Married to the Secret Billionaire

“Maybe you could demonstrate with a few laps,” Mrs. Orial suggests, and the others chime in their agreement as I laugh.

“You all aren’t getting out of class that easy, Bethany,” I reply, to a chorus of good-natured groans.

But for all their flirtations, they’re an enjoyable group. Mrs. Jenkins and her husband have been coming to this same resort every winter for the past fifteen years. She knows more about the ins and outs of life in this part of Maui than anyone except some locals, and she’s been more than happy to fill me in on all the resort gossip—who used to hook up with who on the staff, who had their security badge temporarily revoked for smuggling liquor to some partying college kids in one of the presidential suites, that sort of thing.

Ms. Humbolt is another regular. Mrs. Orial is new. Her husband passed away last year, after years of wanting to travel but never getting up the courage. She decided to travel in his honor instead. I can’t help admiring that. I hope one day I’ll be lucky enough to have a bond like that with someone. The kind where both of your goals seem to fuse into one dream.

Though, of course, I’d rather my partner still be alive when we go pursuing our goals.

I push that thought to the back of my mind. It’s ridiculous to be thinking about dating or partners when I can’t even risk a hookup right now. Besides, I’ve learned my lesson about trusting women. They’re only ever after one thing, when it comes to me, and I’m not about to fall into another Lily-shaped trap.

I’m better off alone, I tell myself. After a while, I can start fucking again, ease a little of the tension that’s been torturing me over the past couple months. And after that… Well. One step at a time.

I finish teaching the women the backstroke—it’s a tricky one, since you have to get the buoyancy right, and more than a few of them never learned how to swim properly in their youth, or even just how to float. It always surprises me, the things some people don’t pick up, whether from fear or leading sheltered lives or just plain never wanting to learn. But it inspires me, how these women are willing to pick up new skills so late in life.

It makes my day fun, even if I never pictured myself working this kind of a job in my life.

I can’t lie, it also brings a smile to my face thinking what my family would think if they could see me now. Their son, little more than a glorified swim instructor. They’d lose their goddamn minds.

It’d be worth it.

As the lesson winds down, I help the ladies from the pool one by one. Bethany grips my hand a little tighter and longer than strictly necessary and lets her gaze roam over my chest before she winks at me. “Thank you for another enlightening lesson, Ankor. I can’t tell you how much I look forward to seeing you here every day.”

I’ll bet you do. I resist a laugh. “It’s my pleasure, Bethany.”

“Oh, no, I’m pretty sure it’s mine.” She winks and finally lets me go to collect her towel, and this time I do chuckle softly.

They’re all right, these gals.

I run a hand over my drenched hair and check the poolside clock. It’s almost lunchtime. I’ve got a two-hour break, and then I have my afternoon lessons. Those tend to be less the old lady crowd and more the rambunctious children of families at the resort who will do anything to offload their hyper kids for a few hours. It’s the less exciting part of my day—or rather, a little too exciting for my taste. Still, I get on with the kids all right. And they can be amusing when they aren’t shouting and screaming their way through my lessons, so I need to shout myself just to be heard.

With a deep sigh, I start back toward the beach entrance. There are a few vendors who sell food from carts up and down the beach. I’ve long since learned it’s the best spot for local food around here. The resort food is fine and all, but why come all the way to Hawaii if you’re only going to eat the same meals you’d be able to buy for yourself back in New York or San Fran?

I’d much rather sample the local fare. Live like I’m really here, instead of just pretending that I’m back home but with a beach and pool added this time.

My mind is already drifting toward what I want: there’s a cart that does a fantastic Hawaiian plate, and I could use the protein boost right about this hour of the day. Then I hear it. A loud shout—not the usual playful kind you hear around here, but one filled with real, deep panic.