After a minute of meditative breathing, I force the tears away.Look alive, Basil. I thumb the invisible indent on my finger and lift the ring to eye level. My jaw tightens at the pain as I stand and lift the lid. No, this won’t solve everything, but it is a damn good start.
I drop the five-carat diamond ring into the toilet and flush down the last memento of the old Basil Jones. No one will betray my trust again.
Commending my performance, I fling the door open, march back, and nestle in my large seat, feeling livelier than before—or maybe the rum has kicked in. I don’t know or care. The airplane dings as the seatbelt sign illuminates and the captain announces, “Flight attendants, please prepare for our descent into Sapphire Isle. The local time is 12:10 p.m. The weather is beautiful with a temperature of 82 degrees fahrenheit and skies as blue as the ocean you’ll see beneath us. Will have you on the ground enjoying the island shortly.”
* * *
When I stepinto the Goddess Lagoon Resort lobby, an enchanting ambiance sparkles around me. Serenity canvasses the pristine, white marble–floored space. The Greek goddess statues are laced with vibrant vines and the walls with pillars as wide as the grin forming across my face. An impressive blend of Thai and Greek decor. My smile widens to its furthest point when I stroll past the tree-shaped water fountain. A penniless one at that.
Warmth from the early-afternoon sun seeps through the revolving doors, providing reassurance that I made the right decision to go on my honeymoon alone. The lobby smells of fresh summer flowers, vanilla, and cardamom. I bask in what will be my new sanctuary for the next two weeks, which exudes a type of peace I’ve only witnessed on my screensaver. For a moment, stress and anxiety from the last several hours melts, loosening my back and shoulder muscles.
The check-in line is short, but not moving quickly enough. My jaw tightens at the couple in front of me. Is that necessary? Every thirty seconds, the baseball hat–wearing brunette giggles and pecks the woman holding her hand, which signals the curly-haired woman to kiss the brunette’s fingers. Their longing gazes and loud giggling are over the top. What is taking so long?
I inhale a long breath. No need to be annoyed. Within ten minutes, I’ll be lying in a king-sized bed with more pillows and security than any woman could ever provide. I tilt my chin higher, step closer to my destination, and plant my Louis Vuitton carry-on luggage over a glass square built into the floor. Tiny orange and white fish swim unphased by the foot traffic. It reminds me of the pet goldfish Hazel and I—more me than her, meticulously cared for as a child, until one day, our older brother, Finn, said Gilbert escaped down the toilet drain back to the ocean. The first budding sign I was doomed at keeping relationships alive. I shake my head and walk to the next available receptionist, a White woman with red hair and bright smile, waving in my direction.
“Welcome to the Goddess Lagoon Resort. We’re so delighted to have you stay with us. Could you please remind me of your name?” She stands with a cheerful, almost genuine disposition.
I nod, eagerly lifting my driver’s license and printed confirmation paper. Something I like to bring in case technology fails me. A contingency plan, since my love life doesn’t have one. I smooth the single wrinkle from the sheet and slide both items across the bamboo countertop. A wide grin settles on my face as I check the arrow-shaped signs.Café. Restaurant. Event Hall. Gift Shop. Villas. This is the final stop before beginning my recovery from the jetlag.
Rapid taps from long fingernails striking a keyboard echo through the nearly empty room. I turn my attention back to the source.
The receptionist puts a hand over her heart. “Aww, congratulations. Honeymooners are so beautiful. Two women celebrating their marriage hits me hard right in the feels every time. Ugh. One day.”
I force a smile.Wonderful. One of those “love conquers all” types. Hundreds of customers check in each week, so the exaggerated, awestruck performance is quite unnecessary.Don’t do it,I start to say, but change my mind.Instead, a fake appreciative chuckle leaves my lips as I eye my golden ticket—the villa key—tucked inside the pocket of the brochure. I swear every redhead I know speaks too damn much. Aunt Patricia, my client William, and Jill—although she was a fantastic tennis partner.
“Thank you.” I bat my eyes, pretending to care while she yammers on about the resort’s package and couple activities I’ve replaced with sunbathing.
Once the spiel ends, she fixes her sights on my luggage bag, then back on me. “I just need your signatures and you are all set. Any questions?”
I place the ID and useless itinerary inside my bag. “No. This all sounds lovely, thank you.”
“We also offer scheduled tours of the resort, given by yours truly. If that’s of any interest to you.”
I slide the paperwork back and shift my stance, picking at dots of lint on my sleeve. She didn’t seem to like the way I dismissed her previous comment, but I don’t care. This has to be over soon.
A weighted stare makes me look up.
“I just need your wife's signature and you'll be all set.” Her tone is clipped.
Wife’s signature? The blood drains from my face before a flash of heat replaces it.Are you fucking kidding me right now?A couple walking through the entrance yanks my attention away, giving me just enough time to hide my gritting teeth.Damn you, Olivia.Not a single person will stand in the way of my six-figure wine contract or the king-sized bed with plush 1000-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets. I smile wide at—name tag check—Sunny. And what a ray of sunshine she is.
“Hi, Sunny. I simply adore that name.” After dialing up the charm, I continue, “Just curious, why do you need my wife’s signature? Especially since I am the one who made the reservation.”
“I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience, Mrs. Jones.” Sunny looks over my left shoulder, then my right, and does that rambling thing again. “We have a couples-only policy—well, it’s technicallynotcouples only. All types of sapphic relationships are welcome at Goddess Lagoon. Due to the increase in demand, we require all parties' signatures upon check-in. This information was located at the bottom of your reservation page when you booked. Line fif—”
“I read the reservation.” Jesus. Theonetime I didn't fully review the paperwork before signing.
“Okay.” Sunny blinks. “Then you also read about our one-night grace period and cancellation policy. I understand you booked quite a while ago and may have forgotten. When will your wife get in?”
Question of the century. I chop down on my tongue when I catch Sunny’s fake grin, preventing me from giving her a piece of my mind. Haven’t I been through enough for one lifetime? I cross my arms over my chest, searching for my next words. Keeping my voice steady is becoming a challenge, and she seems to love it. “The reason my wife will not be present today is because she has to deal with an emergency. A…logistics emergency and will arrive tomorrow morning.” There. Done. I just need to get past this hell demon and the rest will be history.
Her features soften, bringing a slow smile to my lips. “How unfortunate.” She straightens her back. “Please have her swing by the front desk when she arrives tomorrow and we’ll get that signature from her.”
I can work around that. We were enjoying our honeymoonsomuch it slipped our minds.How unfortunate.I quickly nod while extending the handle of my carry-on in victory, but halt at the next sobering words.
“It’s due tomorrow. Otherwise, the system flags the account, and I’ll have to ask you to leave. It’s an island. We’ll find you.”
My eye twitches at her cute, evil chuckle.
