by Quinn, Cari
Roman took the iPad back and laughed when he read it. “Well, you’ve got work if you want it. In fact, if I show some of these to my backers, I bet we could run a fairly extensive campaign. Would you be interested?”
Simon looked down at the sand. His future wasn’t supposed to include posing in front of a camera.
“Look, get yourself an agent and send me the details. If I can get the money scraped together, then we’ll talk.”
Simon met his gaze and nodded. He mouthed, “sounds good,” and held his hand out to Roman.
Roman’s grip was firm. “I’m serious. You’ve always had the look I was going for with my clothes. And seeing these pictures, I have a shit-ton of ideas for new stuff.”
Simon looked to Margo. She seemed to understand more than he could type.
“We’ve got a lot of stuff coming up with the vocal doctors, but definitely keep him in mind.”
Simon didn’t want to just be a pretty face. He wanted the music to go with it. He didn’t mind using his looks to get what he wanted and it definitely greased the wheel when it came to selling records.
People still wanted attractive people to match the sound.
But while he held his ass for the six months to get better, this was a viable option.
Simon held his hand out for the iPad and Roman passed it back. He typed: I have six months of healing time. If you can get the campaign set up, I’m in. He handed it back.
Roman read it and nodded. “I’ll make it happen.”
Simon made a gimme gesture for the iPad and held up a finger. He typed: I want that chair. And handed it back.
Roman laughed. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Simon waggled his eyebrows.
Margo gave Roman a questioning look.
“He wants the throne.”
Margo snorted. “Of course he does.”
Simon shrugged and slid an arm around her neck. “I am the king,” he mouthed.
“Oh, now it’s getting deep in here.”
“Thanks for helping me today, Simon. You saved my shoot. I spent way too much getting us out here. That model was beyond useless.”
And Roman padded his savings account. He was a helluva lot closer to getting the money together to payback his bandmates. Every single goddamn penny.
He held his free hand out for a fist bump.
“I’ll be in touch,” Roman said.
Simon steered Margo toward the path to the house. He stopped and wrote: retribution in the sand.
“Bring it, buddy.”
* * *
Simon stared at the ceiling fan that slowly rotated above their bed.
Last day.
It was hard to believe they’d been there for eight of the ten days of his vocal incarceration. He and Margo had gone through a few ups and downs, but she’d been a rock through it all. He saw how her worry for him weighed on her. She covered it up mostly, but at odd times he’d see her watching him.
He tried not to think about how important his appointment was. The tickle he’d lived with for months was gone, but he still felt off. He wasn’t sure if it was because he hadn’t made a sound in weeks, or if it was just part of the healing process. He’d deliberately stayed off the internet sites where he’d previously done research.
Miles of pages of conflicting information made his head spin. Some of it had been outdated, some just plain wrong, more of it terrifying. If that made him an expert in denial, then so be it. The waiting game was killing him. He just wanted a playbook to follow. He sucked at sticking to the rules, but in this, he’d make the exception.
He’d kept to the silence when every part of him wanted to scream. Surely he could do this too.
The other half of the bed dipped and he turned his head. Margo was kneeling on the mattress, her dark hair already tied up in deference to the heat. She wore a strappy tank top and her favorite cutoffs. When the hell had she gotten ready? He hadn’t even felt her get out of bed.
He rolled closer to her and rested his head on her thighs. She smelled of coconut and her honeysuckle scent.
She pushed his hair back and smiled down at him. “You, my friend, are a lazy bum.”
He frowned and peered around her to the clock. Wow, it was almost noon. Island time had skewed early for them because the stained glass windows usually let in the sun at the crack of dawn.
“It’s our last day in paradise. Any requests?”
He reached above the bed for the little marker board he stashed on a shelf. He scribbled: NO SHOPPING and flipped it around.
She laughed. “No, there will be no shopping. Besides, you always buy way more than I do anyway, buddy.”
He shrugged.
“Good thing we don’t have to check bags. You’d be in deep trouble.”
Simon grinned at her. Yeah, he officially had four bags now. Between the clothes and trinkets and more clothes, he’d filled up two bags. The others were paintings, textiles, and cool pottery from local artists.
“I’m not sure what you’re going to do with everything.”
The more he’d purchased, the more he thought about getting his own place. The little house full of his bandmates had been plenty when it was just him. Now that he had Margo in his life, he hated the thought of tripping over everyone.
But he wanted to actually ask her—with his damn voice—to move in with him. But he needed a place first. He’d have to get Lila’s help. She seemed to know everything.
He picked up the board and wrote: I’ve never had stuff before. I’ll have to figure out something. He flipped it around for her.
“Well, there’s no more buying here anyway. I have a little something planned later. But I’m yours for the day.”
He tugged at the hem of her shirt.
“No. That’s for later.”
He rolled onto his side. “Oh?” he mouthed.
“Yes.”
He slid his thumb over her tattoo. So small and fragile with the wild reds and yellows that matched his own. He laced his fingers with hers for a moment then picked up the board again and scribbled: is there part of the island you want me to see that we haven’t gotten to?
