by R. R. Banks
"But can you believe that's what she wore? That shade of mint looked terrible against her skin tone."
"I didn't mind the color as much as the way it looked on her. Did no one tell her there is about twenty pounds more of her than that dress was designed for?"
The girls laugh. I can almost exactly mimic the sound because this is the third time I have heard this exact conversation since we arrived on the island. They are talking about Myra Bloomfield's "re-debut" into society. Of course, that isn’t actually a thing. It's something that Myra made up because she left the state and eloped when she was sixteen. Two years later, she was eighteen, divorced and living with her parents. After living quietly for a while and hoping that people would forget the scandal, her parents threw an extravagant debut for her. Considering Myra is the younger sister of the only bridesmaid who didn’t come with us on this trip, the effects of that particular social faux pas are obviously still going strong. It was an awkward occasion, to say the least. Turning down the invitation would have been rude, and none of us wanted to upset Valerie but the party itself was...uncomfortable.
Almost as uncomfortable as continuing to gossip about it three months later just because Valerie isn't here.
"I think that it was very courageous of her," I say.
"Courageous?" Charlene asks, tilting her sunglasses down to peer at me. "What's courageous about it?"
"Myra made a mistake. She admitted to it and now she's trying to move on with her life. Isn't that what you're doing?"
"I didn't make a mistake," Charlene says.
I think that could probably foster a pretty healthy debate.
"But Charlene, you are trying to move on with your life. You decided to come here for a vacation with us, pamper yourself, and refocus. She decided to reintroduce herself into society and ask to be seen differently than before."
Charlene is quiet for several unbearably long seconds. The other women look at her and then at me. They look like they aren't sure how they are supposed to react. Charlene's lips curl up and she settles her glasses back on her nose.
"You're right, Olivia," she simpers. "We are both courageous, aren't we? Thank you. I can always rely on you to see the best in any situation. You're so sweet that way."
It's one of those moments when I'm not sure if she is legitimately being kind or not. I choose not to feed into it. Just on the off-chance that she is actually being friendly, I don't want to discourage her. I lay back on my chaise lounge. At this point, I am absolutely confident that its memory foam cushion has more than a lifetime’s worth of memories of me.
I reach into my beach bag and pull out one of the well-worn paperbacks I carry with me. There is something about holding an actual, printed book that a screen just can't compare to. Whenever I want to revisit one of my old favorites, I always go for the paperback version.
I rest back against the cushions and open my book to a very dog-eared page, absently pressing at the crease with my fingers. My elementary school librarian would be so angry with me. I am just starting to get lost in the book when a loud sound startles me. I hear the other women gasp as I sit upright and look around. The sound is getting louder and seconds before it is visible, I realize that it's the roar of a motorcycle.
The engine revs and the black bike zooms across the pool deck. Even though it is on the other side of the pool, I curl my legs up closer to me. I realize that the appalled gasp I hear is coming out of me. I'm stunned by the man in all-black, his face concealed by his helmet, soaring past the startled guests and then off the deck. He doesn't seem to be fazed at all by the reactions of the onlookers around him. I realize as the bike disappears and the sound fades, that part of me wants to follow. I'm intrigued. As taken aback as I was at first, I feel drawn to him, to the idea of someone so wild and free that they could act like that without a single concern over what anyone was thinking of him.
"I will be having a word with the resort owner," Charlene snaps. "That type of behavior is totally unacceptable."
"Can you believe he would just ride through like that?" Tia asks.
"That has to be a member of the staff. I can't imagine they would let someone like that stay here. Of course, I can't believe they would have someone like that on their staff, either. I would think there would some sort of screening or something."
I don't like what she’s saying.
"What do you mean 'someone like that'?" I ask.
They all look at me.
"Like that," Charlene says as if it explains everything. "Someone who would be classless enough to ride a motorcycle through people who are trying to relax."
"You don't know that he's classless. You have no idea who he is. Besides, maybe he's just trying to force some life into everyone just laying around."
I stand up and head away from the pool. I can hear Charlene scoff behind me, but I don't care anymore. I've done my best to be nice to her and help her through this time. I've been sitting around doing nothing for days and I can’t take it any longer. There’s no way I can for fourteen more days. Maybe the best way to be a good friend right now is to let Charlene do what she wants to while I go enjoy myself.
I head back to the bungalow and change out of my bathing suit. I should spend more time at the beach, but I am so tired of being in a bathing suit. Not knowing where to start, I walk to the main building and step inside. I look around and tell myself that I am just getting a feel for the space and seeing what there is to see, but I know that's not really true. I'm looking for the man in all-black. I chastise myself. It's unlikely he would go for the shock value of cutting through the pool area like that only to come sit meekly in the lobby. And if he did, I don't think he would hang out in the lounge wearing his bike helmet and jacket.
"Can I help you with something?"
I turn toward the voice and see a woman walking briskly in my direction. She looks vaguely familiar and I remember she's the woman who was brought out of the back office to deal with Charlene when we checked in. She was calm, friendly, and dealt with Charlene masterfully. She remained smooth and unflustered, even when Charlene was doing everything but outright blame her for the TSA hiccup that made us late. This is a woman made for high-class customer service.
