---
The Gulfstream cut through the sky with a low, continuous hum-an expensive, carefully engineered sound meant to soothe. For Esther Luna Princeton, it did the opposite. The vibration pressed against her temples, a reminder that she was suspended somewhere between where she had been and where she was expected to be next.
She shifted slightly in the cream-colored leather seat, smoothing a nonexistent crease from her trousers. Outside the window, the Pacific Ocean stretched endlessly, a vast sheet of blue that had dominated the last several hours. Only now did it begin to change-small emerald shapes breaking through the monotony, islands scattered like secrets whispered across the water.
Across the narrow aisle sat her husband.
Astor was absorbed in the pale glow of his tablet, shoulders straight, posture immaculate. The screen reflected faintly in his eyes, giving them a sharp, distant quality. He had not spoken since the refueling stop in Hawaii, aside from a polite refusal when champagne had been offered.
Esther watched him silently.
Even after the long flight, he looked composed. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a hint of sun-kissed skin beneath, but there was nothing relaxed about him. The private jet-its plush seating, attentive crew, and hushed luxury-was not an indulgence to him. It was merely a moving office.
He's my husband, she reminded herself, the word unfamiliar, heavy. And we're on our honeymoon.
The thought felt almost surreal.
The wedding already seemed distant-like a carefully staged performance that had ended the moment the curtains closed. Yesterday had been filled with cameras and applause, with expectations dressed as celebration. Today was quieter. More honest. And far more uncomfortable.
The pilot's voice crackled softly over the intercom.
"We are beginning our descent into Bora Bora. Current temperature is eighty-two degrees with light winds. Welcome to paradise, Mr. and Mrs. Princeton."
Mrs. Princeton.
Esther flinched before she could stop herself.
Astor finally stirred. He locked his tablet and slid it into his leather briefcase with a decisive click, then adjusted his cuffs as though preparing for a meeting rather than a honeymoon. When he looked up, his gaze met hers briefly.
For a fleeting moment, Esther hoped-absurdly-that he might smile. That he might reach across the aisle, take her hand, and acknowledge the miracle unfurling beneath them.
"Did you manage to sleep?" he asked instead.
His tone was polite. Neutral. The voice one used with acquaintances rather than spouses.
"A little," she replied, though sleep had been elusive. Her mind had spent the hours replaying the wedding, dissecting glances and pauses, trying to understand the man she had married. "The seats are comfortable."
"Good." He turned back toward the window. "The transfer to the resort will take about forty-five minutes by boat. I've arranged expedited customs."
"Efficiency," she murmured, barely reminding herself not to say more.
He either didn't hear her or chose not to.
As the plane banked, Bora Bora revealed itself fully-an island rising dramatically from a lagoon so impossibly blue it looked unreal. Mount Otemanu pierced the sky, its slopes draped in deep green, surrounded by coral motus that formed a luminous ring around the island.
It was breathtaking.
Paradise, Esther thought, her chest tightening unexpectedly. The perfect place for a honeymoon.
And yet she felt tears sting her eyes-not from joy, but from the quiet grief of knowing she had brought the wrong reality with her.
She glanced at Astor. He was watching the island, brow furrowed-not in wonder, but in calculation, as though assessing logistics rather than beauty.
Maybe once we land, she told herself, clinging to fragile hope. Maybe he'll relax. Maybe this place will soften him. Maybe we'll talk.
Astor, however, was already drafting emails in his head-notes for his COO, reminders about timelines and deliverables. The wedding obligations were complete. Now came the inconvenient part: a week of forced leisure.
I just need to endure this, he reasoned. And hope she doesn't expect too much.
---
The transfer boat skimmed across the lagoon, its mahogany trim gleaming in the sun. The air was thick with salt and warmth, scented faintly with vanilla and tropical foliage. The water was so clear Esther could see the shadows of the boat sliding across the sandy bottom far below.
At the dock, resort staff greeted them with effortless charm. A ukulele played softly. Cool towels scented with lemongrass were pressed into their hands. Flower leis were placed around their necks.