She read over his shoulder. “Actually, there is.”
He rose up and pulled her down to his mouth. “Show me,” he said against her lips.
She smiled into his kiss and groaned when he sneaked under her shirt. “No way. Up and at ‘em.”
He flopped onto the bed and scrawled: you suck on the board.
“Maybe later.”
He rolled off the bed and scooped her up, dragging her into the bathroom with him. After a very wet, very satisfying shower that included a happy ending, they got dressed and hit the road. The day was gorgeous, the sun shining as it did almost every day, but the humidity was missing.
Well, not missing, because damn, he’d had enough. But there was a nice breeze off the water as they tore down the coastal road. Margo was driving in her usual NASCAR-style. Instead of going off into the vistas for the various views of the coves, she followed the signs for the National Park.
“So, I know it’s a little lame to go to the park like a kid, but there’s this one little part that I want to show you. I used to love it when I was a child.”
He lifted her hand to his mouth. He didn’t think it was lame. He’d never had family moments like this. The closest he’d ever had to a familial moment was when his dad bought him a six-pack for his sixteenth birthday.
A week late.
She parked at the far side of the lot and they paid their fare for the parking. She held his hand as they weaved their way up a trail and landed in a maze of ruins. Margo picked up her pace and drew him deeper into the maze until the stones crumbled and they somehow managed to end up on a hill that looked over the park.
The lush greenery was neverending and the water looked impossibly blue. She moved to stand in front of him. “This. No matter what kind of crap went on at home, when we came up here to the St. John house, we acted like a family.” Sh
e laughed. “Even Juliet was less her snarky wild child-self here.”
He pressed his cheek against her temple. She so rarely talked about her family. They were both similar in that vein, though he was sure his family life made hers look like the Bradys. But when you were in the situation, it felt far different.
His father’s ability to ignore was legendary. If he wanted to psychoanalyze it, it would explain why he loved being a singer in a band. But brain-picking never helped anyone. It was the here and now that mattered, not the past. The past didn’t define him. It was just a part of him.
“So, this was always my favorite place.” She turned around in his arms. “I’m glad you got to see it. I’m even more glad that it didn’t change in the ten years since I’ve been here.” She tucked her chin on his shoulder. “Maybe a few more bricks missing in the stone.” With a sidestep, she dragged him around to a short tree that was craggy with roots and a thick trunk. “And this was a lot smaller.”
She touched the bark above a knot in the tree. A faded M was carved into the tree. He pulled his Swiss Army knife out of his pocket. It was the first time all week that he’d worn something other than a bathing suit.
He pulled her in front of him and reached around her to make a plus sign and the letter, S.
She laughed and traced over her M, then his S. “No matter what happens, this tree will always be ours.”
He pressed his lips into her neck. He didn’t like the way she’d said that. But when she pulled him away and back down to the ruins, he pushed it to the back of his mind.
They spent a few hours backtracking through the maze and finding cool little pockets of old houses that had either been demolished in old battles or ravaged by time. Bells chimed out of her phone as they were walking the path back out to the park entrance.
He took out his phone and typed out: surprise time?
She laughed. “Why yes it is.”
Nineteen
Margo texted Kim to make sure everything was ready. The drive back to the house was quiet. Simon seemed content to just sit back and relax. He wouldn’t listen to the radio, which unnerved her a bit. But she didn’t push it. Music had been his life for so long—not being able to be immersed in it had to be hard. He wouldn’t talk about it. Couldn’t talk about it right now. They’d done fairly well with communication, and had definitely used body language in all its forms to get through the week.
But she wanted their last night there to be as romantic as possible. When they got back to Los Angeles, there would be a whirlwind of doctors’ appointments and friends to deal with. August was bleeding away and with it was her time to get ready for the LA Philharmonic.
With the uncertainty of the next few months, she wasn’t sure how she was going to make ends meet without some time in the studio, or getting a more permanent job, like the symphony. And the LA Philharmonic wasn’t like Boston. The schedule was rigorous and kept her landlocked in LA.
In fact, there was usually a chunk of time that they were in another country. If she took that sort of job—if she was even offered it—it would be a commitment that could impact her time with Oblivion. Would they be jumping back on the road right away, or going back into the studio?
Pushing Simon into working with a voice coach would be a whole new bag of crazy. From just knowing how to sing to actually having someone teach you how to correct past mistakes…yeah, that wouldn’t be an easy road. Especially since his range might be different now.
So many what ifs.
And only one day left of things she could control.
As they made the steep climb up the winding road to the house, she looked over at him. “So, you have to shower and chill without me for about an hour.”
He curled toward her on his seat and slipped his hand up her thigh. “Oh?” he mouthed.
“Yes. And no, I’m not telling you anything more.”
His fingers inched higher.
