Brienne rubbed the thick white lotion into the pale skin of her thigh. She checked herself carefully for more smudges, twisting to double-check her back and bum before she was satisfied that she'd found them all and wouldn't go about looking like she'd used an entire tube of the stuff.

Why is sunblock always coconut scented? I'm going to smell just like a Pina Colada. It couldn't be helped; the less boozy-smelling brand only went up to SPF 45, and painful experience had shown her that wasn't quite strong enough.

"Eat the lobster, don't be the lobster." She recalled her Septa chiding her when she'd, once again, returned from her morning ride with a face so red it appeared she had a permanent blush. This was close enough to how it looked normally, until it began to peel. Then she'd be scolded for picking at the flakes of skin, forced in front of a mirror, and made to stare at the splotchy mess of her face, inevitably followed by a lecture on proper skin care and the Importance of Looking Your Best.

Examining herself in the full-length mirror, Brienne quickly assessed her face. She'd chosen to forgo make-up on this first foray out of her suite. It was her way of declaring that she really hadn't come here to meet men and, incidentally, drastically reduced her chances of having to interact with any if she did.

She looked critically at the reflection of her body, clad in the expensive but tiny bikini she'd bought for this trip. Her first bikini ever, though taking a vacation alone wasn't a first. She'd just never taken one around people before. Brienne tried to see herself as a stranger might: broad shoulders, small breasts and the strong swell of her hips that still didn't convey much of a waist. With a sigh, she rued the expanse of torso bracketed by too-little blue fabric before studying the V's her bikini defined and drew attention to. Brienne was surprised to find they rendered her figure tolerable, if not exactly pleasing.

Wrapping a sarong around her hips and slinging a small satchel over her shoulder, she combed her fingers up through her fine hair in a futile attempt to make it look fuller.

She was ready. Well, ready enough.

Pulling the sliding glass door open, she stepped onto her room's small patio. Squinting against the dazzle of sun on water, Brienne inhaled deeply, letting her lungs fill with the breeze off the ocean; salt and mist, warmer though not sweeter than the air of Tarth, where she'd grown up.

She walked down the patio's three wooden steps to the beach. Fine, pale grains flowed over her sandals and between her toes, so soft it could hardly be called sand. Brienne smiled and wriggled her toes briefly before moving toward the water. Soon the heels of her sandals were smacking up against her feet with each step and any hope of making a graceful, quiet entrance were dashed as she sent up sprays of sand - definitelysand - in her wake.

Walking closer to the shore, Brienne saw vacationers all up and down the beach, lounging on colorful seats, shaded by umbrellas and fortified by frosty drinks, paperback novels and, for some, trays of tropical fruit or shrimp cocktails. They all had one thing in common; all were paired. There appeared to be no other singletons at all.

Unsure whether she was relieved or disappointed, Brienne looked around for a place to sit. She was just realizing there might not be any lone lounge chairs, when she noticed an attendant trotting toward her through the sand, somehow managing not to sink to his ankles with every footfall.

"Hola, Lady L! You are ready to relax?" The man stood beaming, his teeth very bright against his deeply tanned skin. "Come, your place is ready. Follow me!" He turned and walked toward a row of chairs and Brienne followed, appreciating the muscles in his bare back, the snugness of his white shorts. "You are enjoying yourself, Lady L? You've just arrived?"

Lady L? Why was he calling her that? Did her room number have an 'L' in it? Maybe for Lanai or Lower Level or perhaps just the L wing of the building. She didn't recall. "Yes, I've just gotten here. My flight was a little late."

"You come Dragon Airways? They always fly 'Island Time,'" he chuckled, coming to a stop before an empty lounge chair with a colorful towel draped on it.

One problem: The chair next to it was occupied.

"I…isn't there another chair? By itself?"

The man in the other chair gazed up at her, but she couldn't read his expression behind the sunglasses.

"Oh, oh oh oh Lady L," the attendant said playfully, "A lover's quarrel, so soon?" Brienne looked down sharply at the resort employee, wondering if his jest was meant to humiliate her, the man in the chair, or both of them. "Come, Lord L, apologize to your lady so that she can relax in the shade with you and enjoy a refreshing beverage."

The man hesitated only a second. "I'm sorry, sweetling," he sat up, patting the empty lounge chair. "Do sit down. I've been wondering when you'd finally arrive." He grinned, and sunglasses or no, Brienne could see that he was alarmingly handsome. Reaching up, he took her hand, "Please?"

