“It’s fine, it’s fine. I’m sorry to have messed everything up, Gina,” she said. “But Icannotgo to the Caribbean.”
The silence in the kitchen was deafening as Sylvie tried to calm her breathing.
“Sylvie, you told me to go full steam ahead, so I did,” her old friend said. “It’s last-minute. It’s non-refundable.”
Feeling behind her for the stool she knew was there, Sylvie watched the room sway—or maybe it was she that was swaying. “I… Come on. I can’t.”
“Why not?” a voice close to her asked.
Turning, she realized it was Fiona.How did she get next to me so fast?
“It’s too much,” she whispered. “And I thought I could take…Mom.” Her eyes dropped to the pendant around Fiona’s neck, the one bearing the sparkling green gemstone.
“Oh, honey,” Fiona said. “Those gems take months to make. But that’s not the point! You should go foryourself. I think taking a break from all this would begoodfor you.”
Why in the world is Fiona being so…nice?
A warm pressure on her hand made her look away from her sister-in-law. Lilly had picked up her hand and was gently squeezing it. “You should go, Aunt Sylv. Martinique is beautiful. I looked up the hotel Gina mentioned, and it’s got everything you could want. I know it feels different from the idea of going to Europe, but I really think you should go. Grandma would want you to, right?”
The feeling was coming back to her toes as she calmed down, and the embarrassment settled in. “Yes,” she said honestly. “She would. I’m sorry I panicked. I just…I’m so sorry, Gina. You did a wonderful job.”
“It’s fine,” Gina said. “So long as you’re not upset with me?”
She shook her head. “I’m not. When is the flight?”
“That’s the other thing,” Gina said sheepishly. “It’s not actuallyeasyto get from Charleston to Martinique. None of the flight options are great, but Ididget you upgraded! And you have a lounge pass included in your travel insurance, so you won’t even notice the time. You’re going to have to leave first thing in the morning. I took the liberty of booking you an airport transfer.”
Sylvie felt almost in a daze as she squeezed Lilly’s hand and rose to her feet. “I guess I’d better pack.”
Chapter 13
As Sylvie stood on her small balcony, eyes closed, face tilted toward the sun’s warmth, she realized the Caribbean heat felt different somehow. Putting on a pair of sunglasses, she opened her eyes and looked at the beautiful blue water washing over the white sandy beach.
She had believed the hotel was closer to the main city, but after a surprisingly stressful taxi ride earlier, she found herself in a smaller town just up the coast. Hotel de France was apparently the most common hotel name on the island—they had passed several places with that sign. She stopped panicking after the third one, much to her driver’s relief.
There was a lively flurry of activity when she arrived. She hurried in from the cab, her luggage taken away by a bellhop, and she received a brief tour of the hotel and the small stretch of beach that belonged to it. Whatever package Gina had arranged for her was definitely the luxurious option. It included several activities and treatments—some of which Sylvie didn’t even recognize—so she had put off making any decisions for now. The concierge then took her up to her room, where her bags were already waiting. On the table in the center of the room was a small plate of fresh fruit and chocolates, with a glass of chilled champagne completing the scene.
Yawning, she set the empty champagne flute on the small table beside her. She was exhausted. How could she be tired when she had spent the entire day sitting on planes or in taxis?Every time someone said they were tired from traveling, she thought they were being overly dramatic. But the exhaustion she now felt in her bones humbled her completely.
Sylvie knew, however, that she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Now that she was alone and there were no more bags to pack, airports to reach, flights to catch, or taxis to arrange, reality was finally sinking in.
What am I doing here?
This was completely insane.
She had actually lost her mind.
As the thoughts raced through her head, Sylvie felt her pulse quicken. Her stomach lurched as the anxiety took over.
“Ma’am?”
She turned toward the voice and was surprised to see a woman standing in her room, appearing polite but slightly confused. Her dark skin was beautifully highlighted by an emerald-green silk blouse. Her tightly wound braids shimmered with gold and green beads. The outfit was striking, making the woman appear both ethereal and highly professional at the same time. Suddenly, Sylvie became sharply aware of the bags under her eyes, her unbrushed hair twisted into a clip, and the beads of sweat forming along her forehead.
“Uh, hello?” Sylvie said hesitantly.
“I’m Portia Montcliff,” the woman said. “The concierge said you requested to speak with me?”
Blinking hard, Sylvie tried to remember what the woman was talking about.