I smile at her.
"I am just doing a little exploring," I say. "I'm not sure what to do."
"We have a lot of options here. What are you interested in?" she asks.
I open my mouth to respond, then close it.
"I really don't know," I finally say.
The woman laughs.
"Let me show you a few of our activities. I'm Laurel."
"Olivia."
"You're here with Charlene Devereaux," she says.
I nod. I am always a touch hesitant with questions like that. In this instance, more than usual.
"We're here to celebrate her freedom," I say, hoping that code will be enough to explain away some of her behavior at the beginning of the trip.
Laurel nods and gives me a knowing look.
"Divorce or broken engagement?"
"You've seen it before."
"I work at a luxury beach resort. I see people running away from everything."
She smiles, and we start across the lobby. Her words stay with me for the rest of the day as I explore some of the features of the resort and make plans for other activities that I want to do over the next two weeks. They are still with me as I approach the bungalow that evening.
Am I running away from something?
Even calling it a bungalow seems ridiculous. It is large enough to comfortably accommodate all seven of us with an expansive living room and a lanai that rivals the size of some apartments back home. Perhaps giving it that name was a way to make guests feel like they are getting away from the chaos of life and enjoying simpler things while on vacation.
I walk into the living room and see the rest of the girls sitting on various pieces of coordinated white wicker furniture. Their flowing dresses match the aesthet
ic of the cushions so perfectly they look like an image in a resort brochure. They are each holding a plate and chopsticks, and I realize they ordered room service for supper. My eyes drop to the table sitting in the midst of them and I notice a plate with the cloche still over it. A pair of wrapped chopsticks sits beside it, and I immediately feel a wave of guilt wash over me. Charlene looks in my direction and smiles.
"Olivia! There you are," she says happily.
"Charlene, I'm sorry," I say as I walk toward her.
"Don't be," she says, waving her hand in front of her. "You have no reason to be sorry. I do, though."
"What do you mean?"
"The rest of my would-be bridal posse here took your walkout as an opportunity to tell me that I have been… a little of a bridezilla this week. Which is sad since I'm not even a bride."
We laugh, and I hug her.
"You haven't been a bridezilla," I say. Charlene pushes me back and gives me a look. "Alright," I relent. "Maybe a bit. But you've had a lot on your mind. And it wasn't a walkout."
"Yes, it was. It was a deserved one, too. Come on. I ordered your favorite."
"Thank you," I say, sitting at the edge of one of the sofas.
I reach for the cloche and lift it to reveal a delicious-looking plate of sushi.
"So, what were you doing during your protest?" Tia asks.
I laugh again, happy the tension in the room has eased.
"I just roamed around the resort a little bit. There are so many things to do here.”
I see the women glance at each other. I get the distinct feeling that despite the truce, there is little more than continued sunbathing and fruity drinks in their future.
"Did you see that guy on the motorcycle again?"
I shake my head at Tia.
"No. Why do you ask?"
They look at each other and then back down at their dinners. They don't say anything else about the mysterious man and the conversation shifts to Charlene trying to meet the resort owner.
"Daddy could have at least given me his name," she says. "Do you know how embarrassing it was to go up to the desk and ask that woman to speak to the owner, only to have to call him Mr. Preston?"
I pick up a piece of sushi and pop it in my mouth. My mind tunes out what they are saying as it goes back to the man on the motorcycle and the thrill I felt when I saw him.
Chapter Five
Vincent
I have been trying to stay away from Olivia. I’m no good for her. She seems so sweet. So innocent. She doesn't deserve a man like me. She deserves someone who can sweep her off her feet and promise her a lifetime, not a billionaire playboy who can only give her one night. But I can’t keep my mind off her. I saw how she looked at me when I rode my bike across the pool deck. It was meant as a joke, but Olivia wasn’t laughing.
The expression that crossed her beautiful face when she saw me was nothing like the women sitting beside her. They looked at me with contempt. It was exactly what I expected. Olivia, though, she was different. In the brief moment I glanced her way as I rode by, her eyes were ablaze with curiosity and desire.
It has been two days since I saw her by the pool. I climb on my bike again, planning a ride around the resort. Riding relaxes me. I like the feeling of anonymity and freedom. When I'm on my bike, no one can see my face. I don't have to listen to meaningless bullshit. No one can question me. I push the bike to the furthest of its capabilities along the winding back trails most people don't even know are here. They are part of the appeal of this land for me. I discovered them years before and was immediately captivated by them. I still don't know who made them or why they are here. That's what draws me to them. I imagine they were once the escape for someone else.
I ride until the sun has fully set and the moon is high above me. I turn back to head toward my bungalow but decide to take a different path than normal. This one brings me to the side of the resort near the front entrance of my secluded area. Though it is still set back from the public spaces of the resort, I know I am more visible going in this way. As if the thought was enough to lure someone, I notice a figure on the trail in front of me. It is a small silhouette, a woman. She is walking along the shadowy path alone, close to the entrance to my bungalow. She seems lost, yet she is not moving in a cautious or nervous way. It is almost as though she is exploring or looking for something.
