by Jo Leigh
“That’s good of them,” Meg said, heading to the other room to get dressed. Her hair was still damp, after only a towel rub, but she didn’t think she was going to take the time for a blow dry. The air would be enough, and after breakfast they were going to the cove, so she’d just get it wet again. What she did do was put on her bathing suit, slip her sundress on over that, then sneak back into the bathroom to grab her comb.
Alex was singing. “My Funny Valentine.” It made her heart melt just a little bit more.
Stepping to the door, she checked herself in the full-length mirror. Not bad. Her bathing suit straps didn’t even show. This cover-up had been an impulse buy, but now she was glad for it. Almost two hundred bucks for not a lot of material. It wrapped around her neck, then fell to just this side of midthigh. The pattern was bright—turquoise and tangerine flowers, with a hint of white. It made her feel sexy. Or was that Alex?
She went back into the main room and straightened the bed. Then she opened all the drapes. Just as Alex walked in wearing his trunks, she heard a cart drive up outside. They looked at each other—what if it was Charlie? Thankfully, it wasn’t. It was two waiters, bearing food.
Alex let the waiters in. Two of them, both with the Escapades shirts, both with big smiles, as if serving them breakfast was the highlight of their day.
Whatever the management was doing here with the resort, they were doing it right. Every staff member she’d met had been cheerful, and not the kind of cheerful where you know they secretly would like to drown you in the pool, either.
She went over to investigate the treats that Alex had ordered, the polished wood cool and smooth under her bare feet. Champagne and orange juice caught her eye first. “Oh, mimosa cocktails. Very decadent.”
Alex waggled his brows. “Wait.”
The waiters had put all manner of dishes and glasses and silverware on the round table by the big window. With the drapes open, all she could see was blue ocean, blue sky. Dragging her eyes away from the spectacular view, she grinned at the tall vase filled with pink roses that had appeared in the center of the table. She looked at Alex.
“Hey,” he said. “It’s Valentine’s Day.”
“You sentimental sap,” she said with delight.
“Wow, that’s just what Dick Cheney called me last week. I guess I can’t hide my softer side, huh?” he said, grinning at her.
She laughed, wanting very much to be alone with this man.
Her wish came true a few minutes later. Silver-domed plates, four of them, couldn’t be left unexplored. The first one hid Belgian waffles, steaming hot. The second, eggs Benedict, which was her favorite thing, except for waffles. The third, cottage fries. When she reached for the fourth, Alex’s hand stopped her.
“That’s dessert.”
She pulled back. He kissed her shoulder, then pulled out her chair. After she sat, he went to the champagne bucket.
“Cocktail, mademoiselle?”
“Oui, merci,” she said.
The champagne cork popped and the bubbly overflowed into the ice. Once it was under control, he poured two glasses, then added the OJ. He stirred with a long silver spoon.
He kissed her right before he handed her her drink.
Then he served her breakfast. The waffle got its own plate. The eggs and potatoes looked fabulous, and, rude as it was, she couldn’t wait. Her hunger had reached critical levels, and she figured it was every man for himself.
Alex didn’t seem to mind, although he prepared his waffle first.
“Got enough butter on that, Alex?”
“It’s my vacation.” He grinned, then poured an enormous amount of syrup over the waffle. “Vacations. Good.”
By the time they were both stuffed, they’d also both had two mimosas. And yet he poured them each another glass, half-full, champagne only.
“Dessert,” he said.
“Oh my God, I forgot. I ate too much.”
“It’s all right. Just see what it is.”
She sighed, but she obeyed. She lifted the last of the domes. On the plate, on a brilliant blue napkin, was a silver charm. He’d bought her a charm. She’d had her bracelet for years. Her mother had given it to her on her sixteenth birthday, and she had mostly animal charms, but also one of a saxophone, and one of a little book, because of how she loved to read. She’d mentioned it to Alex aeons ago; she couldn’t even remember the conversation or what had made her bring it up. His charm, her new favorite charm, was a tiny little record.
She picked it up and held it in the palm of her hand. “Oh, Alex.”
“I know it’s hard to see the label, but it’s Tommy Dorsey. I promise.”
She looked at him, then at the charm. It was stunning and it was the most thoughtful thing…“All I got you was white panties.”
He burst out laughing. “Best present ever.”
“I do my best.”
“Perfect,” he said, but it was a whisper, and she didn’t think he was talking about underwear.
14
MEG THANKED THE NICE MAN behind the counter and turned to Alex. “All you have to do is breathe through the snorkel. And look at all the pretty fish.”
Alex didn’t seem convinced. He gazed at the yellow snorkel as if it would suddenly sprout teeth. “Fish, huh?”
“You know—fins, gills, bright colors.”
He looked at her, then at the face mask in his other hand before he returned his gaze to the snorkel. “What’s to prevent the water from entering the top, and coming into my mouth?”
Meg turned her face while she struggled not to laugh out loud. Thank God they hadn’t gone scuba diving. The man was wonderful, but Jacques Cousteau he wasn’t. Laughing at him, however, was not going to encourage him in the least, so she coughed quickly then turned back with a smile. “Well, see, you don’t go very deep. You swim just under the surface, so you can watch through your mask, and the snorkel lets you keep on breathing. It’s the best of both worlds.”
