Page 77 of Arranged To Be Mine

“Sand gets everywhere. The water’s cold. There are too many people.”

“Those are features, not bugs.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Trust me. Come out with me and you’ll love it. It’s one of my favorite places in the world. You saw the view from my house.”

“I might have lied when I said I was also fond of the water element.”

“Dammit, you’re not a mermaid? There goes that fantasy. I guess I should return that sea-shell bikini top I got you.”

I shook my head. “I don’t mind my pool, but ugh, the ocean.”

“The ocean is incredible.”

“Looking at the ocean is different from being in it.”

“Not that different.” He pulled another weed, actually getting the roots this time. “Here’s the thing. People will take pictures of us. Post them online. A day at the beach, laughing and splashing around. It’s the opposite of ice queen behavior.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but he kept going.

“Think about it. Every photo so far has been at some fancy event. Galas. Dinner. That’s great, but it’s still your world. Still the corporate, polished version of you.” He met my eyes. “The beach is casual. Relaxed. It shows a different side. A real side.”

“I don’t know.”

“Which means technically, going to the beach would be you working.” He grinned. “You’d basically be getting paid to build sandcastles.”

I stared at him. “That’s manipulative.”

“I prefer strategic. I’m a lawyer. I know how to sell a story. Have you forgotten Cleetus?”

“Who the hell is Cleetus?”

“One of the llamas. By the time I was done with him, you’d think he was the Dalai Llama.”

I groaned. “That was terrible.”

He wasn’t wrong. The masquerade ball had been a success, but it was still firmly in the realm of what people expected from Darcy Corwin. Elegant. Controlled. Beautiful in a way that felt untouchable. The beach would be different. Messy. Human.

And terrifying.

“I hate wearing swimsuits in public,” I said weakly.

“But you have one.”

“Of course.”

“Wear one of those dress things over it,” he said.

I pulled a few more weeds, buying time to think. The air had cooled, carrying the sweet scent of the jasmine I’d planted by the patio.

Going to the beach with Beau felt like stepping off a cliff. Not because of the publicity angle. That part actually made sense. It was the intimacy of it. The vulnerability. Showing up in a swimsuit, letting people see me without the armor of designer dresses and perfect makeup.

But wasn’t that the whole point? Wasn’t I supposed to be trying to prove I wasn’t the cold, untouchable woman the media had made me out to be?

“Fine,” I heard myself say. “One beach day.”

We finished up the last of the weeding. My knees ached from kneeling, and my back would definitely be sore tomorrow. But there was something satisfying about the freshly cleared beds.

“Not bad for a first-timer,” I said, surveying his work.

“I have an excellent teacher.”