by Taryn Belle
Rusty dropped down beside him. “Another diver got caught in fishing line, so I had to stop and cut him out. It happens sometimes.” When Alex didn’t respond, Rusty calmly went on. “You swam away from your buddy. Your belt slipping off was a piece of bad luck. I came for you as soon as I realized you were missing, but thankfully someone else got to you first.”
Alex shook his head with his eyes focused between his feet. He still didn’t understand what the hell he’d been thinking. He remembered gazing out at the sinkhole from the reef, and then an overwhelmingly optimistic feeling bubbling up in his chest. He would do more than get over his fear, he remembered thinking—he’d fucking obliterate it. And then he’d started swimming toward the sinkhole like he was under some goddamn spell or something. To say he was furious with himself was an understatement. He’d thought he could handle this, could conquer his lifelong fear, and instead he’d only succeeded in making it worse than ever.
“Nitrogen narcosis,” called out a female voice from behind him. “At least I’m pretty sure that’s what it was. Did you feel giddy and invincible?”
That voice—it was vaguely familiar. Alex lifted his head and slowly turned it to see a woman standing on the other dive boat, bobbing up and down with the waves in an opposing motion to his craft.
No.
It was her. Looking completely different from this morning—wet hair askance, a red rim around her eyes where her mask had imprinted on her now-pale skin, but those aqua irises—he could see them all the way from where he sat. There was no mistaking it: the goddess he had encountered on the road this morning, the hottest woman he’d laid eyes on since forever, was his rescuer.
Alex’s pulse kicked into high gear, making his ears ring. Now he truly wanted to die of humiliation. Everyone on both boats was staring at him now, including another large, protective-looking instructor at the woman’s side. As Alex looked at them, his memory of the recent events fell away, leaving only an intense visceral feeling in his body that was all too familiar. He felt the warm gush of water rushing out of his mouth, saw the crowd of kids staring at him, and his father’s furious face as he strode toward him. And then later—the sharp sting of his father’s slap across his five-year-old cheek. His father, the person who was supposed to care about him, had only enforced to Alex how badly he’d messed up.
Alex’s hands curled into fists on his thighs. He’d learned about nitrogen narcosis in his scuba lessons, but his understanding was that it only happened at depths below a hundred feet. Was she trying to help him save face? Or making fun of him? He knew he owed her his thanks for saving his life, but with his emotions running riot, he feared doing so might reduce him to tears. So instead, he jumped up and strode to the end of his boat, getting as far away from his rescuer as possible.
* * *
“Whoa,” Kiki said to Nicola as she watched her friend down her second tequila shot in five minutes. “That bad, huh?”
“That bad,” Nicola confirmed, sliding her glass across the bar for a refill.
“Care to talk about it?”
Nicola shrugged. “What can I say? I saved some Z-list celebrity today—risking my own life while I was at it, I might add—and he doesn’t even have the decency to thank me. I mean, sure, it’s part of my job description, but really? The way he was looking at me, it was like the whole thing was all my fault or something.”
Hands on her hips, Kiki shook her head in disbelief. It was one of the many things Nicola loved about her roommate—that she could always count on Kiki for a big validating reaction to her stories. “Jesus. Where does someone even get off?”
“I know, right?” Nicola said, lifting her third shot to her lips. “Maybe it’s a Moretta thing.” She threw the tequila back with a quick toss of her head, and then clunked her glass down on the counter. “Like as in, maybe I’m just not cut out for this place.”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Kiki said, slinging her dish towel over her shoulder and leaning her elbows onto the bar to get in her friend’s face. Her pretty green eyes narrowed at Nicola. “You’ve only been here for four months. It’s been good for you. You are not bailing on this like...” She stopped.
“Like I usually do? It’s okay, Kiki, I know.”
“Okay. Good,” Kiki said, plucking a wineglass from the rack above her to fill an order.
Nicola watched her friend, thinking how grateful she was to have her in her life. When Nicola first came to Moretta, it hadn’t been with the intention of staying here. After she’d been fired, she’d known exactly who to call in a fit of tears. Kiki had convinced her that a break from it all would do her good, so Nicola had packed a suitcase and flown to Moretta the following week. It wasn’t hard to fall in love with the place, and when she’d gone for a dive and mentioned to Rusty that she was an instructor herself, everything had started falling into place. Kiki needed a roommate, Nicola needed a place away from the spotlight where she could regain her sanity and still earn a living, and they both needed a friend. A few phone calls back to LA was all it took to wrap up her life there. She’d been sharing an apartment with a colleague back at home, and as luck would have it, her colleague had recently started making noise about wanting her boyfriend to move in. Whether her roommate was sincere or just using it as an excuse to kick Nicola out after the scandal, she wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter—Nicola asked her to put the remainder of her clothing and few personal items into storage, which she’d happily done. Nicola tried not to think too hard about the fact that it had taken less than a day to put an end to a ten-year chapter of her life, because something about it was downright depressing.
