after a couple of months, gigi had the routine here down. she’d check for a do-not-disturb, knock, wait to see if someone answered, and if there wasn’t any response she was free to come in. most of the time it was fine, but occasionally someone wouldn’t hear her knock, and that could lead to some awkward encounters. gigi liked to think of it as a job perk - it kept things interesting when otherwise they’d be repetitive as hell. today, though? gigi didn’t know it yet, but this was going to be a disaster. ‘ no worries, ‘ gigi said to the quiet voice, her own as bright as the sunshine outside. maybe he just wasn’t a morning person - she could hardly judge anyone for that. ‘ if you want clean sheets, you’ll have to move, though, ‘ gigi pointed out, still barely noticing the person in the bed as she peeked into the bathroom to check its state. a glimpse of bare skin made her turn her head in curiousity, and when she looked properly at the other, gigi gasped out loud. she knew the person lying nearly-naked in that bed - because she’d nearly fucking married him. all gigi could do was blink in shock, frozen, as she tried to comprehend what he was seeing. wyatt was in the bed. wyatt was here, on this island. he was here, and - oh god, she was in a maid’s uniform of all things. panic was setting in, and gigi had no idea what to do. all her instincts were saying to run. ‘ i’ll come back later, ‘ she said in a hurried rush, turning and exiting the bedroom, in hopes that maybe, somehow, he hadn’t realised who she was and she could still escape.
This couldn’t be happening. No twist of fate could be cruel enough to put Wyatt at the one resort where his ex-fiancee was working ... as a maid and in a costume that was made for polishing wood of a different kind. Nope. This was some fever dream and he was going to wake up in a few seconds bolt upright in bed, sweating and gasping for air. But the voice cut through all his illusions. It didn’t sound like that even in his dreams, didn’t cut him to the heart at a syllable so painfully that he winced while staring at the apparition of Georgia. All the pain and panic when he came home to find her gone came rushing back the instant she turned and started for the door. He wasn’t thinking or acting deliberately, it was pure impulse that rocketed him out of bed and running after her as fast as his bare legs could carry him; bare everything if he’d had the presence of mind to think about that but the only thing that could capture his mind was the woman doing her best to leave. Again.
And he was going too fast to stop short of barreling into her, taking both of them hurtling forward to crash against the door though Wyatt wrapped his arms around her enough to shield Gigi from the impact. Not from the press of his naked body against hers, though. Or the heat of his breath against her skin. Or the look of exquisite agony in his blue eyes. “Tell me it’s not you,” he pleaded with her, voice still hoarse from lack of sleep. “Tell me this isn’t real and that I’m going to find myself back home with my face buried in the pillow that still smells like you. You can’t be here, Georgia. And if you are, you won’t come back later. You never did.”