I speed up and roar past her. I have complete control over the bike and am nowhere near close enough to even come close to hurting her. Yet as soon as I fly past, I hear a cry. I turn sharply in the middle of the trail, feeling guilty for frightening her. I stop the bike and see the woman on the ground. It's Olivia. I immediately get off the bike and rush toward her. By the time I reach her, she is climbing to her feet and I reach for her hand. She looks up at me nervously, and I realize I am still wearing my helmet. I take it off and set it on the ground. She hesitantly takes my hand and I help her up.
"I'm sorry," I say. "Are you hurt?"
She shakes her head.
"I'm not hurt," she replies. "You just startled me."
She brushes off the short pink sundress she is wearing. Although I have seen her in other colors over the week she has been here, this is the color that fits her best. It is the same shade of the bathing suit she wore on her first day. It’s sweet and innocent. Yet there is something to that innocence that makes her irresistible. Our eyes meet, and I hear her take in a breath. She's even more beautiful up close. The flecks of white against her blue eyes are like stars and the sun has brought a hint of color to her alabaster cheeks. Unless that is a flush from the heat I already feel building between us. I don't want to let go of her hand. I want to keep touching her, even if my leather glove separates us. But she pulls her hand from mine and glances away as if trying to break the connection between us.
"This is a non-guest area," I point out. "Are you lost?"
She looks at me and I notice the color on her cheeks deepen briefly. It was a flush.
"I'm not lost," she says. "I was just looking around. Is that a problem? I didn't realize that this area was off-limits. There aren't any signs or anything."
I hesitate for a brief moment. I try to decide what to tell her. I'm not interested in telling Olivia who I am, especially knowing that she is traveling with Charlene. She hasn't seen me go into the area around my bungalow and doesn't seem suspicious.
"I'm sure it's fine," I say. "It's policy to not have discouraging signs around the resort. It takes away from the relaxing atmosphere."
Olivia gives a single, slow nod.
"It is certainly...relaxing."
I laugh.
"I've noticed you," I admit. "You and your friends seem to be doing a lot of relaxing."
"Well, that's why we're here, aren't we?"
"I suppose. There's plenty of other things to do, though."
"I've heard."
"But you don't want to try any of them?"
"I've done some," she says. "But I'm here to be with my friend. She's been going through a hard time."
"What happened?"
"Just some difficulties in her personal life," she says. "She came here to take some time and refresh."
"You can still have fun, though."
"I want to be a good friend."
"I'm sure you are."
The words we're exchanging seem to have more meaning than on the surface. She draws in a breath and glances at the entrance to the area with my bungalow.
"So, what's back there?" she asks.
"Private quarters for the owner," I tell her. "He likes to keep to himself."
"I can understand that."
She looks at me again and even in the dim shadowy light I can see the fire in her cerulean eyes. Her lips are slightly parted and all I can think about is drawing the plush bottom one into my mouth.
"Can I buy you a drink?" I ask. "As an apology for scaring you?"
She considers my offer for a brief second before shaking her head.
&n
bsp; "No, thank you. That's not necessary."
"Then just because?”
"Because of what?"
"Because I'd like to buy you a drink."
She doesn’t seem impressed.
"Thank you, but I'm just going to go in for the night. It was nice meeting you."
She starts to walk away, and I call after her.
"I didn’t catch your name!"
She turns, and I see a slight smile on her lips.
"Olivia," she says.
"I'm Vincent," I say.
"Now we've met."
Her voice softened now that she was smiling.
"Yes, we have."
"It was nice to meet you," she repeated.
"You, too. Goodnight, Olivia."
"Goodnight, Vincent."
I watch her as she walks away and disappears. I'm not sure how to describe what I feel right now. Stunned may be the right word. Almost any other woman would be walking with me toward the bar right now. Hell, some of them might even pull me into their bungalow at this point. But not Olivia. She seemed utterly unimpressed by me. I'm not used to women rejecting me in any way, especially as outright as Olivia did. Rather than being angry or offended, I'm surprised that I feel even more drawn to her. I want to know more about her. I can't shake the desire to spend time with Olivia. I’ve never experienced anything like this before.
I have to chase her.
The next morning, I walk into the lobby. Laurel is standing at the desk and once we make eye contact, she gives me the slightest of nods. I know that subtle gesture. No one else would notice it, but she's trying to get my attention. I cross the open space and loop around through the back to the office. She meets me there a few seconds later.
"Your father wants you to call him," she says without greeting.
"Good morning, Laurel."
"Good morning, Vincent. Your father wants you to call him."
"About what?"
"He didn't say. He didn't sound terribly pleased."
I sigh and rub my temples. "Does he ever?"
"I've only talked to the man three times. He still calls me Lauren. I don't really have a lot of context to go on."
