by R. R. Banks
But no.
Bentley had to come bursting out of Avery's closet and declare his love for him. Loudly. Some would hope that is a euphemism. But also no. Just a really awkward afternoon.
Now I'm knee-deep in scandal and want nothing more than to get the hell away from here. Getting a little bit of male attention wouldn't be so bad, either, which is one of the biggest appeals of Catalina Island. Daddy's connections and the personal invitation from the Prestons is the ideal excuse to visit the resort. The fact that it is all the way across the country from Virginia, and everyone I know, is just a perk.
Everyone except my bridesmaids, of course. It wouldn't be much of a girls' retreat if I failed to bring along the girls, including my princess of a maid of honor. Olivia and I have always been close. At least we were when we were younger. I always knew she would be my maid of honor when it came time for me to get married, and I have to admit – she was terrific at it. She helped plan every detail. She tasted the cakes when I didn't want to risk the extra calories. She hosted my shower. She even coordinated the hotel rooms for my out-of-town guests and was devising welcome baskets for each. I hear they would have involved tiny handmade soaps. Of course, they would.
Now she is doing her best to pick up the pieces and sweep my shattered wedding under the rug with as much dignity as possible. I appreciate what she has done for me, even if she is an example of what I will never be. The Princess. That is what I always think of when I think of Olivia. Pretty. Polished. Perfect. I could probably come up with more P's if I really try. She is exactly what every parent wants in a daughter and one day she will make the ideal chaste bride.
I will never be her, and honestly, I'm fine with that. There are times when I'm jealous of the way that people fawn over her, or how she never seems to get flustered. As much as I hate to admit, part of me wishes I could be as put together as she is. But then I catch a look from one of the men and I know I could never be like her. Olivia isn't an image. She doesn't pretend. She truly is as sweet and pure as she seems, and I couldn't stand to be so delicate and untouchable. I would much rather be very touchable. Especially right now.
Chapter Three
Vincent
I lean against the base of a palm tree and look out over the beach. It's early in the morning so most of the sandy stretch is still deserted. I notice a pair of surfers in wetsuits jogging toward the water to enjoy a sunrise swim, and they look like a postcard against the picturesque backdrop. They are in the minority among the guests of the resort. The guests usually spend more of their time at the spa or relaxing by the pool or on the sand. Those who do venture into the water tend to lean toward the snorkeling or sailing. Surfers are more likely to head to Shark Cove, ignoring the swells of Avalon Bay.
Speaking of swells.
A curvy, petite woman runs toward the water. She is only a few yards away but doesn't seem to notice me. The one-piece bathing suit she is wearing covers far more than the string-and-prayers versions most women her age wear on the beach. Cotton candy pink fabric twists between her breasts and nips in tight at her waist, accentuating her full hips and graceful back, despite not showing off much skin. Her dark brown hair is pulled up in a high ponytail at the top of her head, and it bounces in a curl at the back of her neck as she runs. I sit up a little straighter to watch her. She reaches the water and stops as a wave comes up and washes over her toes, making her laugh. I can't help but smile at the sound of her delighted giggle when the water touches her skin.
She opens her arms out to the side and tilts her face toward the sky. An instant later a voice breaks the peaceful scene.
"Olivia! What are you doing?"
Cotton Candy drops her arms and turns to look over her shoulder. I follow her glance and see another woman standing at the edge of the sand. She's wearing a short sundress, but the feminine effect is diminished by her arms crossed aggressively over her chest.
"I'm enjoying the beach," Olivia calls back.
"The sun isn't even up yet," the other woman says. "We're going back to our rooms to sleep for a while."
"Alright," Olivia says. "I'll see you later for breakfast."
Grumpy's eyes flicker over to me and I realize she’s noticed me sitting there. She doesn't say anything, but it's obvious she's unsure about leaving Olivia alone on the beach with me. A couple walks down onto the beach a few feet away from her and she nods.
"I'll order room service in a couple hours."
"Perfect. That will give me time to explore a little."
I can tell by the look on Grumpy’s face that exploring isn't something she is interested in. She is the type of guest who doesn't really care about the activities available on the island or the features of the resort. She is here to relax, likely after a life of never exerting herself anyway. It is something I’m accustomed to seeing. Not just here, but at all my properties.
That is part of the reason I travel as frequently as I do. Making the choice to separate from my family was both the hardest thing I ever did and the easiest. I never liked their lifestyle. I hated being a part of society and having to act how everyone wanted me to. As I got older I knew I was expected to step into my father's footsteps. I was supposed to run the business and continue the legacy, but that was something I couldn't imagine doing. Instead, I left home. I used the inheritance my grandfather left me to buy my first property, a tiny failing bed and breakfast, and turned it into an exclusive boutique hotel. Less than ten years later, my empire has grown significantly. My wealth rivals that of my family. But I still want the control. I never lose sight of the work I did to get to where I am now. Rather than stepping back and merely supervising my properties, I try to stay involved. I travel to each property several times a year, not as the owner but as a guest. My anonymity allows me to observe the operation from the perspective of the guests. Seeing it that way gives me a chance to make changes and improve our properties quickly and seamlessly.
