There was a dress on the bed.
Not folded. Not hung. Laid out, like I was some sort of paper doll and someone had already decided exactly what I should wear tonight. Beside it, a pair of strappy heels I definitely didn't own, and a little envelope with my name scrawled across the front in annoyingly familiar handwriting.
I opened it with suspicion.
No questions.
Meet me at the bar downstairs at 8.
-C
I stared at the note for a full minute before glancing back at the dress. Midnight green silk, thin straps, dangerously low in the back. It looked like something stolen from the closet of a Bond girl.
I glanced at the clock. 7:24 p.m.
He was so lucky I was curious.
And then I put it on.
At 7:59 I walked into the resort bar, heels clicking across the polished floor, heart annoyingly loud in my chest.
It wasn't even the dress-or the open back, or the slit that dared me to take bigger steps-it was the fact that I had no idea what Charles was up to, and I hated not knowing.
Then I saw him.
Leaning casually against the counter, drink in hand, dressed in a black shirt that fit a little too well, sleeves rolled to the forearms, hair pushed back like he hadn't even tried-which was exactly the problem.
He spotted me and didn't move. Just let his eyes trail down, slowly, like he was seeing me for the first time.
And then he said, with a straight face,
"Bonsoir," he said smoothly. "Do you come here often, or did I just get very, very lucky?"
I blinked. "We're doing this?"
He pretend to look surprised. "Doing what?"
I rolled my eyes playing along now. "You always pick up strangers like this?"
"Only when they walk in looking like sin and trouble."
I nearly choked on a laugh. "Okay. That one was actually good."
"Please," he said, gesturing to the empty stool beside him with a charming little tilt of his head. "Have a drink with me?"
I slid onto the stool, smoothing the skirt of the dress he had so clearly picked for maximum effect. "Well, since you asked so nicely..."
He smiled, and I matched it with one of my own-sweet, mysterious. I was fully in now.
"Do you have a name?" I asked, crossing one leg over the other and tilting my head just slightly.
"Charles," he said, extending a hand like we were meeting for the first time. "And you?"
I took his hand, shook it lightly. "Emily."
"Emily," he repeated, like he was trying it out. "Beautiful name."
"Thanks," I said, playing along. "I like yours too. Very... European."
He smirked. "Monegasques, actually."
"Of course it is," I teased. "So, Charles what do you do when you're not picking up women in resort bars?"
He leaned in a little, like he was telling me a secret. "I drive race cars."
I raised an eyebrow. "Oh really? That sounds... loud."
He laughed. "It is. Fast, too."
"Dangerous?"
"The fun kind." His smile grew. "And what about you?
"I work with data."
He nodded, pretending to take it very seriously. "Spreadsheets?"
"Thousands of them. Numbers, graphs, a lot of pretending I know what I'm doing."
I took a slow sip from my glass, then turned to him with mock curiosity. "So tell me, Charles. What brings you to this fancy resort? Work? Is there a sand race I should know about?"
He chuckled, the sound warm and low. "A race on the beach? Now that would be something. Though I'm pretty sure my mechanics would have a heart attack."
I raised an eyebrow. "Why? Scared of a little sand?"
He gave me a look. "Sand and engines are not exactly best friends."
"Noted," I said, feigning seriousness. "You should warn your boss. Maybe switch to dune buggies."
He laughed again, then I leaned in just a little, eyes glinting. "So... do you know Max Verstappen?"
He blinked, caught off guard, then smirked. "Verstappen?"
I nodded. "Yeah. I think he's amazing. So fast. So focused. There's just something about him, you know?"
Charles tilted his head, pretending to be deeply offended. "Is this your way of telling me you have a type?"
"Well, when I think about Formula 1, he's the one who comes to my mind" I say looking at him and trying to keep a straight face.
Charles put a hand dramatically over his heart. "Wow. Wounded. Right here."
I fought back a laugh. "I mean, don't take it personally. You're charming and all... for a random guy I just met at the bar."
He narrowed his eyes, leaning in. "So, let me get this straight. I tell you I'm a race car driver, and your response is to fangirl over Verstappen?"
I shrugged, swirling the drink in my glass. "What can I say? The man's got skills."
Charles exhaled, feigning defeat. "Unbelievable. Here I am, trying to impress a stranger, and I'm getting outshined by Max."
"Any chance you could get me an autograph?" I smirked. "It's nothing personal. He's just... you know, Max."
Charles raised an eyebrow, dramatically placing his hand over his heart. "Wow, really?"
