by Jo Watson
“Connie always wanted to go out to dinner with friends to these fancy, busy restaurant or trendy bars.”
“Sounds hectic,” I added quickly.
“Very.” We walked into the first room. “I prefer a dusty, old, quiet museum any day of the week. I’ve found one or two in London that aren’t overrun with tourists, and sometimes after a long day of surgery, I like to go there to unwind.”
“Have you ever lost a patient?” I suddenly found myself asking.
Alex paused. He looked straight ahead, not focusing on anything in particular. “A few times,” he said slowly. “It’s usually cancer, and by the time they get to me, it’s too late anyway. It’s very hard when that . . .” His voice was soft. It tailed off and he didn’t finish the sentence.
“God, I don’t know how you do it,” I said. A thick lump crawled into the back of my throat. “You’re remarkable.” Alex turned and smiled at me.
“Thank you for saying that,” he said. There was genuine appreciation in his voice, as if he didn’t hear that very often. “And what about you? Revolutionizing the sex lives of couples the world over. Helping millions lose centimeters around their waists . . . Did you know that fat around the stomach is particularly damaging to organs and is the most dangerous kind?”
“Oh, please. I haven’t written anything truly worthwhile, anything that could make a genuine difference to people’s lives, in . . .” I paused and thought about it. “Ever. Maybe I just don’t have anything important to say.”
Alex looked at me curiously for a moment or two and then a slow smile spread across his face. “I think you have very important things to say and I have a feeling you’ll be writing something like that very soon.” He walked down the hall and into the first room.
The room looked like the kind you retired to after dinner to drink cognac and smoke cigars. The décor was very French; gold trimmings, low-hanging elaborate chandeliers, old patterned chaise longues and wooden floors that creaked when you walked on them.
There was no one else here and the only sounds I could hear were those of our feet as we walked from room to room.
I looked out the window at the sprawling gardens outside. A massive tree that had almost been taken over by bright orange bougainvillea stood in the center of the garden. I’d never seen orange bougainvillea before. It was so striking, especially against the cool of the green.
“Shall we go outside?” Alex asked, leaning over my shoulder. He was so close that I could feel his breath on the back of my neck and the warmth radiating from his body. There was something so comforting about his presence. He was always calm, his voice soft and soothing and his demeanor always set me at ease. I felt like I could breathe around him. He was like a human tranquilizer, only non-addictive and probably better for your liver and kidneys.
“Yes.” I nodded and smiled at him, imagining him as a giant white walking pill.
“What?” he asked curiously.
“Has anyone ever told you how calming you are?” We began making our way outside.
“Maybe.” His smile was gone now and he sounded sad even.
“Sorry, did I say something—”
“No,” he cut me off. “Connie used to say that too, but not in the most positive way. She called me boring when we broke up.”
“Bitch!” I exclaimed loudly.
Alex looked at me and shrugged. “Maybe she was right. Maybe I’ve got a bit old and boring over the years?” We were outside now and found ourselves standing at the top of an old concrete staircase that crept down to the lawn below.
“Oh, please. You set fires on beaches and run away from the police.” I nudged him with my elbow. “Connie doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”
“Honestly, I’ve never done anything like that before until I met you,” he said.
“I must be a bad influence,” I chuckled.
“Or a good one.” He was smiling again, and then gave me a tiny, playful wink with those big gray eyes. “I think you might be the exact prescription that I need in my life right now, Val.”
I laughed. “Are you comparing me to drugs?”
“I suppose I am.” We walked down the staircase like the lord and lady of the manor.
“I’m not sure whether that’s a compliment,” I said.
Alex stopped walking and turned to face me. “It was meant as one,” he said seriously.
“Well, thanks,” I replied. “I think you might be exactly what I need right now too.”
He smiled. “Then it’s a good thing we found each other, isn’t it?”
“My friend Stormy would call it fate,” I commented as we started walking again.
“I don’t believe in fate,” he said.
“What do you believe in then?” I asked as we meandered through the thick, overgrown garden.
“Science,” he said picking a leaf from a tree.
“How boring of you,” I teased as we found ourselves walking on a long, wide path. The top of a church steeple was just visible from behind a large tree and we headed in the direction of what soon turned out to be a stone chapel. It looked so unassuming from the outside. So small. Nothing over the top or fancy. But the inside told a totally different story.
It was huge. The outside was deceptive, completely concealing its grand interior. The floor was covered in shiny black and white tiles and a huge vaulted ceiling rose up above us. It was spectacular.
“I don’t know when last I went to church,” I whispered after our moment of silent awe.
“Me neither,” Alex said. He sat down on one of the many pews and I sat next to him.
“What kind of wedding did you want to have?” I suddenly asked.
“Not a church wedding. I’ve always liked the idea of a very small wedding. Close friends and family, maybe in a forest, or a beach somewhere. Nothing fancy. Simple. Maybe even in an old museum.”
“Sounds nice,” I said.
“But I guess that won’t be happening anytime soon for me.” He sounded deflated.
“Me neither,” I admitted. “Every single one of my friends is either married, or about to get married. I’m the last single one and I’m no spring chicken anymore either.”