He nodded, his expression still serious. “That makes sense. Where are the best fish to see?”
“It’d be difficult not to find great fish here, but the cove is supposed to be the prime spot.”
“Let’s hit it.”
He sounded so determined that this time she did laugh. “Okay, Mr. Sea Hunt, let’s do it.”
They left the cabana where they’d gotten the equipment, only after standing in a considerable line, and returned to their golf cart. Meg felt as if she’d won the grand prize and the world was hers. Life would have been perfect if they hadn’t had to look over their shoulders all the time.
Alex wore another pair of blue trunks today, different design, same blue. And this great striped shirt that hung loosely in just the right way. Even his feet looked sexy in his manly flip-flops. Altogether delicious.
They rounded the fountain on the steps and almost ran into a very tall, very bald man wearing long pants, no shirt and a large dragon tattooed on his arm. He bowed slightly and stepped out of their way. Just behind him was another man, many inches shorter, quite a few years older, and surprisingly elegant.
He smiled with even white teeth that matched his shirt as he held out his hand to Alex. “Butch Castellano,” he said in a rough, New York baritone. “I hope you’re having a good time.”
“Excellent, thank you. I’m Alex Rosten, and this is Meg Becker.”
The man turned to her. “Are they treating you well?”
“Like a queen.”
“That’s what I like to hear. You need anything, you call me. Just ask for Mr. Castellano when you pick up the phone.”
“There is one thing,” Alex said.
Mr. Castellano’s brows rose. “Yes?”
“There’s a man here, a reporter. His name is Charlie Hanover and he works for the New York Times.”
Castellano nodded.
“I’d appreciate it if no one at the hotel told him we’re staying in the bungalows. This is our vacation, and he doesn’t seem to understand the meaning o
f the word.”
“I’ll do what I can, Mr. Rosten. Everyone deserves a nice vacation.”
Alex shook his hand once more. “Thank you.”
As she led Alex to the steps, the big guy bowed again. Nothing extravagant, but a bow nonetheless.
“That was interesting,” she said, as they got into their cart.
“That was Butch Castellano.”
“So I gathered.”
“He owns the place. And, of course, that explains the lobby.”
“Huh?”
Alex started the cart and they went slowly down the path, heading toward the cove. It was a far piece from the hotel, and even farther from their bungalow, but that was okay. They passed couple after couple, and she stared like a tourist at each one. “He used to be in the mob.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Spent a lot of years in jail for it. Some people said he took the fall for some big-time boss, but I never got any confirmation. After prison, he made some legit money on the ponies and parlayed that into real estate and good stock investments. Then he bought this island.”
“And the lobby?”
“He collects art. French Impressionists are his field,” Alex explained.
“So those paintings are real?” Meg squealed.
“I’m thinking yes,” he said.
“Wow. No wonder he has his own personal Terminator.”
“Oh, yeah. Never leaves home without one,” he said.
“Must be tough.”
Alex turned to her. “You must do okay financially. You’re sure busy enough.”
She smiled, although it was more ironic than joyful. “Ah, the wonderful folks on the mountain, while true blue to their myriad animals, are notoriously bad with their payments. I am the recipient, however, of a great number of cakes, cookies, pies and casseroles.”
“So you work like a dog and get paid in biscuits?” he quipped.
She laughed. “That’s one way of putting it.”
“How would you?”
She looked past the beautiful people to the ocean beyond. There were white, wispy clouds in a perfect sky, and she didn’t want to think about home. “It’s my job. They count on me.”
“Who do you count on?”
IN THE DAYLIGHT, the cove was one of the most beautiful places Alex had ever seen. Gorgeous cliffs were covered in brilliant green bushes and tropical plants, the water was so blue it seemed almost fake, and the white tips of the ocean rolled onto perfect sand in gentle waves.
Unfortunately, a whole lot of other guests had gotten the memo, because he and Meg were most definitely not alone. Although, luckily, there was still no sign of Hanover. Alex leaned over after she’d put her slinky dress on her towel. After a moment’s silent thanks for whoever had invented the bikini, he asked, “Aren’t there good fish by our bungalow?”
“Yes,” she whispered back, “but not the best fish.”
He grinned, then put his face mask on. Wrong.
“Uh, let me just…” She straightened it out. And then, even though he looked quite goofy, she kissed him. Maybe because he looked goofy.
She put on her mask, kicked off her sandals and grabbed his hand. It wasn’t wall-to-wall tourists, but they had to walk a little to find a good open space to be alone. She sat down to put her fins on, but he tried it standing. Eventually, he sat, too, although not very delicately.
It wasn’t easy putting the snorkel in her mouth while she was laughing so hard. His glare didn’t help. But finally, she got the damn thing in, adjusted her mask strap and stood up.
He followed her example, but not well.
She sighed, then took hers out. “Just pretend you’re a boxer and that’s your mouth guard. Only it lets you breathe.”
He put the mouthpiece all the way in.