The method has been extremely effective for me, but it is also exhausting. Constantly being on the move, even if it means staying in luxurious hotels and resorts, is draining. My favorite place to stop for a longer stay, however, has always been my Catalina Island resort. This is the only one where more than one member of the staff knows who I am. I prefer to keep it that way. I don't want them to treat me any differently than they would the other guests, and I certainly don't want the guests to know who I am. Each property has one senior member of the staff who I hired personally to act as my contact. So far, there hasn’t been any problems, it's worked like a dream.
Here, though, I feel at home. Several members of the staff know my identity, but I can still fly under the radar when I'm visiting. When I'm here, I try to take some time to actually relax while still keeping my eye on the operations of the resort.
And that often means keeping my eye on the women who come here. Like sweet little Olivia. She isn't like the other women I tempt into my bed during my trips. I can always tell the restless ones, the ones who want a bit more recreation than the resort brochure advertises. I make it a habit of waiting to approach them until near the end of their stay. The last thing I need is for them to go Dirty Dancing on me and think that this romance will last the week or longer, depending on their stay. This time might be different, though. Olivia has just arrived. Her friend had that tired and frustrated look I often see on guests when they arrive early in the morning.
This is very early, though. Far earlier than most people check in. I wonder who they are and why they got here before the sun came up. I am reluctant to walk away from her. But my curiosity brings me to my feet. I want to find out more about her and the rest of the people she is traveling with. The other woman had mentioned that they were "all" going to get some sleep. I assume that means that there are several more guests, probably all women. Maybe they are celebrating something. A birthday or a wedding. Perhaps a bachelorette.
The thought makes me pause as I make my way across the sand up to the main building of
the resort. Could Olivia be getting married?
I go into the building and toward the office. It's still early, but I know that a few of the staff are at their posts. There isn't a time at any of my properties when there isn't at least a basic staff available to my guests.
The woman sitting behind the desk in the office looks up at me when I step in. She smiles and stops what she is doing on the computer.
"Good morning, Vincent," she says. "I didn't know you were scheduled to be here this week."
"Hey, Laurel. I hadn't planned to. It was kind of an impulse. I didn't get in until late last night."
She looks at me questioningly. Laurel has known me long enough to know that I do plenty on impulse when it comes to my personal life, but business is another issue. I am meticulous about my business.
"Is something wrong?" she asks.
"No," I say. "I just spent a few days with my family."
She gives me a knowing look.
"Ah," she says. "So, you needed a break."
"Something like that."
Laurel was one of the first employees I hired and knows me better than nearly anyone else. Unfortunately, this means she knows all too well the struggles with my family. Bridging the chasm between my family and me wasn't easy. Gradually rebuilding our relationship is better, but only slightly so. It feels like they have replaced feeling betrayed with anger over the fact that I didn’t go crawling back to them. I know they thought I was going to fall. They didn't believe I could make it on my own. Yet I still try. They are still my family.
"So, what can I do for you this morning?"
I gesture behind me in the general direction of the beach.
"There's a woman on the beach," I say.
Laurel's eyes widen, and she starts to stand up.
"Is she dead?" she asks.
"No," I say, holding out my hands to calm her. "She's not dead."
"Oh, thank goodness."
Laurel sits back down and lets out a sigh of relief as she leans back in her chair.
"What's wrong with you? I tell you that someone is out on the beach and you immediately jump to a body floating around in the seafoam."
She has her hand pressed to her chest and she glares at me.
"Maybe because I have a boss that says things like 'a body floating around in the seafoam’? Just a guess.”
"I'm sorry. She's not dead. She's just standing at the edge of the ocean."
"And you want me to…"
"Throw her in because she's wearing an ugly bathing suit and it's cramping our style. Seriously, what's with you today?"
Laurel shakes her head.
"I don't know. Lisa made me watch this documentary last night. Well, she called it a documentary. I think it was just a horror movie that actually happened."
"Isn't that what a documentary is?"
She sighs.
"Essentially. It was…" she lets out a breath and shakes her head, her eyes wide as if it was too much for her to even describe.
"Well, I'm sorry you had to watch that. No one is dead. I don't want anybody dead. No one is doing anything that might result in someone being dead. Does that make you feel better?"
"Yes."
"Good. So, this woman on the beach. I don't think that she's been here long. It looks like she just checked in."
Laurel sits up and clicks a few keys on her computer keyboard.
"One group did check in this morning. The one who talked to the front desk was a touch...snippy. I had the pleasure of stepping in when she ‘just couldn't’ deal with Wayne anymore. Apparently, the trip wasn't exactly smooth, and they were delayed in getting here."