Nicola watched Kiki’s eyes following someone behind her. “Dev Stone just walked in,” Kiki said under her breath. “Just another day at the office.”
Nicola could have cared less, but she caught a glimpse of him in the reflection of the bar’s mirror all the same. Hair raked back, careless swagger, a gaggle of groupies in tow. Vomit-inducing. She was just about to say so when she caught sight of another face among the entourage: the diver she’d rescued.
Nicola groaned. This island was much too small, and the scene was so fucking typical that it made her stomach turn. “Don’t look now, but it’s Mr. Z-lister himself,” Nicola told Kiki. “I guess we’ve unearthed whose star he’s hitched his ride to. I have to get out of here.” She slid a twenty across the counter and stood up.
“Total asshole,” Kiki agreed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Never mind that he’s a hot asshole.”
Nicola rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t deny the twinge she felt in her nether regions at the memory of their brief encounter this morning. After everything that had happened, how was that even possible?
“Love you,” Nicola said to her friend, and then she was gone.
* * *
“You should try the lobster,” the woman beside Alex urged him, not even attempting to be subtle about pressing her breast against his arm as she leaned toward the dish. “It’s unreal.”
“Thanks, I’m good,” Alex responded dully, leaning away from her just as unsubtly.
Lobster. He’d seen a whole pod of them today on the dive. It had been amazing to see them all piled together with their antennae waving at him in slow motion—before it all went to shit and he decided he was Poseidon, king of the goddamn sea.
“Hey,” Dev said from across the table, the first word he’d spoken to Alex since they’d been seated. As he watched, the woman on Dev’s left reached for a platter of plantains and started refilling her master’s plate. Alex refrained from rolling his eyes. “How was the dive?”
“Fantastic!” Alex forced a smile, then glanced over his brother’s shoulder toward the adjacent bar to check for any new arrivals. He’d been doing this since they sat down in the restaurant an hour ago, just hoping she might walk in. Just hoping he’d have the chance to apologize and thank her the way he should have in the first pla
ce. But there was no one new—just the same lineup of bodies seated at the strawberry blonde’s bar that had been there since they arrived.
A sharp knife of regret twisted in Alex’s gut. He’d acted like a fool. Sure, he’d been furious and terrified, but how could he have let his pride get the best of him like that? He rubbed a hand over his stubbly face. “Hey, you know what?” he said to Dev, pushing his chair away from the table. “It’s been a long day, and I need to get some sleep. I’ll see you back at the house, okay?”
Dev looked taken aback. “Sure, man, whatever you want.”
Alex excused himself and looked around for their waiter. He knew his gazillionaire brother was accustomed to paying—even expected to pay—for everything all the time. Dev wouldn’t even check the bill when it arrived. But it was the principle of it that mattered to Alex. Just as he’d refused Dev’s offer of the private jet, he would pay for his own meals and any other expenses that arose when they were together. Letting his brother give him a free ride only enforced the shadow Alex had lived in his whole life—especially after Dev’s first album took over the charts when he was just twenty years old.
The waiter was nowhere to be seen. Sighing deeply, Alex made his way over to the bar and leaned forward on his elbows. The strawberry blonde bartender was inches away from him, but instead of offering him a drink, she picked up a bar mop and started slowly wiping down the already clean countertop.
Alex cleared his throat. “Excuse me.”
“Oh.” She rocked back coolly on her heels. “Did you need something?”
“Just hoping to pay my bill. I can’t find my waiter.”
She tapped a button on the iPad that was sitting on the bar. “Table twelve? Mr. Stone has a credit card on file.”
Alex reached into the back pocket of his shorts and pulled out his wallet, then took out a hundred and laid it on the counter. “Then please just put this toward it,” he said. He was about to walk away when he caught himself and spun back toward her. “Hey,” he said, giving his fists two quick raps on the bar. “There’s a dive instructor that works at the scuba shack...blond hair, greenish eyes—”
“Male or female?” the bartender interrupted with a lift of her eyebrow.
“Female.” And hot as hell, he wanted to add.
“Sorry, doesn’t ring a bell,” she replied with an exaggerated upturn of her palms, then returned to her cleaning.
Alex stared at her. It was so obvious she was lying that it was almost funny—she wasn’t even trying to hide it. Which could only mean one thing: that she and his rescuer were friends, that his rescuer had already spilled the story and that somehow the bartender had figured out that he was the guy who’d made it all go down. God only knew what an asshole this woman must think he was.
“Listen,” he said. “I did something really stupid today, and I owe that woman a serious apology. I get it if you’re protecting her. But as her friend, think about this—would you rather she went to bed tonight feeling shitty, or feeling like a hero? Because she was my hero today, and I really need to tell her that.”
Her eyes widened. “Wow. You’re good.” She reached under the bar and slid a piece of paper across to him. “I’ll give her a note.”
