.

Maybe I will pull myself together, but none of it will mean anything without Laney. Who falls in love with a one-night stand? What was I thinking? Best to move on. She probably has.

As if by some cosmic joke, she appears. At first, I think it must be a dream.

I rub my eyes and do a double take at the familiar form, and it's most definitely Laney: chin high, french-braided hair, and swaying hips poured into a pair of running shorts. Her hair looks different, longer, even more blonde. But that’s definitely her. Her full eyebrows, her kissable neck. I’d recognize those calves anywhere. It seems like just last night those legs were wrapped around my head in my hotel jacuzzi.

The fact that I don’t have a swanky hotel room or a jacuzzi to offer her anymore no longer matters.

My heart thunders in my chest. I stand up so fast, I knock over my rickety chair and my coffee tumbles from my hand. She halts in her tracks, startled by the clatter and the subsequent cursing at the spilled coffee that burned my hand. I decide to stop acting like an idiot, frantically trying to clean myself up, and look at her. I can see in her expression she does not recognize me right away, but is looking at me with concern, as if I’m having some kind of episode.

“Are you OK?”

At the moment I say her name, “Laney,” recognition floods her face. Once again those eyes see right through to my soul, even twenty yards away. My heart goes from breakneck pace to a standstill. Everything around her fades away and I have tunnel vision. My hands, feet, and face start to sweat.

I can’t read her. Goddammit, my entire existence has been about marking people and reading people, and now, when it truly matters, I can’t tell what she’s thinking. It’s only about three seconds that we hold each other’s gazes, and then, in the fourth second, she runs away.

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