He narrowed his eyes, then took a sip of his drink, like he was reconsidering everything. "Well, now I'm wounded. Emotionally. Might need therapy."
I grinned, swirling my own glass. "How tragic. What brings you to a place like this, then? Healing your poor, bruised ego?"
He glanced at me, something softer in his expression now, though still in character. "Actually... I'm getting over someone."
I tilted my head. "Ah. A heartbreak."
"Sort of," he said, voice dipping a little. "We had... history. Years of it. Complicated, messy, loud. I think I drove her insane, and she-well, she made me feel things I didn't even know I was capable of."
I blinked once, caught off guard by how his words managed to land somewhere between honest and in-character. "Sounds intense."
"It was," he said. "Still is. I think I might be waiting for her to show up here, actually. Thought maybe, if I sat in this bar long enough... she might just walk in."
I rolled my eyes, smiling despite the ache building in my chest. "That's a very dramatic strategy."
He leaned in, lowering his voice. "What about you? What brings you here?"
I sipped slowly, letting the pause stretch. "Getting over someone too, I suppose."
He raised a brow. "Oh? What happened?"
"He broke my heart too many times" I said "
Charles tilted his head slightly, as if genuinely intrigued. "He sounds like an idiot."
I gave him a faint smile. "Oh, he is. Gorgeous, but infuriating. The kind of man who knows exactly how to make you fall for him, and then drives you absolutely insane."
He laughed softly, eyes never leaving mine. "So, what happened to him?"
"I think I left him," I said, swirling what was left of my drink. "Or maybe he left me. We were always kind of terrible at knowing when things were really over."
He nodded, a touch of something warmer slipping into his expression. "Sounds familiar."
There was a beat of silence, the kind that wasn't awkward-just... charged.
"I'm glad to meet you tonight," he said quietly.
"Come have dinner with me," he added, standing and offering his arm like some kind of old-fashioned gentleman. "I have a table waiting."
I raised a brow but slipped my hand into the crook of his arm. "Lead the way, stranger."
------
We walked inside the restaurant, still wrapped in the soft glow of warm lighting and the quiet hum of music and conversation. And we kept going with it-the pretending. Like this was our first night, our first meeting, our first everything.
It was fun. It was ridiculous. It was everything a first date should be.
By the time dessert was cleared, the air between us was thicker, the flirtation simmering just beneath the surface of every glance and smirk.
Charles stood, pulling my chair out for me. "Allow me to walk you back. Resort rules. Very strict about women being escorted by suspiciously handsome men after dark."
I laughed but didn't argue.
At my door, I turned to him. The hallway was quiet, dim. He looked unfairly good in that shirt. And those eyes-God, those eyes.
"Well," I said, fingers curling lightly around the key card. "This is usually the part where I say goodnight."
He stepped just a little closer, enough to make my breath catch. "Usually?"
I shrugged, trying to keep it casual. "Depends on the night. And the company."
He tilted his head, smiling like he knew exactly what I meant. "And tonight?"
"I should probably tell you this is a terrible idea," I murmured, not moving.
He leaned in, voice low. "But you're not going to?"
I smiled, heart thudding in my chest. "Nope."
Then I kissed him-fast, light, testing. And when he didn't hesitate, when his hand found my waist. I pulled back just enough to whisper, "Come in, stranger."
His eyes, darkened with something that made my pulse quicken, locked onto mine. Without a word, he stepped into the room, his body pressing against mine as his lips found mine again, hard, intense, and with the kind of urgency that made me forget everything else.
The door clicked shut behind us, and suddenly the world outside didn't matter anymore. The only thing that mattered was the way his hands roamed, finding their place on my back, pulling me into him with the perfect amount of force. I could feel the heat of his body, the strength of him as he tilted my head back slightly, deepening the kiss. The space between us seemed to evaporate as he pressed me closer to him, our breaths mingling, our hearts pounding in sync.
I ran my fingers over his chest, feeling the muscles there, the way his shirt clung to him. It was intoxicating, the feel of him, the way he made me feel both on edge and perfectly at ease all at once. Every kiss was a promise, every touch a confession we weren't ready to say out loud.
I tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one smooth motion, and he groaned, his hands finding the back of my neck, pulling me back into him. The kiss was messy now, desperate, and I couldn't get enough. My fingers traced the outline of his jaw, the stubble there scraping against my skin as I kissed him harder, as if I could lose myself completely in him.
He lifted me effortlessly, carrying me toward the bed.