"I didn't realize that anyone was supposed to be checking in over the last few days."
"It was a last-minute reservation."
"You know that –"
She holds up a hand before I can even say anything else.
"I know. I know you don't accept same-day reservations. And I know you want to be informed about all reservations when they are made. However…"
"I'm not sure how there can be a 'however' in that, Laurel."
She is not deterred.
"However, the man who called said that he was calling by special invitation from your parents."
I pause.
"Special invitation from my parents?"
"His name is Randall Devereaux. Ring a bell?"
As soon as she says the name, I let out a long breath.
"Mr. Devereaux," I say, nodding.
"I take it you know him?"
"I know of him. I've never actually met him. My father and he have been dancing around each other in their businesses for a while now. Negotiations have been going well recently."
"So, he invited them to your resort?"
"Lovely how that works, isn't it?"
"Well," she says, glancing at the screen again. "It doesn't look like he came."
"What do you mean?"
"There are no men on the reservation. It's just seven women. The less-than-pleased one who checked in was Charlene Devereaux. His daughter, I'm guessing. I had the...pleasure...of talking to her and she definitely didn't look old enough to be the wife of someone your father's age."
"I've heard of her, too."
"Why doesn't that sound like you two are best friends?"
"I tell you what. Make sure they don't know who I am."
"You don't want to meet her?"
"No."
"Are you sure? Your father was so gracious in taking it upon himself to send them here."
"Exactly. And like you said, nobody knew I was going to be here. Unless he whipped out his wallet and showed pictures of me, she doesn't know who to look for."
"Does your father really have pictures of you in his wallet?"
"My father doesn't have a wallet. Pictures don't fit in a billfold."
"Elegant."
"I'm going to my bungalow," I say. "Just don't tell her I'm here. I don't want to get involved with that mess." I walk toward the door and then pause. I turn to look over my shoulder at her. "Charlene. Is she tall, blondish hair? Sundress?"
Laurel nods.
"Sounds about right."
I nod.
"Got it. Thanks."
I walk out of the office and head toward the back of the building. A private path brings me toward a section of the property inaccessible by guests where my private bungalow sits. It is similar to those offered to guests, but I added a few extra features for myself. This is the only property where I maintain separate quarters. I enjoy having some private space to myself to just relax.
As I step into the bungalow, I’m still thinking about Olivia. I’m trying to figure out exactly what it is about her that attracts me so much. She isn't like the women I am usually drawn to. To be honest, based on looks alone, Charlene fits that role much better. But there is something about Olivia, something I just can't shake.
Chapter Four
Olivia
"They have kayaking. That looks like fun."
Charlene barely bothers to turn her head to look at me from her chaise lounge.
"You've never been kayaking in your life."
"Yes, I have."
"Your daddy's houseboat doesn't count. Neither does the riverboat where you hosted your sweet sixteen."
"Why not?"
"Because you don't do anything while you're on the houseboat, and you didn't do anything on the riverboat. Just standing on the deck of something floating around in the water is not the same thing as kayaking."
"Have you ever been kayaking before, Charlene?"
"No, and I don't intend to start now."
She lets out an exasperated breath and wriggles slightly as if signaling that our conversation is over.
"So, you’re just going to lie here all day?" I ask.
Her lips curve up into a smile.
"Yes," she says. She lifts her chin to feel the sunlight more fully on her
face. "And you should, too. Just relax. Enjoy the day."
We have been "relaxing" for the last three days since we got to the resort and I’m tired of sitting on my ass. By this point, the lounge where I am sitting might have formed a permanent impression of my body. Tia shifts on the other side of Charlene and I think for a moment that one of the group might be willing to join me. She takes off her sunglasses and walks over to the edge of the pool. I watch as she glides down into the water. She slips in so gradually that the water barely moves around her. Her sleek body dips down so that the water covers her shoulders briefly before climbing back out.
"That was it?" I ask as she settles back onto her lounge.
"I was hot."
I nod.
"Why are you being so difficult?" Charlene asks.
"I'm not being difficult. I just want to do something more than sit by the pool."
"Then go to the spa," Sandra suggests from the other side of Tia.
So that I can sit in a different location. Perfect.
"You know, Olivia, you are supposed to be here for me. The whole point of this trip was to help me feel better and move on."
"I thought it was to celebrate your freedom."
"If you don't want to spend time with us, then don't."
The words are snapped at me, but I can hear the buried emotion in them. I want to take the suggestion. Charlene has been brash and difficult this entire trip, but to be fair, she is like that even at home. I always try to see the good in people. The more that I think about the time we spent together as children, the harder it is to leave her alone. Even if she won't admit it, Charlene is going through a hard time. She needs support. She needs to know that people still care about her and want to help her move on with her life. If that means lying by the pool and going to the spa, I guess that is what I'm going to have to do.
Two days later…
