The ceiling fan hummed like it was mocking her. That was the only sound in the villa when Amara kicked off her sandals. One strap caught stubbornly against her ankle, nearly tripping her, and she muttered under her breath before sinking onto the edge of the king-sized bed. The ocean breeze pushed through the curtains, carrying the sharp tang of saltwater and a faint hibiscus sweetness. It should have been calming. It wasn't. It only made the knot in her chest pull tighter.
Tade stood near the glass wall, not moving, one hand shoved in the pocket of his linen trousers, the other wrapped around a half-empty glass of whisky. A faint ring of condensation was already marking the side table, and somehow even that irritated her. His profile was sharp in the moonlight, too sharp, jaw locked, unreadable as always.
Amara stole a glance, then dropped her eyes back to her lap, fingers twisting together. She hadn't said a word since they got back from the boat cruise. Neither had he. It wasn't silence, not really. It was heavier, thick, like something crouched in the middle of the room waiting for them to look at it.
It should have been a beautiful evening. Candlelight. Laughter. Strangers smiling at them like they were madly in love. Maybe that was the problem. Pretending had come too easily. When Tade's hand brushed hers at the table, when he leaned in with that half-smile that felt like a knife and a gift all at once, it had been too much. Too real.
"Are you going to keep avoiding me?" His voice finally cut through, low and steady. Not angry. Worse. Controlled.
"I'm not avoiding you," Amara muttered, eyes fixed on the floor. "I just… don't know what to say."
He set the glass down too neatly, the clink sharper than it should've been. "Funny. You didn't seem short of words at dinner."
Her head snapped up. "That was different. We were performing."
"And this isn't?" He moved a little closer, slow, deliberate, his gaze cutting through her. "Every second of this marriage is a performance. Don't confuse it with anything else."
The words landed like a slap. Her nails dug into her palms, trying to hold something back. But Tade had a way of stripping her bare, of making her feel cornered even when he hadn't touched her.
"Then why did you touch me like that tonight?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.
For the first time, he blinked, unsettled. "What are you talking about?"
"You held my hand. You leaned close when you didn't have to. You..." Her throat closed, but she forced the words out. "That wasn't just performance."
Silence. Thick. Her heart was pounding too loudly, she was sure he could hear it. He was close now, close enough that heat rolled off him, prickling her skin, though he hadn't laid a finger on her.
His eyes darkened. For a second, something flickered there. Then he turned abruptly, walked toward the balcony. "We should get ready. The gala starts in an hour."
And just like that, the moment slipped through her fingers, leaving her hollow.
The gala was all light and music and forced perfection. White lanterns swung from the palms, fairy lights tangled overhead, a string quartet playing soft enough that laughter floated right over it. Waiters drifted by with champagne, too graceful, too smooth.
Amara tugged at the strap of her emerald-green dress, wishing it didn't fit so well. She'd picked it to look strong, untouchable. But with Tade's hand resting lightly at the small of her back, she felt anything but.
He was devastating in black. Perfect tux, perfect smile, perfect timing. The kind of presence that bent a room without effort. And what made her furious was the small, treacherous part of her that thrilled at being on his arm.
"Mr. Adewale," a man with graying temples greeted warmly, gripping Tade's hand. "And this must be your wife. You didn't exaggerate, she's stunning."
Amara's cheeks burned. She opened her mouth to answer, but Tade was already lifting her hand to his lips in a move so rehearsed it should've been hollow. But the brush of his mouth still sent a shiver down her spine.
"She's more than stunning," he said smoothly, eyes holding hers. "She's everything."
It was for show. It had to be. And yet his gaze lingered too long, as if daring her to believe it.
The night blurred. Names, glasses clinking, laughter. People whispering about "the beautiful couple." Amara leaned in when he spoke, smiled when he teased, played the part until she almost fooled herself.
Then the music shifted. A waltz.
Her stomach dropped. Couples were already drifting toward the dance floor. She stiffened when Tade turned to her, hand extended.
"No," she whispered, shaking her head quickly.
"Yes," he murmured back, lips barely moving. "They're watching."
Her pulse thudded. She should argue. She didn't. She let him pull her onto the floor.
His arm slid around her waist, holding her closer than she expected. His scent was clean, dark, expensive. Too much.
"Relax," he breathed against her ear.
"I am relaxed," she lied.
He smirked, faint. "Then why can I feel your pulse?"
She bit the inside of her cheek, focused on the music, on anything but the heat of his hand at her back. And still, this didn't feel like pretending. It felt like standing at the edge of something dangerous.
When the song ended, she pulled away too quickly, nearly knocking her glass over when she reached for it.
"You're a better actress than I thought," he murmured.
Her glass froze halfway to her lips. "And you're a better liar."
Their eyes locked. Too long. The air between them pulsed.
She escaped to the balcony later, desperate for quiet. Moonlight stretched silver over the water, waves crashing soft and endless. She was still catching her breath when his voice slid through the night.
"Running away?"
Her heart jerked. She spun to see him there, jacket off, tie loose, looking like he hadn't just owned an entire room.
"I needed air," she said.
"So did I." He came to stand beside her, his arm brushing hers against the railing. "You were convincing in there."
She turned sharply. "Is that all this is? A play for your shareholders?"
"That's what we agreed," he said evenly. "You signed the contract."
"Contracts don't explain…" her voice caught, "…what happens when it feels real."
She regretted it the moment it left her mouth.
His eyes darkened. He leaned a little closer. "And what exactly felt real, Amara?"
Her breath caught. She should move. She didn't.
"The way you looked at me. The way you..."Her words tangled. She bit her lip.
His gaze dipped. His hand lifted, brushed a curl from her face. Too slow. Too deliberate.
Her heart hammered. His face tilted. He was close—too close.
"No."
The word was shaky but firm. She stepped back, hands clenched at her sides.
"This isn't part of the deal. We don't blur lines."
Something raw flickered in his eyes before the mask slammed back.
"You're right," he said coolly. "It's not allowed."
He turned and walked away, leaving her alone with the ocean and the ache of almost.
The car ride back was silent. Not angry, something worse.
At the villa, Amara headed straight for the bedroom. One bed, of course. Luxury always assumed comfort.
"I'll take the sofa," Tade said, rolling up his sleeves, voice clipped.
"You don't have to," she muttered.
"I know." He pulled a blanket from the wardrobe, calm but cold.
That stung more than it should've.
Later, in the dark, she lay staring at the ceiling, his face haunting her. The almost touch, the almost kiss. On the sofa, he shifted, sighed once.
So close, and it felt like miles.
Morning was worse.
Amara padded into the kitchen barefoot, robe tied tight. Tade was already there, crisp shirt, sleeves rolled, moving around the coffee pot like he owned not just the villa, but the whole island.
"Morning," he said casually, not looking up.
Civil. After last night?
"Morning," she echoed.
They ate in silence, the scrape of cutlery too loud. Finally, she dropped her fork. "So that's it? We pretend nothing happened?"
He looked up at her, calm. Too calm. "What exactly do you think happened?"
Heat crawled up her neck. "You know what I mean."
"Do I?" He sipped his coffee, slow, cruel. "From where I stood, nothing happened. You stopped it before it could."
The truth stung like salt in a wound.
"So we're just colleagues again," she forced out.
"That's what we've always been."
But his eyes slipped, just for a second. Raw. Unmasked.
Amara shoved back her chair. "Fine."
She stormed onto the terrace, fingers gripping the railing until her knuckles ached. The sea stretched out wild and endless, and for the first time she admitted it, it matched exactly how she felt inside.