'I'm Tonelica Wagner.'
But she had been bought and paid for, and she had to impersonate Maria, and the consequences would be dire if she couldn't carry out the plan.
"And.. You're Keane Schmidt?"
His demeanor betrayed nothing. This wasn't surprising; Keane Schmidt was known for his ruthless pragmatism. He was reputed to possess a heart of ice and stone—refusing any deal unless it aligned with his terms. Or so the tales circulated.
"Yes."
The speedboat swayed rhythmically beneath her. Was that the reason she felt disoriented? She glanced at the boat's driver—a short man with a gap-toothed smile and weather-beaten skin—but he was engrossed in his newspaper. There is no assistance there.
"I had anticipated meeting with a real estate agent," she said, breaking the thick silence.
"No. No agent." He waded into the shallow water—unconcerned about wetting his jeans up to his knees.
No agent. Splendid.
Maria had explicitly mentioned there would be one.
"It will be you, a representative from a real estate agency, and any staff accompanying the island. Just inform them that you wish to spend solitary time truly acquainting yourself with the place and then unwinding! You'll have leisure all day and dine on gourmet meals—a perfect holiday. Right? It's not a big issue."
Not a big issue.
However, observing Keane Schmidt, Tonelica perceived the exact opposite. He was undeniably significant and influential, and she felt hopelessly outmatched even in the crystal-clear shallows caressing the side of the exquisite boat.
"Do you have a bag?"
"Oh, yes..." She nodded, reaching for the Louis Vuitton duffle Maria had insisted she bring.
Keane accepted it and glanced at her, a glint of curiosity in his eyes.
Her stomach churned with the waves. He appeared even more attractive in person. Or perhaps she had never truly noticed.
She knew fragments about him. He was a self-made real estate magnate. About a year prior, he had made headlines for acquiring a substantial plot of land in south London for development. She remembered because she felt relieved; there was a charming old pub there—one of London's oldest, with crooked floors and leaning walls—and she had worked there for a summer after leaving school. The notion of its demolition had saddened her, and Keane had stated in the interview his intention to revitalize it.
"You travel lightly," he remarked.
Tonelica nodded. She had packed a few bikinis, flip-flops, books, and her favorite summer dresses. Ideal for a solitary week on a tropical island.
He slung the bag over his shoulder and extended a hand toward her. She stared at it as if he had transformed into a frog.
"I can manage," she said stiffly, inwardly cringing at the formal tone of her words.
Keane Schmidt wasn't conventionally handsome, Tonelica pondered as she approached the dim staircase leading to the rear of the boat. Not in the typical boy-next-door, blond, blue-eyed manner she usually found irresistible. Nor was he corporate and predictable, as she might have anticipated. He was... untamed.
The words came to her unexpectedly, but she instantly knew she was correct as she risked a sidelong glance at him.
His complexion was uniformly dark, and a thick stubble covered his lower face, indicating neglect rather than a deliberate grooming choice. His eyes were wide-set and a deep gray, reminiscent of the ocean's depths. They were framed by thick charcoal lashes, long and curled in clumps. His hair was jet-black and flicked out at the ends, brushing against his shirt collar.
Those eyes, she pondered, shifting her gaze back to the twin marvels adorning his face.
The boat jolted once more. She reached for the polished timber rail to steady herself, her well-groomed fingers seeking solace in its smooth surface.
For the flight to Italy, she had selected a modest dress. It bore a designer label, yet she had acquired it from a thrift store long before this ludicrous scheme had taken shape. Turquoise—a hue she favored. It complemented her eyes and accentuated the auburn streaks in her flowing cherry-red hair. Though her skin lacked the deep tan of Keane's, it radiated a golden glow. She had chosen the dress because it flattered her, desiring to make a favorable impression. Not for Keane.
She had worn the dress for those reasons.
For Keane, she suspected, she would be better off donning a nun's habit.
Anything to deter his eyes from roaming over her in that deliberate, inquisitive manner.
She comprehended the speculation in his gaze; she had encountered enough men in her twenty-four years to recognize interest. Cursed, in many ways, with curves most women envied, Tonelica had long since grown to resent her ample bosom, slender waist, and rounded hips. Something about her figure seemed to signal to men an invitation to disrobe and join her bed.
The boat shifted once more as a wave passed beneath it, and she paused, reaching for the rail again. The driver had maneuvered it as close to the shore as possible, yet disembarking without wetting her feet was impossible. She slipped off her shoes and dangled them from her finger, acutely aware of Keane observing her from the shallows.
She descended, intending to exit the luxurious vessel. However, her timing was woeful—another wave surged, causing her to lose footing and stumble perilously close to the water.
Keane intervened, naturally. With Maria's bag slung securely over one shoulder, he took a long stride toward Tonelica, sweeping his arm around her just as she was about to plunge underwater.
He steadied her, amusement twinkling in his eyes.