Alex turned to me and raised a quizzical brow. “How old are you?”
“I’m almost twenty-nine and I’ve wasted three years of my life pining for a man who didn’t even notice me.”
“I’m thirty-seven and I’ve spent seven years in a relationship that went nowhere. And I’d still like to have kids before I’m too old to walk my daughter down the aisle or play football with my son.”
I sighed. “Me too. But I’m beginning to think the right man might not be out there. I might have to take matters into my own hands, fertility-wise.”
“I’ve got an idea.” Alex smiled at me. It was a big, playful smile that lit his eyes up.
“What?” I sat up.
“This is the deal: if you and I are still not married in three years’ time we’ll marry each other and have kids!” he said triumphantly.
I burst out laughing and it echoed through the church.
“Don’t laugh, it makes perfect sense. We get on well, we seem to have a lot in common. You clearly have favorable genes and I’m sure the green ribbon thing will have run its course by then.” He held his hand up.
“Interesting idea,” I said, feeling a little sense of girlish amusement. “But you do know that in order to have babies you need to have sex first.” As I said it, I felt a tiny butterfly rear its head and flap about in the pit of my stomach.
“Sex?” Alex sounded thoughtful. “Yeah, we could do that. I mean . . . sure, why not?” I turned my whole body to face him. Now two butterflies were flapping.
“At least I know how to do it correctly, thanks to you,” he said, a naughty twinkle in his eye. “Slow and steady.”
A warm feeling flitted through me. “But not all the time,” I added, going with the sudden flirty nature of the conversation. I must admit, it was rather thri
lling to be having a flirty conversation with someone that was actually reciprocating. I was always trying to flirt with Matt, clearly unsuccessfully. Not that Alex and I were being serious, of course. But it was still fun.
We locked eyes and looked at each other for a while. “When we do have sex I’ll make sure I’ll pull out my notes.”
“Don’t you get sent straight to hell for talking about sex in church?” I suddenly asked.
At that, we both turned slowly, as if we could sense someone watching us.
“I think you do!” Alex said. We both burst out laughing and ran from the church.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The afternoon passed quickly. After coming back from the museum, we went our separate ways. I had a long, relaxing bath that took up most of the afternoon. I hadn’t felt this calm and relaxed in a long time, dusty museums were clearly the answer. After the bath I got dressed and ready for our dinner cruise. The yacht was leaving at six that evening and by the time I was dressed and ready to go, I was feeling very excited.
I couldn’t figure out if I was more excited to see Alex, or more excited for the cruise. We’d had a good time together that day, and I felt like I’d really gotten to know him. I dragged my make-up bag out from the bottom of my suitcase and splashed a few things on my face. I hadn’t worn make-up since arriving in Réunion, but I figured some red lips seemed appropriate for a yacht. Not to mention trying to cover up that huge hickey I had on my neck. I grabbed some concealer and dabbed it onto the big purple patch and smiled to myself. I don’t think I’d had a hickey since high school. I closed my eyes and tried desperately to remember the kiss, but it was still all fuzzy. I wished it wasn’t.
We met in the reception area of the hotel at five thirty, where a car was coming to pick us up. When I got there Alex was already waiting for me. He was sitting comfortably in a chair, legs crossed and reading not a magazine this time, but rather a newspaper. He looked very smart casual in a pair of knee-length shorts, comfortable-looking shoes and a golf shirt. He was clean-shaven, his hair neat and styled impeccably. He looked good. Polished, but not too much. Casual, but not sloppy. Smart, but not overly so.
He was the kind of guy that didn’t stick out of a crowd immediately. At first glance he might even blend in, but on closer inspection one realized there was nothing about him that blended. I liked that. There was something subtly disarming about him. Like something that was initially hidden from sight, but once you saw it, you couldn’t ever unsee it.
“Hey.” As if sensing my presence he suddenly looked up at me.
“Hey! Hi!” I jumped as if I’d been caught doing something naughty and then tried to smile innocently at him.
“You look good.” He stood up and pulled a chair out for me. He really was very gentlemanly.
“You too.” I gestured at his outfit. “Much better than before.”
“Didn’t you like my stone-washed jeans and leather jacket?” he asked with a playful smile.
“Um . . . do I have to answer that honestly?”
“That bad, hey?”
I shook my head. “The worst!”
We laughed at the same time. “I was very relieved when it went up in smoke,” I said.
“Me too,” he said. We both sat down just as the driver appeared. “Time to go.”
We walked out the door, passing a couple on their way out. We all waved politely at each other.
“Wow,” I said, looking at the yachts on the pier in front of us once we arrived. They were those grand ones, not the kind for mere mortals. It was the kind you might see in the pages of the People magazine. The kind of thing celebs cruise Turks and Caicos in.
“The perks of being a doctor,” I whispered over at Alex.
“I don’t save people’s lives every day, though.”
The pier jutted out into the calm, gold-tinged waters. The sun was kissing the horizon now and making it look like orange liquid was bleeding into the surrounding waters. We walked onto the pier and made our way towards the boats. The one at the very end was the largest, it also looked like it was expecting us. A red carpet rolled down the steps and onto the pier, its lights were on and a big “Welcome” sign was posted out front.
