Danica Williams

Hot Vacation

Chapter 1

The heat caressed his face as August Lang stepped out of his hotel room to the white sand. Waves crashed over the shore thirty feet away and a child was laughing further down the beach. There was no rush to do anything. It was a feeling he was slowly falling in love with.

He headed in the general direction of the little cantina he’d found the day before that served the best tacos and coldest beer in three miles. Ratty leather sandals, cargo shorts, and t-shirts were the only attire he’d allowed himself on this trip. It felt damn good not to be wearing a suit and tie.

It was clear, blue, and for once he didn’t have a fucking headache. He’d left his headache behind in Boston; otherwise known as his ex-wife Madeline. With a grimace, he pushed her from his mind. Violently. There was no room for her here, his first vacation in over a decade. His only vacation since he’d married her after college that wasn’t a miserable excuse for her to shop.

He was doing it again. He had to admit, at least to himself, that he wasn’t getting past the anger. Ten years of his life, nine as the lawful husband of a woman so self-absorbed, there were times she didn’t acknowledge other people in the same room with her. Like him. In their home. So much time wasted and he couldn’t figure out why.

Why had he signed his life over to her? He’d disconnected from everything he once knew about himself. Why had he allowed her the freedom to dictate whether or not they would be having children? They hadn’t. Whether they would spend Christmas with his parents, as their only son, or skiing in Switzerland? He’d spent upwards of fifteen grand on that little getaway and it had broken his mother’s heart.

And when he’d walked in on her having sex with her ex-boyfriend from college, why had he allowed her to be offended that he had invaded her privacy? He’d walked away, called his attorney, and packed a bag.

An hour later, she’d come from her bedroom on the other side of the house (another idea of hers that should have freaked him the fuck out) and calmly reminded him about a charity event they had to attend that evening.

Just as calmly, he’d told her to go fuck herself.

Six months followed of haggling over every dime, every stick of furniture, every knick-knack. His shark of an attorney hadn’t let her have anything easily. August had remained faithful. Madeline had not. It wasn’t even that he cared about any of it. It was baggage. Mostly shit she’d bought for far more than it was worth to show her friends how much money they (he) had.

He just didn’t want that bitch to get it. Had she been awarded the house, he feared he might have burned it down.