Up close, he was even more strikingly handsome, revealing the freckles scattered across his straight nose and the depth of his eyes, which were not merely grey. They contained specks of black and green, swirling together in a mesmerizing blend of shapes and colors she could gaze upon endlessly.
"I thought you could manage?" he prompted.
Tonelica was mortified. What a fool she had been! Maria would never have bungled such a basic maneuver as exiting a speedboat. No, Maria would have seized his offered hand and trailed her fingernails over his palm, enticing him to gaze at her as long as he desired. Inviting him to do much more.
Tonelica Wagner, however, was a Grade A klutz. Falling off a speedboat was precisely the sort of mishap her twin brother Jack would have found uproariously funny, and she would have joined in. Tonelica never missed an opportunity to find humor in her lack of grace.
Her laughter, followed by an acknowledgment of her lack of coordination, caught him off guard.
When Eden Stark had mentioned sending his daughter Maria to inspect Solutinas, Keane had experienced mixed emotions.
On the other hand, the stunning heiress was reputed to be shallow and disinterested—he suspected he'd have her eager to purchase the island within a day or two at most. On the other hand, from what he had heard about the mogul's daughter, Maria Stark was the type of woman he had only ever found suitable for one thing. She was all allure, no substance, and she was the last person he would willingly spend time with—except, perhaps, in his bed.
Yet, he had to admit, her laughter was delightful. Like a melody bathed in sunlight.
Still smiling, she disengaged from him, standing on her own two feet. "I'm fine," she assured him. "Just a bit damp."
He made a guttural noise of agreement and then released her abruptly. "You can dry off inside."
He gestured toward the shoreline, and for the first time, her attention shifted to the island. It lay lush and verdant before them, but further down, she could see crimson cliffs devoid of vegetation.
A boathouse.
It was modest in construction, resembling a cross between a cabin and a hut. Whitewashed stone formed its walls, while its window frames had once been painted a vibrant blue—though much of the paint had since chipped away. A small deck adorned the front, sporting two wicker armchairs flanking a petite card table.
Tonelica nearly asked Keane about the structure, but he was already approaching it. Sand clung to his bare feet as he strode across the beach. She didn't hasten to catch up, not because Maria wouldn't, although she wouldn't. Tonelica was enchanted by the beauty of this place and wished to savor this moment, her first opportunity to immerse herself in it.
Halfway between the shoreline and the cabin, she halted altogether. A gentle breeze swept past her, offering respite from the sweltering day through her damp clothing. She gazed up at the sky, noting its shimmering cerulean blue.
"It's beautiful," she murmured to herself.
But Keane caught the words and turned. Her dress was drenched to the neckline. Did she realize she might as well have been standing on the beach entirely nude, considering how little the fabric concealed her body? Her fiery red hair was gathered in a messy bun atop her head, but he was certain it longed to be free, cascading down her back like it might have on Boudica or one of Titian's models.
He pivoted back toward the cabin, his jaw tight.
Of course, she understood how captivating she appeared. Maria Stark had elevated flirtation to an art form. He didn't know much about her, nor did he peruse the gossip magazines. Still, he knew her name was invariably associated with the insinuation that she was an entitled, promiscuous woman with scant regard for morals.
And for some reason, that irked him now.
He paused at the steps leading to the deck, which was constructed from timber sourced from one of the island's trees.
"What's this?" she inquired, her almond-shaped green eyes scanning the hut's frame.
"Where we'll be staying."
Where we'll be staying? Her heart skipped a beat against her chest. Surely, he had meant Where you'll be staying? Though he spoke English fluently, his voice bore an accent. It wasn't inconceivable that he had made an error.
Because this place certainly wouldn't accommodate both of them.
He moved ahead, and she trailed after him.
"It was erected around fifty years ago," he explained as he pushed the door inward. It emitted a slight groan. It was merely wire encased in an intricate wrought-iron pattern; no actual door existed.
"Your bedroom," he indicated, nodding toward a room as they passed. She caught a fleeting glimpse of a narrow single bed and a bookshelf. He gestured toward another door. "My bedroom."
Her heart pounded louder.
"Bathroom."
She peered inside as they passed. It was modest yet tidy. It carried his scent. As they walked by, she detected the masculine fragrance, causing her stomach to flutter.
"And the kitchen."
It was simple yet quaint, boasting a thick timber countertop, a window overlooking the beach, a small refrigerator, and a stove. A table with four chairs occupied the space, and across the room sat a sofa and an armchair. Another larger window framed an alternate view of the beach.
"Your... your bedroom is... across from mine?" Her words were almost a whisper, and she shivered.
"Surely you didn't expect us to share?" he prompted, relishing the blush spreading across her cheeks and the visible outline of her nipples against the damp fabric of her snug dress.
"Of course not," Tonelica snapped before recalling she was Maria, and Maria would never have taken offense at such an insinuation. She would have coyly insinuated that he shouldn't rule anything out... "I didn't realize we'd reside in the same house."
His smile was tinged with sardonic amusement. "It's the only house on the island," he remarked. "Didn't your father inform you?"
