The bastard was late.

Oreo was fed up and hungry and I was second-guessing my decision to travel overseas to salvage a marriage so none existent that Jesus himself couldn't find it in his great big book of marriages.

The marriage may have been nonexistent emotionally and physically, but it was real on paper. I couldn't count how many times I'd gone to the Civil Marriage Registry to check whether or not Willem and I were truly married. The people working there must have thought I was crazy.

Oreo half growled, half meowed inside his carriage, and if I didn't feed him soon, he would scratch my skin off the next time I tried to pet him.

I searched around the relatively small airport for a seat and found one in front of Mc Donald's.

The scent of fresh fries being fried automatically caused my stomach to rumble. I could feel the heat coming from the kitchen as I watched the lady next to me bite into a pickled burger with extra bacon. I was getting myself a triple of that same concoction as soon as Oreo was fed.

I unzipped my suitcase and then cautiously opened Oreo's carrier. He turned his nose up at the dry cat food I spilled before him but then soon realized that he wasn't getting anything else when I closed everything back up and then sauntered over to the counter to make my order.

As I waited, I studied the people milling about the airport and no one resembling a Dutch aristocrat with a giant stick up his ass came forward to claim me.

I sighed, breathing through my nose. Forced a smile when the cook behind the counter called my number twice to get my attention.

"Triple cheeseburger, extra pickles, extra bacon," she practically yelled the third time when I didn't react fast enough.

"Thank you," I muttered, and feeling like an abandoned puppy, I took the to-go bag back to the table where Oreo had all but lick the carpet in his carriage clean and was staring at me through the mesh of his carrier bag with judgmental green eyes.

"You need to stop looking at me like that," I snapped. "I asked you what you wanted, what I should do and your fucking meow was rather inconclusive."

Unwrapping my burger, I sank my teeth into it, relishing the tangy flavor of pickles and the indescribable saltiness of bacon on my tongue. "Hmm, this is good."

I chewed with my eyes closed and waited a moment before speaking again. "I know the flight was horrible, but wait until you see how beautiful this island is. You might even get to eat fresh fish right out of the ocean."

"Who are you talking to?" A deep voice rumbled from above me.

I swallowed and looked up. Broad shoulders, brown skin, and serious dark eyes. He was handsome with a hint of scary going by the harsh set of his jaws, but he wasn't Willem. I licked my lips. "You are?"

"Your driver. Willem sent me."

"I'm sure he did. Do you have a name, driver?" I wrapped up the rest of my burger and used several tissues to clean the sauce dripping down my fingers.

"Omar, and please, finish your meal." He sat across from me, his tall figure dwarfing the chair. "We have all the time in the world."

"That seems to be the motto with you people." I shoved some fries in my mouth. I had no intention of finishing the burger. It was too damn big.

Dark eyebrows lifted. "You people?"

"Yes, you and that man called Willem de Vries. Why isn't he here? His letter said he would be."

Omar shrugged. "Other important matters came up."

I opened my mouth to speak but no words came out. I was a fool to come here. Where was my dignity?

My so-called husband didn't give a shit about me. Never did. So why was I here, sitting in a hot airport with an irritable cat while I could have been saving some poor kid's life without having to wonder if my father was doing okay by himself?

At first, I was dead set against leaving it all behind to follow a pipe dream of butterflies and happy ever afters. But those letters from my mother had seemed like a valid motivator at the time.

Two nights after receiving Willem's letters, my father had knocked on my bedroom with two more letters in hand. I dropped the Cosmopolitan magazine I was reading on the pillow next to me and waited for him to speak.

"These are from your mother," he said.

I almost laughed. "You sure about that?"

He nodded and approached the bed. "She wanted you to have them."

"I don't understand. Why did you keep them from me all those years?"

He gently placed the letters on the sheet on my lap. Her cursive handwriting was just as beautiful as I remembered. One letter read 'first anniversary' and the second read ' fifth anniversary'.

"Your mother knew Willem as a boy. She used to cook for their household but stopped working there when he was about three. After that, she came to work for me but she visited St. Maarten often and she got to see him grow up. "

"I didn't know that."