If this was some game or social experiment put on by the resort, Brienne certainly hadn't noticed it in their online brochure. Gods, this better not be like those cruises where they stick people together at the same table night after night, expecting them to strike up a friendship.

"Everything good? Yes? A drink for Lady L?"

"She'll have a Sloe Comfortable Screw." The man said, "Thank you, Rycky."

"I'll have a what – what in the —" Brienne sputtered as the beach boy made his hasty departure.

"They do so hate to get in the middle of married couples fighting. I'm Jaime, by the way." He released her hand, "He's right. You really ought to sit in the shade. With your fair skin you'll crisp up like a Targaryen tribute."

"I used sunblock." Brienne sat down on the edge of the chair warily. "They've made some mistake, uh, Jaime. Now that you've kindly ordered me what I assume is a drink, I need to –"

"It's a clever name, you know. Slow. Comfortable. Screw. Sloe gin, Southern Comfort, and the screw comes in when you add the orange juice and vodka."

"Do you normally order strange women's drinks for them?"

"Are you really that strange? You don't seem all that strange. But no, I ordered for you because, A: you seemed confused, and B: you're my wife." Jaime grinned and picked up his drink, saluting her with it before slurping the last of it up through the straw. "That's where the damn umbrella went!" Brienne looked up at the colorful sunshade, wondering if it had been missing earlier.

When she looked back at Jaime, he was peering into the empty Hurricane glass, fishing a dripping pink paper parasol out of it. Holding the toothpick handle between his fingers, he twirled it. The tiny wood supports drooped and droplets of orange-coloured drink spun off.

"Are you drunk?" She pulled her legs onto the lounge, telling herself it was just to get them out of the direct sun until she found somewhere else to sit.

"Of course I am. Do you have any idea how much Sex on the Beach I've had?" The earnest look on his face made her want to laugh.

"You must have a lot of sand in places that…uh –" She gave him a puzzled smile.

"You mean like up my crack? I would, had I the opportunity. This kind of sex on the beach isn't nearly as much fun." He set the glass on the table between them and relaxed against the backrest of his chair, wriggling to get comfortable.

Brienne stared openly at him, mesmerized by his curiously perfect stomach, low slung shorts, and the line of hair leading down… She closed her eyes, hoping he hadn't caught her looking. Save the Seven, not here for an hour and I'm already ogling some dude on the beach? "So what's this about being your wife? Some odd party game I didn't know about?"

"Listen…uh, I'm sorry, what was your name again?"

"Brienne."

"Brienne. Lady L. Apparently they think I have a wife, and that I've been waiting for her. They're driving me mad, always asking after her, trying to find out how to keep her happy when she gets here. I've been making shit up for days, because they can't seem to get that I came here alone."

"And I, conveniently, fit the bill because I'm also, uh, here alone." Brienne shook her head, "That's going a bit far, don't you think? I'm sure if I tell them that I'm not Mrs. L…"

"Lannister." Jaime supplied, drawing the sound of the L out.

"That I'm not Lady Lannister; they'll find me somewhere else to enjoy my Slow Sex on the Ocean."

"Sloe Comfortable Screw. You know, Brienne, you could save us both a lot of hassle if you just play along. I don't think they know what the hell to do with people like us."

"Like us?"

"Pathetic singles."

"Speak for yourself."

"Oh? Are you married?"

"No."

"Involved with someone?"

"No, but –"

Jaime sat up to look at her. He pushed his sunglasses up, and they pulled some of the golden hair away from his face. He really was appallingly good looking. "I won't yak your ears off, I won't ask personal questions, and I'm a perfect gentleman."

"It's ridiculous, Jaime. Just tell them the truth."

"That we're divorced? Do you want me to break poor Rycky's heart?"

Brienne sighed, recognizing that little, inescapable spark of mental attraction he'd just ignited with his wit. The absurdity of their situation had fooled her into being unselfconscious since meeting him, but now she blushed to realize she was lying down, mirroring him on 'her' lounge chair, wearing a skimpy bikini, and smelling of Pina Colada, which was not a sexy name for a drink.

"Oh, oh no! You're divorcing?" Rycky had arrived with their drinks and the look of sorrow on his face wrenched at Brienne's heart. "No, it's all just a misunderstanding! We're not divorcing, we were never –"

"We were never even all that angry at each other," Jaime finished, winking at her. Play along he mouthed. "Oh good, your Slow Sex is here, honey."

Rycky set her drink on a stone coaster, balancing the silver tray with Jaime's drink until he could swing it around with a flourish and place his down as well. "May I bring you anything else?"

