The beach house was a dream far surpassing the tales Olivia had spun about the Price family's getaway. It was as if a storybook had come to life: terracotta walls that warmed beneath a sloped roof painted a familiar, comforting red, wooden floors echoing with a rustic charm, and fragrant gardens alive with the scent of orange blossoms and lavender.
A koi pond, shimmering and tranquil, mirrored the soft sunlight, while a hammock swayed gently in the garden’s embrace, becoming my refuge in this strange new world. That hammock was where I let the sun caress my skin, trying to coax back the carefree girl I once was.
Zach, ever drawn to the water, spent his days at the private beach, cutting through waves with a swimmer’s ease, showing a side of himself he rarely revealed inside the mansion’s cold walls. I had come to understand he found some peace in surfing, the saltwater a balm for his brooding intensity.
After the chaotic departure from the city, the airport’s turmoil still clung to me like a shadow. Here, the salt air and the rhythmic lapping of waves were a stark contrast to the relentless noise and prying eyes. I craved space to gather my thoughts, to piece together what I needed to do next. Noah deserved to hear the truth—not the twisted version Lexie spun—and I would be the one to tell him, even if it meant his resentment for a lifetime.
Zach, sensing my need for solitude, respected the distance, appearing only at mealtimes, when he would disappear into the kitchen to prepare food. I soon discovered that beneath his austere demeanor lurked a surprisingly skilled chef. His pot roast was legendary in this quiet retreat, rich and comforting, and I found myself savoring each bite as though it were a lifeline.
Those shared meals were rare moments when his eyes softened, his usual guarded expression cracked by a fleeting, genuine smile. It was the first glimpse of warmth I had seen from him since our union, a fragile truce amid the cold tension that defined us.
By the tenth day, the beach beckoned me. Until then, I had stayed firmly within the hammock’s embrace, reluctant to cross into Zach’s domain. But when he announced a sudden business trip out of town, the entire sanctuary became mine.
Grateful for the freedom, I slipped into my bikini, my skin still holding onto the warmth of the season. A light cotton dress covered me briefly as I stepped out, sunglasses shielding my eyes from the bright sun. I raced to the shore, the sand cool beneath my bare feet, the breeze teasing my damp hair.
Excitement fluttered inside me, a flicker of the old Arianna, the Arianna who had danced freely, laughed without restraint, and dreamed without boundaries. The weight of the past month’s upheaval threatened to suffocate me, but today, the sun and sea promised a brief reprieve from the adult burdens I had unwillingly inherited.
I reached the water’s edge and peeled off my dress, feeling the sun’s heat deepen against my skin. Tentatively, I stepped in, the ocean welcoming me with gentle warmth that coaxed me forward. The cool water lapped against my mid-thighs, a soothing contrast to the heat of the day.
Delighting in the water’s embrace, I let myself forget the mansion’s cold walls and Zach’s unyielding gaze. I swam with abandon, laughter bubbling up as I let go, muscles relaxing in the saltwater’s supportive hold. Submerging my head beneath the surface, I held my breath and surrendered to the silence underwater—a brief, precious sanctuary.
Yet even beneath the waves, my mind betrayed me. Behind my closed eyelids, the image of Noah’s smile, the warmth in his eyes, the gentle touch of his hands haunted me relentlessly. If tears could fall underwater, I might have wept silently for all I had lost.
I surfaced abruptly, gasping for air, the weight of memories crashing over me with the tide. My fleeting joy dissolved into a heavy ache. How could I pretend to be carefree when my life had spun into this tangled web of forced vows and shattered hearts?
Slowly, I made my way back to shore, each stroke a battle against the swirling storm of doubt and despair. Sand clung to my damp feet, grains rough against tender skin, grounding me in the present even as my thoughts drifted elsewhere.
Wrapped in my towel, I pondered the Arianna I used to be—the girl who faced hardship by leaning on those she trusted. But Olivia was gone, her departure a sharp, lingering wound. She had abandoned not just her fiancé, but all of us, leaving behind a trail of confusion and betrayal that I hadn’t been allowed to unpack.
I spread my blanket on the sand, opting to let the sun kiss my skin, long deprived of light within the mansion’s confines. The warm rays soothed my face and closed my eyes, inviting a peace I hadn’t known in weeks. Sleep came softly, luring me into an effortless surrender.