"Your mother wanted you to find love, Amy. You're twenty-eight and beautiful with an amazing career, but you're lonely. You read that sex magazine like it's the bible, but I don't see you practicing anything that it recommends."

"Papa! Get out of my room. We're not going to talk about my sex life." I jumped out of bed and started pushing him toward the door.

"There's nothing to talk about because it's non-existent." He laughed and the sound warmed my insides.

"How would you know? You know what? Nevermind. Goodbye." I shoved him some more and he lost his balance. He crashed into the wall across the hall before landing on his bottom with a loud thud. He rubbed his shoulder, wincing in pain. "Oh my God, Papa. I'm so sorry."

"It wasn't your fault," he grunted. "You barely touched me."

"Can you stand up?"

"Sure can. With a little help."

I hooked my arm under his armpit and pulled him up. When he was upright and vertical, he gripped my hands. "You have to open the door to let love find you. You're already married to the man, and I know you, you're not going to get a divorce without trying first. Or do you plan on sitting in this room for the rest of your life, miserable?"

"I want him to chase me. He's the one who left me and never looked back." And of course, right at that moment, my voice cracked and a tear ran down my cheek. "He writes me this stupid letter but doesn't leave a number to reach him on. I can't find him in the phonebook either. He summons me and then just expects me to do his bidding. I fucking hate him."

My father gave me a sympathetic stare. "Read the letters. Your mother thought the world of Willem. Maybe her point of view will give you some perspective." Using his thumb, he wiped the tears streaking down my face. "Don't cry, my love. You have to do this so you can both move on with your lives."

Both of my mother's letters were sitting at the bottom of my bag still unopened, but here I was being called unimportant.

Without any warning, I grabbed my tray and threw the contents in the garbage before coming back for my suitcase and Oreo. I marched off toward the ticket booth and Omar was immediately at my side.

"Where are you going? The exit is that way."

"Fuck the exit. I'm going home."

He looked surprised by the bad word coming out of my mouth, but he recovered quickly, stepping out in front of me to block my path. "You're not going to be the reason I lose my job. I'm supposed to take you to the house and you're supposed to wait until he gets from the ho..."

"He's working, isn't he? That's what was so much more important? It's always about his damn hotels. Eleven years and nothing has changed."

"He does work a lot, but please, let me drive you. He was looking forward to meeting you." Omar took my suitcase and I let him, following him outside to the parking lot. Even though it was late afternoon, the power of the sun was brilliant and all-consuming.

We stopped in front of a sleek yellow Chevy Camaro. "This is our ride," he said with a little too much pride in his voice.

I rolled my eyes. "If he did this to impress me, it's not working."

"Not even a little bit? I mean, look at this car!"

"It's a no."

I just never thought my mother would have chosen a flashy multi-millionaire to be my husband. My father drove a Toyota pick-up and lived in a normal house even when he had enough money for a grandeur lifestyle, therefore I wasn't used to the flashiness of it all.

Omar opened the doors and then stored my suitcase in the trunk space. Oreo and his carrier got a seat in the back next to a bouquet of yellow tulips.

"These are for you," Omar said reaching for them. "From Willem."

I held the flowers in my hand limply. They were beautiful but coming from my husband after he hadn't shown up made me want to fling them right out the window.

St. Maarten was beautiful. Hotels, restaurants, and other touristic attractions littered the whole stretch from the airport, but I wasn't in the mood to play tourist. I desperately wanted to take a shower. The sun had melted whatever little make-up I had on and my blouse was starting to stick on me.

The traffic was horrible and I took the opportunity to call my father and let him know that I arrived safely. After what seemed like an eternity, we entered a fancy district called Pelican Key. Minutes later the car halted in front of a massive black gate and Omar reached out to swipe his magnetic card.

The gate rolled open and the Camaro drove up a curvy lane bordered by trees and stopped in front of a two-story villa with a charming porch at the entrance. A small path to the side led to what looked like an infinity pool with the ocean as its backdrop.