CHAPTER FOUR
WEDNESDAY MORNING. NICOLA awoke around five thirty to the sound of tropical birds chirping loudly outside her window. Above her bed, her skylight was a dark orange square of light streaked with purple. She tossed and turned for a while, considered getting up—someone still had to walk to the gas station for a jug of gas, and she guessed it wasn’t going to be Kiki—but then she fell back into a light sleep filled with strange, twisted dreams. An hour later she woke up feeling foggy and out of sorts.
Today would have been Nicola’s second day back at school. She imagined another teacher in her old classroom, organized exactly how Nicola had liked it with her hand-lettered alphabet cards circling the dry board. She thought about twenty faceless children sitting before her, those little sponges who, for eight years, she’d taken so much joy in helping discover their worlds. Then she pictured the faces of her students from last year, stopping to hug her as they bravely made their way to their second-grade classroom.
And Oliver. Sweet Oliver who talked a mile a minute, whose imagination was more intense and whose curiosity was more boundless than any child she’d ever known, the kid who’d stolen her heart from day one with his earnest questions and spontaneous hugs. And the same kid who’d start digging his pencil into his skin when he became bored, who’d physically lash out at his schoolmates and at Nicola herself when he felt overwhelmed.
A severe case of ADHD. Nicola knew the symptoms, had grown up seeing them in her own mother every single day. Her mother hadn’t known it because times were different then. But now that Nicola had encouraged her to get treatment, she couldn’t help but wonder at how different things might be if her mother’s condition had been managed earlier. Not just the instability and poverty that marked her childhood because her mom had had trouble holding down a job, but the calling Nicola felt as an adult to help others in similar circumstances. Would she have still stepped outside her professional boundaries to help Oliver? If not, everything that happened stemming from that one decision—the first photo with Matthew released by Celebrity Life, the paparazzi camped on her doorstep, the one piece of dirt the press was able to dig up on her, and the hurtful accusations from parents and coworkers—might never have happened. But it had, and as a result Nicola had had to leave behind everything she knew and loved.
A month ago Nicola had turned thirty. Teaching scuba diving on an island of celebrities, no matter how idyllic it might appear, was not the life she’d planned for herself at this point.
You have to stop this line of thinking, Nicola scolded herself. Such thoughts could only lead to one thing, and she never wanted to go back to the place they brought her to again. She simply couldn’t afford to exist in a world that dark.
Determined to get her day off to a better start, Nicola rolled over in bed—and came face-to-face with her open laptop on her nightstand. Three tequila shots in quick succession were never a good idea, but when combined with Google they could be downright regrettable. A little drunk and still reeling from the dive mishap—and him—she’d broken down and searched Matthew’s name last night for the first time since she’d moved here. What she’d found hadn’t helped her mood. Her screen had filled with the latest news—that his wife had filed for divorce because “their marriage hadn’t been able to take the strain of Matthew’s alleged affair with elite private-school teacher Nicola Metcalfe.” That his wife was asking for spousal support and full custody of their only child, Oliver.
Nicola had felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. She understood why celebrities flocked to this island. There were no tabloids or newspapers for sale at the gift shop, and here you could choose, if you wished, to exist without the internet and TV. The very famous were trapped in a hell of their own making that elicited zero sympathy from the public. Only by association, Nicola had lived that hell for six endless months, and it had nearly destroyed her. She couldn’t imagine what it must be to have the world judging her every word, move and decision—to fuel the voracious appetites of the masses for failure and hope and mistakes—simply by existing.
Heavy thoughts for a beautiful day. Trying to shake off her mood, Nicola tied her emerald robe around her and went into the bathroom to shower and brush her teeth. Her phone was sitting on the vanity. Since moving to Moretta, Nicola had become decreasingly reliant on it, sometimes leaving it at home for an entire day without even noticing it missing—something inconceivable back in her old life. But really, who was going to call her? She’d been shocked at how many of her friends had jumped ship when the scandal went down. Which was another reason she loved Kiki, loyal to the end.
Nicola brought her screen to life to see a text from Kiki. It had come in at around ten thirty
last night, long after Nicola was fast asleep.
Z-lister just left you a note. Want me to take a picture of it?
Great—just what she didn’t need to improve her mood.
So what was up with that little flutter in her belly?
After showering and getting dressed in her usual work uniform—today it was a white bikini, pink terry shorts and a gray tank top—Nicola went into the kitchen with coffee on her mind. There was a piece of folded paper on the counter next to the coffee maker.
The note.
What could he possibly have to say for himself?
Nicola unfolded it and read: You saved my life. I acted like a complete moron. Would you accept an apology drink? Alex 555 873 9921
It was tempting. Nicola could still see his aqua eyes, the lines of his muscular shoulders, how he’d looked at her on the road yesterday morning...but no. Anything beyond a drink would prompt her conscience to reveal the truth about why she was here—or rather what she’d run away from to land here—and that was a complication Nicola didn’t need.
She crumpled up the note and tossed it into the recycle bin.
* * *
From the back pocket of Alex’s swimming trunks, his phone signaled an incoming text message. He made a grab for it, but it was just another work message from back home—still nothing from one of the two people he really wanted to hear from right now.