As he laid me down gently, his body pressed against mine, his warmth seeping into every inch of my skin. The room felt smaller now, the air thicker, and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as his hands traced the curves of my body with a kind of reverence that made me shiver.
His lips followed the same path, kissing me with a tender intensity, moving slowly now, as if savoring each second, each touch.
I arched against him, pulling him closer, needing him, wanting more of that feeling that was beginning to consume me.
Then his mouth moved lower.
He kissed down my stomach, trailing heat with every breath, every graze of his lips. When he reached the inside of my thigh, he paused — his breath hot against my skin — and looked up at me with that wicked glint in his eyes.
And then he buried his mouth between my legs.
The first touch of his tongue made me gasp, my hips jerking involuntarily. He groaned softly, like he loved the way I tasted, the way I reacted to him. His hands pinned my thighs open, holding me still as his mouth worked me over — slow at first, teasing, then deeper, firmer, until my fingers tangled in his hair and I was moaning shamelessly.
I felt like I was unraveling, every nerve in my body drawn tight around him.
When he finally pulled back, my legs were shaking. He didn’t give me a moment to recover.
He flipped me gently, guiding me onto my knees, my hands braced against the mattress.
“Stay just like that,” he said, voice rough, breathless.
I could feel him behind me, his hands gripping my hips with a possessive firmness that made my skin burn. And then, without warning, he thrust into me — hard, deep — and I cried out, the sound muffled against the sheets.
There was nothing slow now. Nothing careful.
He fucked me like he couldn’t help it.
Every stroke was raw and relentless, his grip bruising, his breath ragged behind me. The rhythm was merciless, fast and punishing, and I took all of it, pushed back against him, meeting him just as desperately.
The sounds in the room — skin on skin, breathless moans, the sharp slap of his hips — were dizzying.
I was lost in him. In the way he filled me, used me, like he’d been waiting for this.
Then his hand slid up my body, strong and certain, wrapping lightly around my throat while the other gripped my waist tighter, pulling me back into him, deeper. The change in angle made me cry out — the sensation sharper, more intense, overwhelming.
“Fuck,” I gasped, barely able to hold myself up.
“You feel that?” he murmured against my ear, voice low and rough.
I nodded, unable to speak, my body trembling as the pressure inside me coiled tighter. I was right there — one more thrust, one more second — and I’d fall over the edge.
But then he stopped.
He pulled out of me suddenly, leaving me empty and throbbing.
“No—” I moaned, turning my head, frustrated. “Why did you stop?”
He didn’t answer. Just grabbed my arm and guided me around, sitting down on the edge of the bed and pulling me into his lap.
“Come here,” he ordered, his tone dark and full of heat.
I straddled him, still breathless, and he didn’t wait — he lined himself up and pushed into me again, this time slower, deeper, making me feel every inch of him as I sank down onto him fully.
The position was intimate, overwhelming, almost too much.
He held my hips steady, guiding my rhythm as I moved on top of him, his lips parted, eyes locked on mine. One hand slipped up my spine, tangling in my hair, the other still gripping my waist like he’d never let go.
“You were going to come without me,” he said, voice hoarse.
His hips met mine in perfect rhythm, each thrust upward making me whimper, cry out. I couldn’t hold back anymore — my body seized, my climax crashing into me with brutal intensity, pulling a loud, broken sound from my lips.
He cursed under his breath, holding me tighter as he followed, his whole body tensing beneath me, spilling into me with a raw, guttural groan.
For a long moment, we just stayed like that — tangled, shaking, breathing each other in.
------
We collapsed onto the bed, tangled, breathless, sweaty. Neither of us moved, too exhausted — or maybe too unwilling — to put any distance between us.
“For a first time,” I said, teasing, still playing the part, “we did pretty well.”
Charles let out a soft laugh, those green eyes of his still burning, his damp hair sticking to his forehead.
“You think?” he asked, his hand lazily tracing down his chest. “Usually, at this point, I make up an excuse and leave.”
“What?” I propped myself up on one elbow, feigning outrage. “Right after sex? You don’t even wait for the person to fall asleep?”
He shrugged, wearing that cocky, dangerously fitting smirk. “Avoids the awkward breakfast.”
“Oh, I see…” I rolled away dramatically, pulling the sheet with me and turning my back to him
“Mon amour, come back here,” he murmured lazily against my neck, voice rough from the afterglow.
“No,” I replied, mock-serious. “You really should go. I think I saw my ex somewhere around this resort. I might go look for him.”