She laughed. “No, not even your fancy and very talented fingers will get this out of me.” She parked and got out before he could take that as a challenge. She rounded the Jeep and dragged him out. “This will be worth it, I promise. Come down to the beach in an hour.”
He squinted at her.
She twisted her fingers into his belt loops and tipped her face up to meet him, closing the short distance in their heights. “An hour.”
He leaned down and pecked her mouth, then whacked her ass.
“Hey now.” She laughed and skipped down the path. Simon could distract her very easily. She waved and ducked under the trees to the trail that led to Kim’s house.
Kim must have been on the look out for her because she met her at the door. “Get in here. What took you so long?” She held up her hand. “I don’t want to know.”
“We spent more time at the park than I meant to.” Margo shrugged out of her button-down shirt and sprinted up the stairs to Kim’s bathroom. She grabbed her super tiny bikini and a fresh pair of shorts to do the initial running around in.
After a quick shower, she brought out the glittery gold temporary tattoos she’d bought a few days before. She added the chain and her new hoop earrings, clipped her hair up, and put on a little smudgy eyeliner and mascara. She dusted gold bronzer in a few key spots and called it done.
She opened the door and Kim’s eyes widened. “Geeze.”
“Too much?”
“No. Good thing Brian’s not home.”
Margo grinned. “Thanks.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Kim shook her head. “God, to have that body when I was twenty-something.”
Margo brushed her hand over her midsection. “I got to spend the day with a bunch of supermodels recently, so I do not feel the same.”
“Only fashion designers want coat hangers like that. Real men want curves and a woman who knows how to work it.”
“Thanks, Kim. Always good with the pep talks.”
“I could kill your mother. She wishes she had your curves.”
“She does not,” Margo said. Most definitely did not. Her mother viewed a lush body as excess. Period.
“I know for a fact that Jayne Reece would have had a happier life if she didn’t carry that stick up her ass.”
“Maybe.”
“For sure. But we’re not here to pick apart the less than stellar qualities of your mother. We’re here to make sure you end your vacation with a bang.”
Margo pressed her lips together.
“Wrong choice of words,” Kim muttered.
“Not really.”
“With what you wanted done on the beach, this is not a shocking revelation.”
Margo snickered. “Did I give you enough money to cover it?”
“More than. I had no idea there was a service like that.”
“I heard about it in Los Angeles. I figured a resort island would have to have something like it.”
Kim shook her head. “Glamping. What a ridiculous term.”
Margo had picked out a whole set up off the website. It would be the perfect way to end their stay. And for once it wasn’t storming or supposed to storm. It was a clear, perfect day for exactly what she had in mind.
“Thanks for your help, Kim. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
“I’m just glad you found someone to fit you. It’s so hard to do.”
Margo looked down at her feet. “We work. I don’t know how to explain it.”
Kim folded the shirt Margo had been wearing earlier and set it in her bag. “So, will I get a wedding invitation someday, then?”
“No.”
She looked up. “Well, that was quick. You don’t think he’s the one?”
“If there was such a thing, I think he might be.”
Kim frowned. “Of course there is. Look at me and Brian, at the friends you’ve talked about while you were here. It’s everywhere, Margo.”
She shook her head. Marriage never worked for her family—especially the Reece line. She’d seen that firsthand from her grandparents on both sides to he
r parents, and even her uncles. Marriage was a union of names, not love. She didn’t want any part of that. “I found someone who makes me happy. No need to put a name on it.”
Kim sighed. “Well, I suppose that’s smart. You’re still really young.”
Margo nodded. “Besides, I don’t even have my career figured out right now. How am I supposed to add in a ring?”
“Most of the time love comes around when you’re least ready for it. Doesn’t mean it isn’t real.”
Her heart twisted a little. It certainly felt real. But just because the L-word came up didn’t mean it was forever. It could just be a moment in her life. She was going to hold onto it as long as it lasted.
She held out the tattoos. “Now I just need help with making sure these are straight.”
* * *
Simon wasn’t sure what to expect for her surprise so he decided to dress up a little. They’d been living the beach bum life where bathing suits were the outfit of choice. He went with linen pants and a soft black bamboo shirt he’d found in one of the stores.
He pretty much needed all of his shirts in that material—when he had to wear a shirt anyway.
He donned his sneakers for the trip down the path, but kicked them off for the beach and stowed them in the small plastic bin they’d half buried in the sand. Freak rainstorms had killed both of their sneakers too many times.
He pushed away the branches to the overgrown palms and let out a low whistle. Tiki torches were lit around a huge white tent. But not the camping kind of tent. Something more along the lines of an outdoor wedding or party.
A small table and chairs were set up in the sand on some sort of flooring, again surrounded by more torches. Little white lights were strung at the entrance of the tent and illuminated the inside. A huge red and white cooler with Camping Made Beautiful printed on it sat beside the table.
He made his way to the table and she filled the doorway. A black string bikini, emphasis on the string, hugged her curves. She wore a short-sleeved cover-up that left her completely on display. The creamy sheer material was cinched with a thin gold band under her breasts.