“Good. Now, I like to let a little bit of water into the mask—not much, just a little. It’ll help defog the lens. But if you get too much in, just come up so your head’s above water, pull the lower edge away from your face and let the water drain out. Then make sure the strap hasn’t slipped down.”
He nodded.
“Oh, and remember. Think mermaid.”
This time he gave her a thumbs-up.
Meg’s heart went pitter-pat. This was cuteness to the nth degree, and she wished their lips were free for kissing.
They continued into the water, and when it was deep enough, she eased herself down until her head was halfway under. There wasn’t much to see so close to shore, but through the mask, the sand was beautiful.
Turning her head slightly, she found Alex, and he was snorkeling like an old pro. No freaking out at all, which was excellent.
She swam toward the coral reef, moving her feet like a mermaid’s tail. Alex trailed at first, jerking a bit in the water, but she knew he would get it.
Even before they got to the reef, they started seeing massive schools of brightly colored fish, all swimming in astonishing synchrony. Despite the fact that she’d researched the local fish on the Internet, she was completely unprepared for the beauty of the real deal.
It was like swimming in paradise. No sound except the echo of her own breathing, nothing in her field of vision but magnificent coral and brilliant creatures. It was just like Finding Nemo, and she found herself tugging Alex’s arm and pointing at the bumpy orange frog-fish and the long-spined squirrelfish with its huge eyes, the purple sea fan, and so many other stunning things she didn’t recognize. It didn’t matter, it was…
Alex reached over and took her hand in his. They swam like that, calm, smooth, together. Just the two of them.
It was…magic.
ALEX’S LIFE DIDN’T LEND itself to tanning. Or much of anything that required stretches of leisure. Meg seemed happy lying on her towel, her head cradled on her crossed arms, and even though he’d prefer to be indoors, he wouldn’t disturb her for anything. So, he’d tan.
He closed his eyes and tried to think of only here, only now, so of course, all he could think about was what came next.
Hanover was only the tip of the iceberg. When Alex returned to D.C., it was going to be all sound and fury, at least for a while. Then…
What the hell was he going to do with his life? He’d spent so much time making the decision to leave, he hadn’t thought out where he should go.
He looked at Meg. He’d talk to her. Get her advice. Even if she was a damn fool when it came to her own work, she could be objective about his.
He felt like a moron for not telling her about the book. About all of it. But the book—it wasn’t real. Not yet. Sure, he’d done research, and he’d even put together a detailed synopsis. But he’d only written a couple of chapters, and he had no idea if it was any good. His ego was large enough to make him think it didn’t suck, but that wasn’t something he could count on. It might suck. He didn’t want to know.
If it did, if he couldn’t write anything but political columns, then what? Take up flower arranging? Sell life insurance?
He could teach, but that had zero appeal. The trouble was he was good as a columnist. If only the price hadn’t been so high.
“Hey.”
He turned to find Meg staring at him. “What?”
“That sigh,” she said.
“Sigh?”
“You just sighed like you found out Santa wasn’t real.”
He rose on his elbows. “What? He’s not real?”
She smiled, but she wasn’t gonna let it go. He could tell, because she took off her sunglasses. “What’s going on?”
“Too much thinking,” he said.
“About?”
“The meaning of life,” he answered cryptically.
“It’s 42. Next.”
“Cute. Of course, I’ve read The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, too.”
“Seriously, spill. Pretend you’re typing and tell me,” she ordered.
“Are you sure? It’s not pretty,” he warned.
“That’s okay. You are. And I’m a tough broad. So hit
me with it. I can take it.”
“I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up,” he said.
“What about what your parents suggested? Being a reporter in Europe?”
“That’s their dream, not mine.”
She rolled over, moved closer. Kept her sunglasses off. “What’s yours? The book?”
“It could be. But I’m too much of a chicken to talk about it, let alone give it to someone to read.”
“You already know you can write,” she argued.
“Not fiction, I don’t.” Alex grimaced.
“Well, have you thought about writing something else? Not giving up the fiction, but taking what you’ve learned about politics and writing about that?” she suggested.
“Nonfiction?”
“Yeah. In addition to, not instead of. I mean writing something about what you’ve learned. How it’s changed you. Why you’ve become so disillusioned.”
“I’m not disillusioned. Just honest. Once you’ve seen the game, there’s no going back.”
“What would need to change to make it like you want it to be?” she asked.
“On the Hill?”
She nodded.
“Jeez, you have a month? A shake-up from the ground up, and even then, who the hell would listen?”
“I would,” she said.
“That’s nice. I know you would. But no one else wants to hear my musings on why the republic has gone into the toilet,” he said sighing.
“Has it? Completely?” she asked.
“Not completely, no. But we’re a greedy people who have no long-term vision.”
“Are you afraid to write something like that?”
“Hell, yes,” he said.
“Why?”
“Public ridicule. Never have liked it much.” He rolled his eyes.
“That’s it? What other people would think of you? Come on, Alex. I’ve read your column. You’re not a wuss. You tell the truth, you don’t back down. The politicians listen to you.”
He smiled. “You’re adorable.”
“Flattery will get you laid, but it won’t make me stop pushing.”
“Ah. Thanks for the clarification. If I flatter you some more can we test the theory?”