"Ia Orana! Welcome to the St. Regis," the concierge said warmly. "Mr. and Mrs. Princeton, congratulations on your marriage. We have prepared the Royal Overwater Villa for you."
Astor nodded, offering a brief, practiced smile. "Thank you. We'd appreciate a swift check-in."
They were driven along wooden boardwalks suspended above the lagoon, water shimmering beneath their feet in shades of turquoise and teal. When they reached the end of the longest pontoon, the cart stopped before a grand thatched-roof villa.
Inside, the space unfolded like a dream. The living area opened seamlessly onto a deck overlooking the ocean, but what stole Esther's breath was the glass panel set into the floor. Beneath it, the lagoon glowed, fish darting through illuminated water, casting rippling patterns across the ceiling.
"It's... stunning," she whispered, stepping closer to the glass.
"We'll leave you to settle in," the concierge said gently. "Dinner is reserved at the Lagoon Restaurant at seven."
The door closed softly behind her.
Silence returned-heavier now, without engines or staff to soften it.
The villa was expansive. To one side lay the master suite, its four-poster bed draped in sheer fabric. To the other, a lounge area with a daybed that looked deliberately versatile.
Astor loosened his tie, surveying the space with critical approval. His gaze paused briefly on the blinking Wi-Fi router.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Esther asked, stepping onto the deck where an infinity pool blended seamlessly into the ocean.
"It's adequate," he replied. "Very private. That's good."
He turned toward the luggage, then hesitated-looking between the two rooms.
Esther felt her pulse quicken. This was the moment she hadn't known she'd been dreading.
"Astor?" she said quietly.
He cleared his throat. "I need to catch up on some work. The merger's entering a critical phase, and the wedding set me back."
Her stomach dropped. "Work? We just arrived. This is our honeymoon."
"I'm aware," he said calmly. "But business doesn't pause because of geography." He gestured toward the lounge. "I'll use that space. I'll sleep there as well."
The words hit harder than she expected.
"You're... sleeping in the other room?"
"I'll be on calls with New York and London," he explained, avoiding her eyes. "I don't want to disturb you."
The humiliation burned. "We're married, Astor. People usually share a bed."
He looked at her then-really looked-and his expression softened slightly. "Eventually. But this marriage wasn't born of romance. Forcing intimacy now would only make things uncomfortable."
The logic was cold, reasonable-and devastating.
"Fine," she said, turning away before he could see her composure fracture.
"I'm trying to be practical," he added quietly.
"Yes," she said hollowly. "You're very good at that."
He disappeared into the lounge, the sound of his keyboard soon filling the villa.
Esther stood alone. Beneath her feet, a small shark glided past the glass panel.
She felt exactly the same-separated from everything she could see, unable to touch it.
"I won't let him ruin this," she told herself.
She grabbed her bag and left.
---
The afternoon passed in divided silence. Astor worked relentlessly, convincing himself he was doing the right thing. Esther explored alone-boardwalks, beaches, town. She watched couples laugh, touch, share moments meant to be hers.
The sunset was spectacular. Violet and fire-orange streaked the sky, reflected perfectly in the water. Seeing it alone hurt more than she expected.
Dinner that night was painfully romantic.
Astor stood when she arrived, offering a polite compliment. Esther had dressed deliberately-a silk slip dress the color of sunset, her hair swept back.
Conversation limped along. When she spoke of art, he spoke of logistics. When she spoke of beauty, he spoke of scalability.
For one brief moment, he almost reached across the table-almost asked her more.
But habit won.
The silence returned.
They walked back beneath a sky scattered with stars.
"Goodnight, Esther," he said at the lounge door.
"Goodnight, Astor."
She lay in the master bed, sweeping rose petals from the duvet in frustration. In the next room, she could hear him on a call-business as usual.
Astor ended the call much later, staring at the strip of light beneath her door.
Cold was safe, he told himself.
But for the first time, surrounded by paradise, it felt unbearably heavy.