I take the papers from her. They’re covered in neat-as-a-pin handwriting.
“Sorry it’s like that, but we don’t have access to any of the computers or printers here, and it’s been put on ice for so long that… Well, we haven’t bothered to do anything with it when we go home.”
This stack of paper is a life and situation summed up. “It doesn’t matter,” I assure her. “It’s the contents that are important.” I nod toward the seating area. “Let’s go through it together.”
Forty-five minutes later, it’s clear that there’s treasure here ready to be dug up. The changes Deshni and Sarika are proposing are inspired by their Indian culture and Ne’emba’s location on the Spice Route. They would like to supplement the traditional Beaumont spa menu with Ayurvedic treatments. Some massages would require three sessions over three consecutive days, and that’s where everybody benefits.
This excites me more than any French manicure ever will, and would probably double the spa’s income in a few months. Deshni and Sarika will also be busier, which is probably why they came up with these plans in the first place.
“Do you have training in Ayurveda?” I ask.
“We spent time in India with family, and that’s where it all started. We were trained in Ayurveda before we trained as beauticians.”
“Fantastic. I’ll support you in all of this, but you know I can’t authorize anything. It has to go through head office.”
“Yes, but if we have someone in management putting our ideas forward, our chances are better.”
I nod. “I’m going to type this up and put it together in a proposal template. You can sign off on it, and then we’ll take it from there.”
Deshni studies me for a long moment, as if she’s weighing the situation—no, it’s as if she’s weighingme, considering whether she can hand their plans over or not. For the first time, I realize the amount of trust she has to have in me to surrender their vision.
“There’s no need for us to sign off on it. Only…will you claim these as your own ideas?” she asks, a weary edge in her tone.
“God, no. Why—”Oh.So this is how it’s been going. The staff here don’t trust anybody. And now I wonder why they would trust me. Maybe it’s because I’m an American, and they’ve never had an American manager here before. Maybe it’s because I’m young too, especially for this position. “Of course I won’t. I’ll support you all the way.”
Deshni heaves out a breath and smiles. “Thank you. We knew you’d be different, so Sarika and I had that it’s-now-or-never moment this morning. You seem to have everything so perfectly together, and it would be great to have you on our side, even if it’s only until April.”
If she knew what a shitshow my life is, she wouldn’t be in such awe. As for our time here, we’re chipping away at it day after day. “Get your products lined up, and do some practice runs on Sarika. I’ll start today so we can get the ball rolling.”
“Thank you.”
I stand, and she does as well. “What are your long-term goals here?” I ask. “Have you thought them through?”
Deshni hesitates. “This is enough for now. Long term…I don’t know. I’m on contract with Sarika, but she won’t stay here forever. This is the only way we’re allowed to do it. My father is not old-fashioned, and he is kind and want us to have this career, but the expectations are for us to get married too, and soon. It’s just…”
Now there are tears in her eyes, and my soul sinks into a puddle, seeing her like this. “Yes?” I touch her shoulder, encouraging her to continue.
“Well, for me… I’ll have to see what happens with—” She breaks off and sighs as a blush spreads on her cheeks and tears finally spill over.
“With?” I prompt when she doesn’t continue.
She shakes her head as she wipes her tears with a deprecating chuckle. “It doesn’t matter. You’re so lucky. To be here with the man you love? To be open and honest about it and have your family’s blessing? You’re not even married. You’re only engaged and can be here, with him. For me, it’s not so simple. I’ll have to settle for something arranged.” She shakes her head again, and this time, I watch her close down.
Oh my God. Deshni just gave my heart a hairline crack. She’s in love with someone she can’t have. In her future awaits an arranged marriage. The notion is so foreign to me that my world, which has always seemed so big and wide, suddenly seems small and insignificant—so small and insignificant that I can get away with faking an engagement and not thinking how bizarrelyluckyI am able to transplant myself and flee my problems on a whim. And that Tristan made it possible with ourarrangement.
As if today hadn’t started off rough enough, I’m now a fraud with my staff. This has been my moral conundrum from the start, and now it’s personal, with someone who has taken a leap of faith withlittle old me. “I’m sorry,” I tell her as I squeeze her shoulder.Sorry for so many things I can’t talk about. “If there’s anything I can do?—”
“This is a good start,” Deshni says with a sniff. “That’s all I can ask for. Happiness is, after all, a decision, not a choice.”
Chapter Twenty-One
TRISTAN
This morning’s sizzling fun and games have evaporated. In plain terms, my day has gone to shit before it’s even started, thanks to Roger.
The first thing he’s done was to change our first dive’s location without consulting me. That I could run with. I’ve now covered all the dives here at least once, but still, getting underwater and not finding what you sold to guests made me feel like a sleazy secondhand car dealer. Then, when we came up after the second dive, he ignored my signal to boat over to where we’d drifted almost hundred yards from where he dropped anchor. We had to swim—swim—toward him to catch his attention so he would bring the dinghy over to get divers out of the water.
I couldn’t grill him for an explanation in front of guests, and to top it all off, he’s been as sour as a pickled prune.
