GRAYSON-
My father didn’t waste time
He was waiting in the study when I got home from the arena, still in the same shit he’d worn to whatever meeting had kept him late.
The second I stepped through the door he gestured toward the chair across from his desk like I was about to receive a performance review instead of another difficult request.
“Sit.”
I stayed standing. “If this is about the game-
“It’s about the marriage,” he said. “I’ve arranged a honeymoon.”
“No.”
“Yes.” He slid a folder across the desk. “Four days. Private island. You leave tomorrow morning. There will be controlled press access, photographers at a distance. The public needs to see a united front. The image of Monroe Athletics and the Shaw family appears more authentic when this marriage looks real.”
I stared at him. “You want me to go on a honeymoon with a woman I can barely stand.”
“I want you to do what this arrangement requires.” His tone left no room for argument.
“Blair handled herself well at the game. The jersey, the interviews, it gave us excellent coverage. She understands what needs to be done as your wife. She’ll make a good daughter–in–law if you stop treating this like a personal insult.”
A good daughter–in–law. She’d only done it to mess with me. Not because she was trying to play the part
She was the same woman who had walked into my bedroom naked out of spite. The same woman currently living in my head for all the wrong reasons.
“I have to tell Lily,” I said.
My father gave me a flat look. “Then tell her. But you’re still going.”
I already knew how that conversation would go.
Lily would lose it. She would call the honeymoon a betrayal, another public humiliation, proof that I wasn’t doing enough to push Blair away. And she wouldn’t be entirely wrong. Being stuck on a private island with Blair for four days, cameras circling, no real escape, was the last thing I needed when I was already struggling to keep my reactions to her under control.
I left the study without another word, the folder still sitting on the desk.
There was no way out of this…was there?
The private plane was quiet.
Blair sat across from me in a cream dress that somehow managed to look both expensive and effortless, legs crossed, scrolling through her phone like we were heading to a weekend brunch instead of a forced romantic getaway.
I could smell her perfume. I hated that I noticed.
She glanced up after a few minutes and smiled. It was fake. I could tell.
“You should prepare yourself,” she said. “It’s going to be a fun weekend on the island.”
I eyed her. “What are you planning?”
“Nothing.” The smile widened just enough to be suspicious. “Just making the most of our loving honeymoon. Isn’t that what the photographers are for? To capture how happy we are?”
“Blair.”
“Yes, husband?”
The word should not have affected me. It did anyway.
I looked away first, jaw tight, and stared out the w
to something. The same way she had been up
to something with the jersey. The same way she Successfully unlocked! the night she walked out of the bathroom with nothing on and dared me to do anything about it.
Blair Monroe didn’t do anything without a reason, and every reason so far had been simply to get under my skin.
75
The problem was that it was working..
No matter how hard I tried to focus on Lily, on the fact that this entire marriage was a temporary transaction, my mind kept dragging me back to the same image: her standing in my bedroom, haked and unapologetic, skin soft, shiny. The memory had no business being as clear as it was. I could still see the line of her waist, the view of her climbing into the bed I shifted in my seat, immlated with my own body.
Across from me, Blair set her phone down and studied me with open curiosity.
“You’re very quiet,” she said. “Nervous about being alone with your wife?”
“I’m calculating how many hours until I can reasonably avoid you on an island.”
She laughed, light and genuinely amused. “That’s cute. You do realize the entire point of this trip is that you can’t avoid me, right? Photos at breakfast. Photos on the beach. Photos looking deeply in love at sunset. Your father was very clear about the expectations.”
“I’m aware.”
“Then try not to look like you’re being held hostage the entire time. It’ll ruin the pictures.”
I met her eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”
“No, I’m not.” She tilted her head. “I’m simply matching your energy. If you wanted a quiet, obedient wife who stayed out of your way, you should have negotiated better terms from the start, not plan to make my life miserable and let me hear it from your own mouth.”
The plane hit a minor patch of turbulence.
Neither of us looked away.
I hated how aware I was of her. Of the way the dress sat against her thighs. Of the fact that I still couldn’t fully erase the memory of what she looked like without it. Of the unwanted truth that part of me was already bracing for whatever she had planned next, and another, more reckless part was almost looking forward to it.
Four days.
Private island.
No real escape.
And a woman who had already proven she knew exactly how to get to me.
I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes, forcing my breathing to steady.
This honeymoon was going to be a disaster.
Dex Morgan
Dex works to elevate each story with clean writing, emotional balance, and thoughtful flow for readers.