“Want me to get dressed and help you look for him?” he asked, pressing a slow kiss to my shoulder.
“That would be way too weird,” I said, laughing. “Imagine me having to tell him I just had some very average sex with a stranger, but now I’m ready to get married to him.”
Charles lifted his head, mock-offended. “Average?”
I bit my lip, hiding my smile. “Mmhmm. Solid seven.”
He rolled me onto my back in one swift movement, eyes narrowed, lips twitching. “You take that back.”
Before I could answer, his mouth was on mine again—slow, punishing kisses down my neck, his hand sliding over my waist, fingers tracing lazy paths across my skin.
I exhaled, already melting beneath him—until he stopped.
He looked at me, his gaze unreadable, his lips still a breath away from mine, and for a long moment, he didn't say anything.
"Is something wrong?" I asked, my voice a little shaky, worry creeping in.
He stayed silent for a beat, his eyes searching mine. Then, in a voice that was softer than I expected, he asked, "Can we stop with the play pretend?"
I froze for a second, caught off guard, but his question lingered in the air, and something shifted between us.
"Of course... what's wrong?" I whispered, my heart skipping a beat as I tried to read him, to understand where this was going.
"It was nice to see how it would be if we met outside of work," he said calmly. "I've always wondered if it would change anything."
I just stared at him, breath caught somewhere between my lungs and my mouth, heart thudding painfully in my chest. My mind spun, trying to decode what he really meant. Why now? Why say that after this?
"Oh my God," I whispered, sliding out from under him like the mattress had suddenly turned to fire. I sat at the edge of the bed, clutching the sheet to my chest. “You’re breaking up with me, aren’t you?”
His head snapped up. “What?”
“That’s what this was, right?” The words tumbled out, fast and shaky. “The pretending, the flirting, the whole fake first date thing… you wanted to test it. To see if we ever could’ve worked. One last night before you finally let go.”
I didn’t even notice the tears until they hit my bare thighs. Hot. Stupid. Silent.
“Hey. No. Hey,” he said quickly, moving behind me, his voice suddenly sharper, as if it could anchor me. “That’s not what this is. That’s not what I meant.”
His hands found my arms, gentle but steady. I couldn’t look at him. Not yet.
“Amy, look at me,” he said, voice lower now. He touched my chin and gently turned my face toward him. “Where did you get that I’m breaking up with you?”
His eyes searched mine. Then, without a word, he leaned in and kissed the tip of my nose. My cheeks. My mouth. And finally, my forehead.
“I just want my fiancée back,” he whispered against my skin. “I like this casual version of us, the pretending… it’s fun. But it’s not us. Not really. That’s all I meant.”
My breath caught, the weight of his words sinking in slowly, like sunlight through water.
-------
The next morning, Charles and I spent more time in bed than we probably should have. He ordered breakfast to the room, insisting I didn’t move a finger.
“Charles, I want you to take me to a place like this again sometime,” I said, biting into a strawberry, lounging in his t-shirt.
“Are you finally going to let me spoil you?” he asked, grinning as he leaned back on the pillows.
I rolled my eyes. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
When we finally made our way to the hotel lobby, Kate and Arthur were already waiting. Kate took one look at us and raised an eyebrow.
“You two look… suspiciously relaxed.”
I stretched like a cat and said casually, “I had amazing sex last night. Met a guy at the bar.”
Charles didn’t miss a beat. “I ended up in bed with some woman I met at dinner. No regrets.”
Kate blinked. Arthur frowned. “You’re joking, right?”
“You’re not together?” Kate asked, clearly baffled.
“It was a casual thing,” I said, glancing sideways at Charles with a shrug.
“Yeah, yeah. We’re thinking about trying an open relationship,” he added, casually draping his arm over my shoulders.
“Friends with benefits,” I clarified, looking up at him with a smug little smile.
Kate’s jaw dropped. Arthur looked genuinely concerned.
“You’re both insane,” he muttered.
Kate crossed her arms. “You do realize this is the dumbest idea you’ve ever had, right?”
Charles smirked. “That’s a bold statement, considering the list.”
Arthur ran a hand over his face. “This feels like watching a car crash in slow motion.”
I popped a piece of croissant into my mouth. “Relax, guys. We’re just experimenting.”
“With emotional destruction,” Kate snapped.
Charles leaned down and whispered near my ear, loud enough for them to hear, “You say that like last night wasn’t the best idea we ever had.”
Kate groaned. Arthur looked like he needed a drink. And I just smiled.