"Nothing for me. Sweetling?" Jaime picked up his drink and took a sip. The whoosh of small waves on the beach was the only sound for a long moment. Laying his hand on Brienne's knee, Jaime looked at her pointedly. "Anything for you, Sweetling?"

"Oh. You're waiting for me. I'm sorry. No, I'm fine…Sweetling."

"She's good, Rycky. Thank you."

Dismissed, Rycky happily trotted up the beach, stopping by an elderly couple who embraced him like their adopted child, then sent him jogging back with their drink order.

"Do you always answer for women?" Brienne asked.

"I only confirmed what you said."

"Unnecessarily. I answered for myself."

"Our first fight!" Jaime held out his glass, "Shall we toast it?"

"How is this a fight?" Brienne reflexively clinked her glass against his.

"You've taken umbrage that I reassured the lad you were fine. In fact, I believe you called me an "over-reaching, sexist, um…"

"Twit." Brienne supplied.

"Right. Twit."

"What if I'd done that to you? Repeated every decision you made as though it weren't to be taken seriously until I gave my word?"

"You are absolutely right, Mrs. L," Jaime clinked his glass against hers again, sloshing his drink onto their hands. "I apologize. See? You're already making me a better man. 'Behind every great man,'" he intoned.

"Is an enormous ego to keep him going."

"Ouch. How can a woman with such gorgeous eyes make such a mean wife?"

"They're just eyes," Brienne was regretting her decision to come out to the beach sans make-up. "Everyone has them."

"Well, there you're wrong." Jaime said, waiting expectantly for her to ask why. When she didn't, he went on, "If you say everyone has eyes, then you leave some unfortunates out who have lost their eyes, or never had them to begin with. Like cave fish and the star-nosed mole. So, no, not everyone has them."

"How many drinks did you say you've had?"

"Did I say? I guess you have to ask Rycky, because now I'm curious, too."

Brienne laughed, rather hoping he would stay drunk. He was easy to be comfortable with, and probably wouldn't remember her later, saving on embarrassment for both of them. She took a sip of her drink and was surprised to find her straw already making slurping sounds in the near-empty glass. She looked up, startled, to find Jaime studying her.

He raised an eyebrow, a little smirk showing his amusement. "I can see I won't have to worry about you keeping pace."

"I really didn't mean to drink it so fast. Maybe they should call it a Fast Screw." Brienne thought she could feel the alcohol moving through her bloodstream, heading straight for her inhibition center to dismantle it.

"Fast Screw, also known as a Quickie." Jaime took the glass from her unresisting hand and set it on the table between them. "I suppose if you left the Southern Comfort out, that's what you'd have. Personally, I prefer it slow and comfortable."

"I hope you're referring to the drink, because I hardly know you." Good, she wasn't slurring yet.

"Leaving out the fact that I am your husband, and that implies a certain knowledge, I believe I was referring to both. It's called a 'double entendre.'"

"Yes, I got that. You're not my husband."

"I'm crushed. Did our vows mean nothing to you?" He gave her a hang-dog look and held it until she smiled. "There's my girl. Now what shall we do today, now that you're here? I mean, besides getting completely sloshed so we'll have to help each other to bed."

Bed? "You're rather presumptuous, you know that?"

"So I recall you telling me on our first date. And I told you I presumed you needed a little push now and then, or nothing would ever move forward. Worked out rather well, in the end."

"Jaime, Mr. Lannister… You're quite clever, obviously, but this whole marriage thing isn't quite what I expected when I came here."

"Don't tell me you're planning to stray during our vacation? I know we booked separate rooms and all, but I never thought it was so you could…" Jaime flopped back on the lounge and laid the back of his hand dramatically across his forehead.

"You're a very odd little man."

"Little?!"

"Okay, I withdraw the little part."

I mean, I realize your legs go on forever, but I'm no slouch in that – or any similar, size-related – department."

If he's trying to come on to me, this is the weirdest seduction technique ever.

"How tall are you, anyway?" He put his feet in the sand, then stood unsteadily.

Damn, he's hot. Brienne gaped up at him, wondering if his plan was to topple drunkenly into her lap. Instead, he leaned down, seized her hand, and pulled her up next to him. She swayed in the sand, far tipsier than expected, and he held her upper arms to steady her. To Brienne's great horror, she giggled.

"Are you okay? You never could hold your liquor. It's one of the things I've always loved about you." He guided her a few paces from their chairs and let go of her arms.

For a second she stood unsteadily, fearing that if she took a step she'd fall into his arms. Instead, he fell into hers.