"This is where Willem lives?" I choked and asked no one in particular. "He's not modest at all, is he?"

"It's his childhood home. He bought it from his parents."

"How many maids does he have?"

"Just two and a chef."

I was about to make a snarky comment when the glass door slid open behind me and an older dark skinned lady with graying hair braided in a side ponytail came out on the porch to greet us. She wore a long dark blue skirt and a white blouse with blue embellishing around the collar.

Omar carried my suitcase up the steps and I followed, feeling nervous all of a sudden. I'd never met Willem's mother, so I had no idea what she looked like. I just knew that she was black and his father was white.

"Hi, Omar." The lady smiled. "Good to see you. You can take the suitcase up to the bedroom next to Willem's."

She turned to me. "You look like a younger and way prettier version of myself. Your hair, those streaks, they look incredible. Very natural. Welcome! Come in, come in." She took my hand and ushered me inside the villa. "Willem hasn't brought anyone around here in a long time. It's so good to have you here."

"Thank you for having me," I said, my eyes bouncing all over the elegant entryway.

"I'm Filo. The housekeeper. If you have any questions about anything, you can come to me." The entry led to a spacious sitting room resembling that of a five-star hotel. "So, are you his new business partner?" Filo asked.

"Oh no. Nothing like that. I'm just visiting for a short while." I didn't feel like it was my place to tell her that I was married to her boss.

"Friends with benefits then?"

My cheeks heated up and I was forced to look away. "Not exactly."

"It's alright, dear. I'm trying to keep up with this generation. Nothing shocks me. Are you an escort?"

I smiled. "I am not."

"I figured. You're not dressed like one."

I looked down at my plain jeans and platform shoes. "How do escorts dress?"

"Like classy hookers. Would you like something to drink before I take you up to your room?"

I had a glass of water and then Filo took me upstairs to a bright bedroom painted in soft orange and yellows. The whole thing resembled a spring garden and it was the prettiest bedroom I'd ever set foot in.

"I'm sorry to announce that Willem won't be having dinner with you tonight, but our chef, Francois, prepared something very nice for you. He's french and his food is amazing. He's expecting you around seven o'clock."

I wasn't exactly hungry, but I didn't want to be rude. I agreed to dinner and Filo left me alone in my new room. Walking to the bay window with three panels of windows spanning the back wall of the room, I sat down at the curvy cream-colored bench and looked outside.

The view was magnificent. The beach was within walking distance and in the far distance a bridge lit up the skyline. The orange and red hues of the sun painted fire across the heavens, making everything look like a fairytale.

Dinner was in twenty minutes, so not enough time for me to take a shower. I let Oreo out of his cage and he immediately went exploring, sniffing and creeping around.

I entered the bathroom and the first thing I noticed was the large bathtub. Perfect.

I wiped off my smudged mascara and eyeliner and didn't bother to reapply. My brown eyes were slightly tipped upwards at the ends and staring at them now, I looked a little tired.

My long black and gray hair was held up in a giant afro puff and I used my fingers to reshape it before heading downstairs. My hair had started turning gray the year after my mother passed away and it had gotten worse throughout medical school. To the right side, I had a large patch of silver that ran upward from my temple, but I never once wanted to dye it all black.

Francois, the chef, was tall and blond, and his accent was to die for. He introduced himself with a broad smile and went through his three-course menu with me, asking if I had any allergies or questions about the ingredients. I told him to skip the entry and head straight to the main course, which happened to be the best Coq Au Vin my palate had ever tasted.

I ate as much as I could, which looked like nothing at the end because the portions were huge. Francois seemed disappointed, but he kept it professional, making small talk as he refilled my glass of wine and cleared away my dish.

Dessert was Creme Brulee and I had to close my eyes and moan with every spoon.

Holy shit, that man knew how to throw it down in the kitchen.

I finished off my second glass of wine and then headed back upstairs to take a bath. I got excited when I noticed that I could digitally control the water temperature and connect my phone to the built-in speakers via Bluetooth. They had bath salts and everything sitting in pretty baskets just for me.

The luxury.

