The morning sun spilled across the horizon like liquid gold, brushing the Maldives sky in pinks and oranges. Seabirds dipped and wheeled above the turquoise water, their cries melting into the hush of waves. From their villa, the view was so perfect it almost felt fake like a postcard come to life.
But for Amara, the beauty only pressed harder against the knot in her stomach.
She'd woken before him, curled on one side of the massive bed, covers tangled around her legs. Tade was on the sofa again, one arm flung over his eyes, chest rising and falling with steady sleep. Even rumpled hair mussed, shirt creased, he still managed to look composed. Infuriatingly composed.
She sat up, brushing curls out of her face. Last night's memory returned in fragments: the balcony, the moonlight, the way his hand had hovered near her cheek, the way she had almost let him. Almost.
Her cheeks heated at the thought. What on earth was wrong with her? She wasn't supposed to feel like this, wasn't supposed to let him get under her skin. Not him.
Sliding out of bed, she tied her silk robe at the waist and padded into the kitchen, determined not to think. Thinking meant unraveling, and Amara had sworn never to give Tade Adeyemi the satisfaction of knowing he could undo her.
The villa was airy, light spilling in through wide glass doors. On the counter, breakfast trays gleamed with fresh fruit and pastries. She reached for a mango, slicing carefully, the sweet scent filling the room.
Behind her, a low voice rumbled.
"Couldn't sleep?"
She froze for a second, then forced herself to keep slicing. "Some of us wake up with the sun," she said lightly.
Tade walked in barefoot, shirtless, wearing only pajama bottoms that sat too low on his hips. Her knife slipped, nearly catching her finger. She bit back a curse, eyes glued stubbornly to the mango.
"Coffee?" he asked, already moving to the machine like he owned the place.
"No, thanks."
The hum of the machine filled the silence. He poured himself a cup and sat opposite her, sipping like they were two strangers sharing a kitchen.
Amara stabbed a mango slice with her fork, chewing slowly. The silence was unbearable. She wanted him to say something, anything about last night. But of course, Tade was Tade. Proud. Unbothered.
Finally, she set the fork down with a clink. "So… we're just ignoring it?"
His brow arched. "Ignoring what?"
She narrowed her eyes. "You know what."
"As far as I recall, nothing happened."
Her jaw dropped. "Nothing? Tade, we…" she lowered her voice, "…we almost"
"Almost doesn't count," he said smoothly.
Her cheeks burned. The arrogance. She wanted to fling the mango at him. Instead, she straightened.
"Fine. Nothing happened. We're just two colleagues on an extended… business trip."
Something flickered in his eyes, but he masked it quickly. "Glad we're clear."
But Amara caught the way his jaw tightened around his next sip of coffee, the faint crack in his composure. And suddenly, she knew: he was just as shaken. He simply hid it better.
The realization gave her a surge of boldness. She leaned back, popping a mango slice into her mouth with exaggerated ease. "Good. Because the last thing I'd want is for you to think I'm… interested."
His gaze snapped to hers, sharp, piercing. The silence that followed felt hotter than the island sun.
Amara smiled sweetly. Victory.
By mid-morning, a knock came at the door. Amara opened it to find a resort staff member in crisp white uniform, clipboard in hand.
"Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Adeyemi," she greeted cheerfully. "Your excursion is ready. The boat leaves in thirty minutes."
"Excursion?" Amara echoed.
"Yes — the honeymoon package. Snorkeling at the reef, followed by a private island picnic."
Behind her, Tade appeared, hands in his pockets. "We didn't request that."
"It's complimentary, sir. Everything is prepared."
With a sunny bow, the woman handed Amara a woven bag stocked with towels and sunscreen before disappearing.
Amara turned, grinning. "Snorkeling. How romantic."
"We're not going," Tade said flatly.
"Oh, come on. What's the worst that could happen? You might actually have fun."
"I don't do fun."
She smirked. "Clearly. Mr. Stoneface, billionaire extraordinaire, allergic to joy."
His mouth twitched, almost, almost, a smile. Then he turned for the bedroom. "Be ready in twenty minutes."
Amara's grin widened. Victory again.
The speedboat sliced across water so blue it looked unreal. Amara sat at the edge, hair whipping in the wind, face tilted to the sun. Beside her, Tade looked like he belonged in a magazine spread: calm, sharp-jawed, sunglasses on, one hand gripping the railing.
When they anchored by the reef, her excitement faltered. The ocean glittered, vast and alive.
"You've done this before?" she asked as he adjusted his mask.
"A few times."
"And if I haven't?"
His gaze lingered a moment. "Then stay close."
The words sent an unexpected shiver through her.
At first, the reef was magic ,fish like jewels, coral blooming in every color. But when a shadow flickered beneath her, panic surged. She sputtered, choking on seawater.
"Tade!"
He was at her side instantly, gripping her arms. "Breathe. Look at me. Not the water. Me."
Her eyes locked on his. His voice steadied her.
"You're fine," he said softly. "Stay with me."
Her chest eased, her breaths evening out.
He adjusted her mask carefully, then slid his hand into hers. "Stay close." This time, it wasn't an order. It was a promise.
They swam hand in hand after that, the reef unfolding like a dream. For Amara, the ocean's beauty blurred beside the feel of his grip warm, steady, unshakable.
When they climbed back onto the boat, dripping and breathless, he said quietly, "You did well."
"I panicked."
"You didn't quit."
For once, his expression softened. And that unsettled her more than the water ever could.
The island picnic was almost laughable in its perfection: white sand, palms, a feast laid out like a magazine spread. Amara teased him about overdoing things. He teased her about noodles in plastic cups. Their banter softened into silence, then something heavier.
At one point, he rubbed sunscreen onto her shoulders, his touch firm, deliberate, lingering just a second too long. She told herself not to react. She failed.
Later, as the boat came back, their hands brushed reaching for the same basket. Neither moved. For one heartbeat, it felt too easy to imagine it wasn't fake. Then Tade pulled away.
"Let's go," he said, voice neutral again.
That night, dinner by the shore was almost unbearable fairy lights, a violinist, candlelight. Amara told him no one was watching. He said maybe it wasn't about that. Their walls cracked, just a little.
She confessed her struggles, her past. He confessed his loneliness, his constant battle for trust.
And then, the words that undid her:
"Because you're the only one who doesn't want me."
They ended the night in silence. Heavy, suffocating silence.
When the storm rolled in, Amara sat clutching a pillow while rain battered the villa. Thunder cracked; she flinched.
"Scared?" Tade asked softly.
"No."
"Liar."
She admitted "maybe a little."
"Storms end," he said simply.
And when she whispered, "I hate the way you make me feel things I shouldn't," his jaw tightened.
The storm outside raged. The storm inside raged harder.
But neither crossed the line. Not yet.