Vivian
It’s been over ten days now. Sean Penn had to leave to deal with an emergency in Haiti. A lot of the private citizens who have been out looking had to go back to work. The Coast Guard told your parents that they’re almost done searching every island in the area. And I have to fly back to New York tomorrow. There’s nothing more I can do here, and I have the big Neutrogena shoot in two days, although I don’t know how I’m going to be able to do it, not with you still missing. If I could stay, I would, but I can’t afford to lose that account. If the Coast Guard doesn’t find any sign of the plane by tomorrow night, they’re going to call off the search. I’m so sorry, Paige. I’m trying everything I know how to do, but I’m terrified it won’t be enough.
THE NEXT DAY
Vivian
Last day of the search. I’m just waiting to board my flight back home. Please, dear God, Paige, do whatever you can to be visible today. Love you, my friend. So, so much. I don’t know what I’ll do without you. Mostly just cry and be totally miserable for the rest of my life.
The last two days have been amazingly perfect. I’ve been drunk on Mac the entire time. He makes love to me every way I’ve ever imagined and a bunch of ways I haven’t. Missing the wedding seems like a fair trade-off for thismuch happiness. Okay, that’s not true. If I could do anything to have that time back, I’d do it. Unless it meant giving Mac up. Because everything about us just fits. It shouldn’t work but it does. So beautifully. I’ve never felt so cared for or listened to or important to anyone in my entire life. And seriously, the sex. Oh, the sex. I can’t even describe it. There are moments when I’m scared I won’t be able to uncurl my toes. Is that even a word? Uncurl? Oh, who cares about grammar when there are mind-bending orgasms to be had. I honestly don’t care about anything else right now, which basically means I’ve crossed over to ‘addict’ territory.
I don’t care about the fact that I should have been back at work a week ago or that Guy has probably fired me by now. I only care about Mac’s smile, his touch, his kiss, feeling the weight of his hard body on mine. We barely put on clothes, choosing to do most things in the nude, except cooking—that would be even more dangerous than letting myself fall in love with him. Which is exactly what I’ve done.
And he’s in love with me. He obviously isn’t ready to risk saying it to me. He thought I was asleep when he said it, but he said it. But I know I can’t say it back because I wasn’t supposed to hear it and it would totally scare him off that I’m wildly, completely, and most likely permanently in love with him.
I snuggle closer to him as the hammock sways a little in the warm breeze. Mac is dozing, and I’m just lying here with him, doing nothing but breathing in his scent as my mind drifts from my real life to this fantasy and back. The longer I’m here, the more my real life feels like the fake. I can’t stop thinking about what he said to me two nights ago, when I asked what he needs to be happy and he said, “I’m looking at her.” My heart felt like it was going to explode with joy.
I would stay here forever with him if I could, as insane as that sounds. But, maybe it’s not so crazy after all. Maybe The Beatles were right, and love really is all you need. Okay, well, love and my peach bellini conditioning lip balm. Oh, and if a Starbucks opened on the other side of the island, that would be nice. I could go for an iced caramel macchiato right now. And I suppose it would be awfully handy if Amazon would start drop-shipping here, which would require internet access, which would also allow us access to music, books, and movies. Also, when we finally run out of dried goods, I know I’m going to miss the hell out of pancakes and rice and syrup. But none of those things are must-haves. They’re just nice-to-haves, whereas Mac is quickly becoming a must-have.
Yes, if given a choice (and a few conveniences), I think I’d stay here forever if I could get word to Vivian and my family that I’m alive. Gah! When I think about what they must be going through, I feel sick inside. Just awful. Honestly, I can’t let myself dwell on that too long. I wake up thinking about them, but then I send a prayer to the Universe that they’re all okay, and set all the guilt and worry aside. Because the truth is, Mac’s right. You have to let yourself be happy regardless of the circumstances. Nothing in life is ever perfect. No stage or age or situation. If you don’t find things to feel good about exactly where you are, you’ll live your entire life without ever really enjoying any of it. If I were to have spent the last ten days moping, I would’ve missed out on what is easily the greatest experience of my entire life and it would change nothing for my family or friends.
It’s crazy how all the things that seemed so important to me before—the meetings and contracts and schmoozing the ‘right people,’ the clawing my way to the top, my to-do lists and SMART goals—none of it matters in the least tome right now. When I think of going back to that life, it seems so cold, hectic, and lonely. The thought of putting on a suit and some heels and rushing to the subway station on a wintry morning doesn’t appeal to me in the least. I used to live for my job—the excitement of it all, the adrenaline-inducing pace, the being plugged-in twenty-four hours a day waiting for my big chance.
But now, lying in Mac’s arms, swaying in the warm breeze, none of that matters to me. I have everything I need right here. We have food. We have each other. We have love. We have it all, but I’m terrified that we only have it because we’re here. What will happen when we leave this island? And we will leave this island. Even if our ad campaign doesn’t work and the plane doesn’t get spotted, the owner of this cottage will come back here eventually, and it’ll all be over in an instant, like getting woken up from the best dream in your life before you’re ready. And when that day comes, will he even want me anymore? What if he wants to go back to his old life of freedom and fun? I don’t think my heart would ever recover.
I lift my head and examine his face, noticing that little scar on his cheekbone that I was wondering about all those days ago when he was carrying me down the mountain. I run my fingertip over it and he opens his eyes.
“What happened here?”
“Oh, that?” he asks. “Bar fight.”
“Actually?” I say, not sure if I should believe him or not.
He grins at me. “No. But a bar fight sounds cooler than what actually happened.”
“I want to know what actually happened.”
“It’ll cost you,” he says.
My mouth spreads into a wide grin. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, it’s a pretty big secret,” he says, capturing my mouth in a kiss. “Not something I tell just anyone.”
“How about I’ll spot you a thousand in poker tonight.”
“A thousand fake dollars? You’re going to have to do better than that.”
“A really long, naked massage?”
“Who’s doing the massaging?”
“You’re massaging me.”
He laughs, then shakes his head a little. “I always have to read the fine print with you, don’t I?”
“I’m afraid so,” I say, kissing him hard on the mouth. “Oh, all right. I’ll massage you.”
“Actually, I think I prefer if I’m the one doing the work. I can’t get enough of having my hands all over you.”
