R I V E R

The news had spread like wildfire within minutes of me grabbing my bags, ignoring every look and noise that came my way, especially my mother.

Wyatt's empire is collapsing before he can even try to salvage it—his stock has plummeted, sponsors are pulling out, and the ones left are scrambling to distance themselves from his scandal. My sister's dreams of stardom? Done. Not that she'd have made it far; her best act was fooling me.

And what I fool I had been.

I had blocked every number and turned my phone off before hopping on the flight for my honeymoon, the wedding dress left at the foot of the mirror I was staring into not even twenty-four hours ago.

Now here I was, lingering outside a gorgeous house - the honeymoon house—the one I rented for us months ago, complete with a private beach. I'd thought about canceling, about just cutting my losses. But why should I lose anything more? So here I am, taking our honeymoon for myself. Alone.

The house is stunning, the kind of place you'd go to fall in love, which is deeply ironic, given the circumstances. I never thought I'd be here alone.

The moment I walk through the door, I'm struck by the scent of lemon and sea air. Incense burns softly by the entryway, a touch meant to make this place feel like home. My chest tightens, but I push forward, dropping my bags and heading upstairs to the bedroom.

When I open the door, I freeze. Rose petals are scattered across the bed in shades of red and white, forming soft trails across the sheets. A cooler sits in the middle of the bed, a bottle of red wine nestled in ice, and I feel a swell of gratitude for the one mercy this honeymoon will give me: alcohol.

I turn my back to the petal strewn bed, nose turned up at the romanticness of it all.

I guess the rentals owner never got the memo.

I grab the wine, fish out a corkscrew, and pour myself a glass. Through the wide glass doors, the ocean gleams under the starlit sky, a sight so beautiful it almost hurts to look at. I step onto the balcony, clutching my wine and taking in the cool night breeze, stars winking above. Maybe, just maybe, I can survive four weeks of this—if I avoid all traces of stupidity, and humanity, and social media.

But then, as if summoned, laughter echoes from the beach below. A splash, followed by another round of laughter, and I spot a group gathered on the sand further down the beach. I sigh, taking another sip, before heading back inside and shutting out the noise.

After changing into pajamas, I curl up on the couch downstairs, wine in hand, and pull up The Nanny. TV, wine, and a steady stream of old sitcoms—that's my idea of a honeymoon now.

• • •

The next morning, I wake up with a kink in my back and a headache pounding behind my eyes. Groaning, I push myself up from the couch, feeling every ache and consequence of last night's bottle of wine.

"Can't drink like I used to," I mutter as I shuffle to the bathroom. Catching sight of myself in the mirror, I wince. "God, I look foul."

A shower later, and I'm awake enough to try swimming the hangover away. I change into a swimsuit, pack a bag with water, a trashy novel, and, of course, more wine, and head down to the beach. The sun's already blazing, and I struggle to stake an umbrella into the sand, its pole slipping and tipping over each time I try to shove it down.

The weight of the damn thing keeps causing us to topple over and the sweat that now coats my hands from the heat is not helping to get the umbrella to do what it's meant to.

Supply shade.

I huff under my breathe and wipe a sand scattered hand against my forehead, brushing the copper strands of my hair back before folding my hands around the base of the umbrella and readying to strike it into the ground again.

"You keep fondling the umbrella like that and you might have to issue a restraining order against it."

A snort makes it way up my throat and I turn over my shoulder to stare at the man who made the comment and find myself staring at a man—a tall, sun-kissed, salt-slicked man, glistening in swim trunks that cling to thick, muscular thighs and the outline of a very impressive-

I clear my throat and look up into his twinkling eyes, the amusement clear on his face.

"The name's Levi," he says, grinning as he sizes me up. "And if you ask, I might be willing to help."

I smirk, crossing my arms. "What makes you think I need a man's help?"

He laughs, a rich, deep sound. "Because I've been watching you grapple with that thing for the last ten minutes, and it would be a shame to see that gorgeous skin of yours burn under the sun." He steps forward again but stays far enough away that if I were to deny his help he could easily turn around and leave.

I roll my eyes, but when the umbrella slips over again, I give in and gesture toward it. "Be my guest. But don't expect a reward."

Levi steps forward, chuckling, the sound throaty and hot. But that could just be the sun glaring at me.

His shoulders glisten with dried salt water, skin glowing with a tan I wish I could emulate.

"A real man would never ask such a thing." Wide fingers grab the base of the umbrella, lift it and plunges it deep into the sand, securing it with a practiced twist. I can't help but watch, shamelessly, as his muscles flex under his tan skin, his arms bracing against the pole as he sets it in place. He catches me looking and flashes a teasing grin, and I just shrug. I'm fresh out of shame.

A small, high-pitched squeal sounds nearby, and I turn to see a toddler barreling down the sand toward Levi. Levi drops to one knee, scooping the little boy up in a big hug before twirling him around as the child giggles. The sight tugs something deep inside me, and I turn away, trying to ignore the ache it brings. I dig into my bag, pretending to search for something, but I can feel Levi's gaze on me as he settles the boy on his hip.

I busy myself with checking the contents of the bag instead of looking back at him. More wine, a towel, a good dirty book and water, because I'm responsible before I turn back to the two pairs of eyes staring at me.

"Thanks for the help," I say, not looking at him, my voice suddenly thin.

He nods, studying me, his expression shifting before he turns to join the group I'd seen last night. The boy clings to him, his small fingers tangled in Levi's hair, and I watch them go, feeling something heavy settle in my chest.

Of course, the only man who I could see help me forget about my shitty situation is one who's already taken - and a father to boot.

I swallow the self-deprecation down, grab my book and my wine, and sink into my chair under the shade, determined to forget it all—even if it's just for a few hours.