When I awoke, a chill greeted me, pulling me back from the depths of rest. Darkness enveloped the beach house, and the fragile cotton dress over my damp bikini offered little defense against the night’s cool breath. Yet a soft, familiar weight lay across me—a blanket, carefully placed to shield me from the cold.
Heart fluttering with gratitude, I rose and made my way inside, guided by the rich aroma of something cooking. In the kitchen, Zach stood absorbed in his craft, stirring and seasoning with a focus I had never witnessed. His movements were deliberate yet fluid, a dance of precision and passion that captivated me.
Startled by my presence, he turned, his grey eyes widening briefly as he took me in. My damp hair hung in loose curls around my pale face, strands clinging unevenly, giving me the disheveled appearance of someone caught between worlds. I tried to tame it with trembling fingers, an awkward gesture that seemed to deepen the puzzlement in his gaze.
"You're awake," he said softly, his voice carrying an unfamiliar hesitance as he returned to the simmering pot, avoiding direct eye contact. I leaned against the counter, drawn in by the comforting scent and the quiet rhythm of his cooking.
My stomach rumbled audibly, betraying me, and I blushed, knowing Zach heard it. A rare, genuine chuckle escaped him—a sound so unexpected it unsettled me. Was there something magical about this place, or were we both changing in ways we couldn’t yet explain?
"Dinner will be ready soon," he murmured, finally glancing up. "Why don’t you go change? I’ll set the table." His words, spoken without the usual bluntness, hung in the air, fragile and tentative.
I nodded, retreating swiftly to my room, compelled to shed the soaked bikini and dress for something warmer. Sliding into jeans and a soft pink sweater, I brushed my hair until the knots loosened, letting it fall freely over my shoulders. A flush colored my cheeks—perhaps from the sun, or from some unnamed anticipation stirring within me.
Returning to the table, I found Zach waiting. The small dining area felt intimate in a way I hadn’t expected. Usually, he ate quickly and withdrew to his separate room, but tonight he lingered, a silent invitation in his steady gaze.
As I tasted the stew, rich and hearty, I murmured my praise, and he replied with a curt "thanks," the familiar edge still present but less pronounced. We ate in quiet companionship until I rose to clear the dishes, only for Zach to place a firm hand on my wrist, halting me.
"Can we talk?" he asked, voice low and serious. I nodded, the knot in my stomach tightening.
"We’ll have to return soon," he began, "and when we do, I want you to tell your boyfriend the truth. You owe him that much — at least." His words hit me like a sudden storm, and I swallowed hard to keep my voice steady.
"Just because we signed papers and said vows doesn’t mean we have to be… married," he continued, eyes averted. "I want you to keep seeing Noah, regardless of what this arrangement means between us."
My heart pounded wildly. Was this a cruel jest? Or a twisted kindness? The idea of my husband encouraging me to be with the man I loved felt alien and wrong, a betrayal of the very commitment we shared, forced or not.
"You want me to… be with Noah again?" I whispered, disbelief coating my words.
"In essence, yes," he replied quietly, struggling to meet my gaze.
Silence stretched between us, dense and suffocating, before I bolted upright, the chair scraping sharply against the floor. "I need to go," I said, voice trembling, and fled the room.
Back in my bedroom, I locked the door, heart racing as Zach’s knocks pounded relentlessly. I sank to the floor, head in hands, the weight of it all pressing down.
"Arianna, please open the door! What’s wrong?" he called, desperation creeping into his tone.
I said nothing, overwhelmed by the chaos he stirred within me.
"Stop behaving like a child and open up," his voice sharpened with frustration.
The words stung, crystallizing the distance between us. To Zach, I was still just the sister of his fiancée — immature, inconsequential. No wonder he felt entitled to make decisions that shattered my world without truly seeing me.
Determined not to yield, I grabbed my iPod and blasted my favorite rock anthem, the heavy chords drowning out his pounding and my own tumultuous thoughts. The sound filled the room, a rebellion against the helplessness I felt.
Outside the door, his knocks faded into silence, leaving me alone with the music, the night, and the tangled knot of emotions I was still struggling to unravel.