“I’m assuming it’s that one?” I looked at Alex and asked.
“I would think so,” he said as a man holding a tray of champagne glasses suddenly appeared out of nowhere and offered them to us.
“I wasn’t expecting this,” I whispered to Alex, taking two glasses and handing him one.
“Me neither,” he said.
“This way, please,” the man then said, waving an arm in the direction of a staircase that I’d only just noticed now.
“Oooooh, exciting,” I said, playful. We followed the man upstairs, but I wasn’t prepared for what we saw.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The upper deck was full of well-dressed people sipping champagne and cocktails. There was a big blue pool in the middle of it, dotted with floating candles. Rows of fairy lights stretched out over our heads and large colored paper lanterns hung from them. People stood around small tables draped in shiny tablecloths, or lounged on chairs by the pool.
“I didn’t know there were going to be so many people,” I said to Alex, suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed.
“Me neither,” he replied, sipping his champagne.
We both turned as the movement of waving hands caught our eye. The hands belonged to the couple we’d seen at the hotel earlier. He and his wife looked slightly older, in their fifties maybe. Alex and I waved back at them and then the man was on his feet walking over to us.
“Hi, I’m Paul.” The man extended his hand and we both shook it. “And that’s my wife, Bethany.” He gestured behind him and we all looked. Bethany waved. She was pretty. She looked very well turned out and polished, like she was in one of those Housewives Of shows.
“Would you like to come and join us?” he asked. It was one of those awkward moments where you can’t say no, even if you want to. So Alex and I agreed and soon we found ourselves sitting with Paul and Bethany, two total strangers, having drinks.
But it wasn’t that bad. Turned out we had some things in common. Paul was a doctor, the “cool” kind, a neurosurgeon. And his wife, Bethan, had been an accountant before becoming a stay-at-home mom of two. They were British ex-pats living in Dubai and had come here on their annual holiday without the kids, good to keep the romance alive, they said. They seemed nice enough, and we all fell into a comfortable, interesting chat. Alex and Paul started talking about something medical-related and Bethany told me all about her glamorous-sounding life in Dubai and how the other day, when she was on her way to fetch the kids from school, she saw a man walking his pet tiger. Apparently, you see those kinds of things rather often in Dubai. After about ten minutes of conversation someone familiar caught eye.
“Look, it’s Julian.” I nudged Alex and pointed in the direction of the bar. Julian looked up as I pointed. For a moment he looked confused, as if he didn’t recognize us, but then smiled and waved.
“Sorry,” I said to Paul and Bethany, “I want to say ‘hi’ to a friend. See you now.” I got up politely and made my way to the bar, Alex close behind me.
“Julian,” I said as we reached the bar and sat down. “You’re everywhere, aren’t you?”
“I could say the same for you,” he said with a playful smile. “So . . . what will it be?” he asked.
I shrugged and looked over at Alex. I wasn’t too fussed at this stage.
“We leave it in your capable hands,” Alex said.
“I heard what happened at the beach earlier,” Julian said, mixing the drinks together.
“God, you should have seen it. Alex was amazing,” I jumped in.
“I was just doing my job,” Alex said dismissively.
“Julian, you should have been there. It was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life,” I gushed. “He was so calm and in control and methodical. It was insane!”
Julian looked over at Alex. “When I do my job, I just mix drinks.”
“And I just write meaningless articles,” I added.
Suddenly Alex looked coy. His cheeks seemed to flush a little. “Thanks, guys.” He held his drink up and I clanked his glass in toast.
“So . . .” Julian did his bar lean again. The one he was becoming quite famous for. “I didn’t know you guys were into this.”
“Into what?” I asked.
“Swinging,” he stated.
“Swinging from what?” Alex took a sip of his drink and looked confused. So was I.
“Uh . . .” Julian looked from Alex to me and back again. “From each other.”
Alex tsked. “What does that mean? How do you swing from each other? Is this a new workout? I can never keep up with them. It’s yogalates one day and stretchaerobics the next.”
Julian’s eyes widened and then he shook his head. “You guys have no idea where you are, do you?”
“We’re on a yacht,” I said flatly. “We’re here for dinner, compliments of the hotel.”
Julian smiled at us conspiratorially. “Guys, this is the annual swingers’ convention. They come here once a year and book out a yacht. I work the bar, really great tips I might add.”
Alex shook his head. He still wasn’t computing. My brain, however, was starting to get it.
“NO!” I gasped under my breath. “It can’t be. We were just talking to such a nice couple over there.”
Julian raised his eyebrows and shook his head, as if in disbelief.
“They were nice,” I continued. “And they can’t be swingers. He’s a surgeon and she’s a stay-at-home mom. Stay-at-home moms don’t swing!”
“You think?” Julian looked very amused now. “Why don’t you ask them?” He looked past me and I turned. I looked over at the couple again, and suddenly, it all became very, very crystal clear. Paul and Bethany were smiling at us. But this time the smile didn’t look so friendly.
