He rose slightly and clasped her wrist, stopping her from walking away. “Don’t discard what I’ve said, Suzette. Every word is straight from my heart.”
Gracious, he was good. So smooth. So persuasive.
She tugged her hand free. “Bye, Justin,” she whispered, turning away before she gave in to the ridiculous urge to fling herself into his arms like some lovesick heroine and let him carry her off into the sunset.
She took a breath — one steady, measured breath — then continued after Moses across the patio, her wrist still tingling where his hand had been.
*
That evening, restless, and with the puzzle doing nothing to settle him, Justin finally gave up and headed for the hotel. He had no real plan — just an ache for her company.
Laughter rose from the boma as he walked past, fairy lights flickering through the milkwood trees. Smoke from the central fire curled into the warm air, carrying with it the beat of hand drums and low, pulsing rhythms that suited the solstice night. He’d seen the bride and groom exchange vows earlier, framed by a sun setting over the ocean.
And imagined it was him and Suzette.
It was exactly the kind of wedding that suited her — warm, simple, intimate, threaded with joy.
On the dining veranda, two couples lounged back in their chairs, wineglasses catching the candlelight. He was grateful for the semi-darkness; he’d walked out without a single thought of a disguise. Not even his security team knew he’d slipped away, a lapse he corrected by sending off a quick text.
Waitstaff lingered nearby, attentive and unhurried. When he stopped to ask after Suzette, they told him at once — apparently helping in the kitchen that morning earned a man certain privileges.
“Boardroom, sir,” one said, pointing toward the lobby. “MiesSuzette never stops.”
The towering Christmas tree in the center of the lobby glowed with flickering white and blue lights, echoing the beach-themed decorations scattered throughout the hotel. Justin paused, letting the warmth of the sight settle in him, and felt the familiar tug of missing the holidays with his family — one of only ahandful he’d ever skipped. He made a quiet mental note to call his mother later and catch her before she retired for the night.
As he continued through the lobby, he passed the gift kiosk and couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his mouth. It had taken some finessing, but with the help of a lovely lady named Alma, he’d managed to procure the blue-stone necklace. Raw aquamarine, she’d told him, the metalwork an intricate blend of black and bronze metals and crafted by a local artist.
He added the matching drop earrings, and in the process learned something important: aquamarine was Suzette’s birthstone. The conversation had drifted from gemstones to birthdays, and before he knew it, Alma was enthusiastically explaining the cosmic compatibility of Pisces–Scorpio matches. He didn’t give a damn about star signs, but he’d take the compatibility tidbit and tuck it away.
All in all, a very successful shopping experience.
He pushed open the boardroom door, and there she was, seated at the long oak table, surrounded by stacks of colorful wrapping paper, unruly curls of ribbon, scattered gift tags, and a small mountain of presents.
For a moment he simply watched her — hair slipping from its clip, back curved over the table, her hands moving deftly as she worked with steady focus.
She didn’t notice him until she reached for another ribbon. “Justin!”
He smiled. “The staff gave you up. I believe you’ve been hiding in here for a while.”
A soft laugh escaped her. “Not enough hours in the day.”
He didn’t like the tired edge to it. Or the hint of sadness when her smile fell away. And the half-eaten sandwich beside her looked as though it had been abandoned hours ago.
Stepping closer, his gaze took in the organized chaos. “Who are all the gifts for?” he asked.
“Staff. Our annual party is tomorrow afternoon.” She gestured at the growing pile of wrapped boxes. “Sunday before Christmas. It’s tradition. The team stops work around noon, and they get to be guests for once.”
She went on, almost absently as she tied a bow. “Kids and spouses come. We do beach games, lamb on the spit, corn on the cob, watermelon. We even have a Father Christmas.” A faint smile curved her lips. “Miem’s Piet, this year.”
He looked over the gifts, noticing the variety — no duplicates at all. He picked up an oblong wooden box and lifted the lid. Inside were three small tubs. He read the labels aloud: “Smoky steak rub. Spicy peri-peri mix. Herb lamb seasoning. Who’s this for?”
“Moses — the one who called me today. He’s so proud of the new braai he built.”
Suzette reached for a stack of envelopes, flipping through them until she found the right one. He caught the name before she taped it to the just wrapped gift.
“What did you get Virginia?” he asked.
“A foot pamper set. Poor woman is on her feet all day, here in housekeeping, then going home to take care of two little ones.” She set the gift aside and picked up the next one: a colorful cotton drawstring bag. “This is Thandi’s, the chef’s daughter. She’s fifteen and training to be a lifeguard. Sarong, water bottle, and lip balm, mister Nosy Parker.”