I never stripped so fast in my life. I practically dived in the bathtub, moaning when the hot water touched my naked skin.

My nipples puckered into hard peaks and my breasts floated in the water as I put my head back against the rim. Why was this such a turn on?

Must be the alcohol.

I rarely drank, but when I did, my nerve endings had a way of coming alive and my body was suddenly a sensual playground to be toyed with.

I closed my eyes and imagined rough hands on my breasts and in between my legs, strumming along my clit. No face necessary, just his manly hands, which so happened to be my hands. I touched my neck and then my breast and sighed. I always felt like a loser whenever I masturbated, but I really needed the release.

With my middle finger running circles around my clit, I let Bazzi's voice seduce me until I came. My orgasm ripped through me like a blizzard, blinding me for a second and causing my body to thrash around like a fish out of water.

My goodness, if the solo act was this amazing, what in the world did it feel like to have a sexy man stroking away between my legs, his massive cock hitting my g-spot until I released all my frustrations on his dick?

Damn. For a virgin, I had a vivid sexual imagination.

The loud moan that escaped my mouth next was high pitched and drawn out. I sounded like I was in pain one second and in paradise the next. I could barely catch my breath afterward.

On the other side of the door, something fell and crashed to the floor. I sat up straight, hands flying out to hold the tub on both sides. It took a moment for the fog of my orgasm to dissipate and for me to think clearly again.

"Stupid cat," I muttered, standing up to grab a towel. "What did you do now?"

I flung the bathroom door open before fully wrapping the towel around me, hoping Oreo hadn't done any damage to himself. To my surprise, the culprit standing in front of a broken vase of flowers was a tall man with curly hair and striking grey eyes.

There were no signs of Oreo. Just this piece of steak of a man standing in front of me with casual sensuality.

Well, well, well, my husband was hotter than I remembered. He wore a dark grey suit, no tie, and the first set of buttons on his white shirt were undone and I got a peek at his solid pecs.

Smoldering hot was an understatement.

He couldn't look away and I neither could I. His silver-colored eyes swept down my body, absorbing me, assessing me to my very being. My skin tingled and I tightened the towel around my body, hiding my nakedness from his hot gaze. I was turned on all over again and it was the weirdest thing. What was he doing to me with those eyes?

"I didn't mean to intrude," he said and his voice flowed over me with a delicate Dutch accent. "I'm Willem."

He strode over and planted three kisses on my surprised cheeks as was customary in some Dutch cultures. His lips were soft like clouds but yet firm, and he smelled like citrus, wood, and dark spices. I swooned and immediately put some distance between us.

An image of him kissing my forehead at the hospital so long ago came to mind. The brotherly affection from back then had evolved into something more profound with an underlying layer of carnal sensuality and I wanted no part of it. This was way too damn intense.

"I know who you are. You're home late," I said. My tone was indifferent and the sarcasm dripping from it was as smooth as honey.

"Yes, I am." His eyes narrowed slightly.

"And you weren't at the airport to pick me up."

"I apologize. I know I said I would be."

I waited for an explanation, but it never came. I chewed on my lip as I continued to study his way too calm demeanor.

"Is everything to your liking? Besides the flowers, I mean." He pointed at the yellow tulips lying forlornly on the floor. "I thought maybe if I put them in a vase you might tolerate them. They were going to die in the backseat of the car otherwise."

I said nothing. If he thought I was going to apologize for ditching those flowers, he was highly mistaken.

"Francois said you didn't eat much at dinner," he continued, somewhat hesitant.

"I wasn't hungry. I had a burger at the airport, but the food was delicious."

"I didn't take you for a burger kind of girl."

"I love my burger and I love my pizza." Were we seriously having small talk right now? There was a broken vase on the floor that needed cleaning and I was wearing a towel that didn't hit mid-thigh.

"I'm more—"

"I almost went back home today," I blurted.

He frowned. "Why?"

"I'd rather not have this conversation while I'm in a towel, but do you have any idea how much of a shitty husband you are?"

He took a step forward and then another, his unruffled exterior crumbling for a second. "I know, Amelia, believe me. I know."