Day one, she’d feigned a headache, which was easy to do considering the heat and the glare of the afternoon sun that pierced her skull every time she made the trip between the main lodge and her air-conditioned villa. Elise hadn’t even second-guessed Vivian when she’d said she was also dehydrated, because who was going to risk questioning a possible medical emergency in the middle of the bush?
Day two, Vivian had gone for a slightly more dramatic option: a stomachache. She’d blamed the omelet she’d had for breakfast, claiming the eggs they used had tasted funny. Elise had become a little more suspicious then, which made sense since Ndloveni was a five-star lodge. Their eggs were spectacular. Vivian had nearly shot herself in the foot with that one, but at least Elise had just suggested she see Maurine, which she hadn’t. Instead, she’d wallowed in her villa the entire day thinking about that kiss.
That stupid, regretful, but also deliciously lovely, hot-bodied kiss that had managed to burrow into her brain and brand itself on her skin.
Vivian should never have followed Sienna into her tent. She could have just dropped her off, left the door open, and let a passing lion wander in and devour her whole. Well, maybe sacrificing Sienna to the local wildlife was a bit dramatic.Starring in aNational Geographicreenactment of “host feeds bachelorette to lions” was not the legacy she was going for. She could have just nudged the door shut with the toe of her sandal and walked away.
And even if, by some cruel twist of fate, she had gone inside, she should at least have broken the kiss the second Sienna had planted her lips against hers.
Vivian sighed and dragged a hand down her face.
She hated to admit it, but the truth was she had wanted it to happen… and then she didn’t. Which was all terribly confusing.
The only thing that wasn’t confusing was that tomorrow she’d be back on set and fully operational. She needed to be a grown woman who could suck it up and act like nothing had happened. Her grandmother would’ve told her to stop moping, put on a good sturdy pair of shoes, and handle her business like a competent adult. Sorry, Nanna, I only wear heels.
“You’re a big girl, Vivian Florence Michaels. Stop your crying.”
“Big girls can cry,” six-year-old Vivian had snapped back. But then she’d proceeded to dry her tears and reserved her crying for when her grandmother wasn’t looking.
Vivian picked up her glass. She ran her thumb over the condensation and stared at the moon rippling across the pool. On the edge of her lounger was a massive beetle clinging to the fabric. She nudged it gently with her toe, watched it lose its grip and tumble harmlessly onto the deck below. She was just about to take the last sip of her wine when a sudden shriek split the night in two.
Vivian sat up so fast her lounge chair screeched against the wooden deck. Her flailing hand clipped the side table, and her iPad went flying to the floor.
“Fuck,” she muttered, already moving to reach it. But then two staff members in khaki came sprinting past the pool deck. Their flashlights were like twin search beams slicing through the darkness. She jumped up so fast that she went momentarily blind.
“What happened?” she called. Her heart was hammering so hard against her ribs she could hear it in her ears. “Who’s screaming?”
But neither slowed down nor even glanced back at her.
“Did someone get hurt?” she called even louder this time. Again, no response. But in their defense, they were too far to hear her. Which was why Vivian decided to follow them, to head toward the screaming. If this were a horror movie, she, the supporting actress, would be killed off in an unceremonious mid-scene close-up.
She couldn’t sit idly by and let other people handle the situation. What if it was Sienna who was screaming?
And then an even worse thought came to mind: what if Sienna had been attacked by some wild animal? What if Vivian never got the chance to get over what had happened? Seriously, it was just a stupid, drunken kiss, one of those heat-of-the-moment, emotionally confusing, entirely meaningless mistakes. Sienna probably hadn’t meant anything by it.
Vivian followed the sound of shouts down the pathway that connected the tents to the main lodge. It was nearly midnight. Everyone should have been asleep, which was why the usual lights that lined the railings were off. Still, wouldn’t someone have turned them back on by now? At least Vivian managed to trail the beams of flashlights. Then somewhere up ahead, someone yelled. “There’s a snake in Nisha’s tent.” And Vivian stopped dead.
For a second, she just stood there, processing. A snake. In Nisha’s tent. Not in Sienna’s. That was good. But also bad, because a snake in any tent warranted an emergency, possibly even an evacuation. Before she could consider rushing forward or turning back, another staff member jogged past her carrying a long metal stick with a hook at the end, shouting instructions. “If it’s a boomslang, don’t approach.”
“A boomslang?” Vivian called. “Is that bad?”
“What’s going on?” a voice asked behind her. A voice she hadn’t heard in two days. A voice she’d wanted to hear, but also not.
Vivian spun back so quickly she nearly lost her balance. Thankfully, she didn’t. Otherwise, she would’ve bumped into Sienna, who was standing barely two feet away. Her robe was cinched tightly around her waist. Her hair was mussed, and her face was dewy from sleep.
“A snake,” Vivian said softly, pointing back toward the commotion. She wasn’t sure why she was suddenly whispering, but she couldn’t help herself when she added, “In Nisha’s tent.”
“What kind?” Sienna asked.
“I don’t know what kind,” Vivian said, frowning. “How am I supposed to—”
“Do you know what color it is?” Sienna interrupted. “That usually helps. Green ones are often boomslangs, black or olive could mean mamba, and brown can often be harmless. But then again, a cape cobra can be yellow, brown, or black. Then you also get snakes with markings on them, like the puff adder with yellow chevron markings or the spotted bush snake with black spots on its body.”
Vivian shook her head. She realized her mouth was hanging slightly open and quickly closed it before a gnat could fly in. Vivian had heard several of the staff members refer to the tiny, winged menaces as ‘miggies’ which apparently was the Afrikaans term for them. There were plenty of them when the air was still. She swatted one away from her cheek. “How do you know so much about snakes?”
“I spent some time in Botswana,” Sienna said easily. “At a small snake sanctuary just outside Gaborone. They work with local residents to relocate snakes safely and run educationalprograms for schools. I spent a week volunteering there when I first started my travel blog.”
Vivian stared at her, trying to imagine Sienna—clumsy, accident-prone Sienna—moving carefully among venomous snakes. To be honest, she couldn’t see it. The only thing she could see was Sienna standing on a snake’s tail. Vivian hadn’t realized she was staring at Sienna in complete silence until Sienna said, “Why do you look so surprised?”
