Sienna let out a frustrated huff and stared down the stone wall beside Vivian’s head. “Nothing,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s fine. Everything’s fine. After tonight’s date, there are only three more days left of this, and then it’s done.”
Except it wasn’t. Not really. Because when it was all done, she’d still have to pretend to be in love with whoever she picked. Then what? She couldn’t exactly dump the poor woman on live television. Which meant she would have to wait days or probably weeks before she could tell Vivian how she really felt. Before they could stop hiding.
Not that they were going to talk about it now. That topic of conversation had been politely ignored for the last five days, both of them dodging it like a wild animal hiding in the bush. Today was no different.
Vivian reached up and touched her chin with the tip of her finger. “Don’t think about after,” she said softly. “Just think about now. Us. Here. We’ll figure it out when the time comes.”
But even Vivian didn’t look as certain of herself.
Thankfully, her hesitation lasted all of two seconds before her hand reached for Sienna’s hip. Just like that, Sienna’s knees buckled once again, and every thought she’d had about tonight’s villa date melted right out of her head.
She kissed Vivian with a mind scrubbed clean, and every nerve tuned to her.
“Hey!” someone hollered from the kitchen. “This is a private area!”
Vivian broke the kiss, grabbed Sienna’s hand, and was already leading her away. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Vivian had promised herself she wouldn’t spend the evening obsessing over the villa date. Since she didn’t have to host tonight, she could, in theory, welcome distractions in different forms: a stroll along the lodge’s winding wooden pathways, a casual dining experience at the open-air boma, a trip to the bar where Coco, a feisty bartender with a tendency to over-share could easily tell her stories of tourists who made even the most patient safari guides want to scream.
Instead, she found herself sitting alone on the library’s balcony overlooking the bushveld. Her spine was pressed against the wrought-iron backrest of a bistro chair while she flicked through an online brochure for Villa Saseka—the fanciest villa in all of Ndloveni Lodge. The same villa where Sienna and Nisha would be spending their date tonight.
Beside her on the floor was the cushion that had fallen off the chair minutes ago. Comfort was for people who kept their promises. Vivian reminded herself of that when she’d nearly picked it up to deposit behind her back.
“Freestanding copper bathtub with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Mirhi Watering Hole,” Vivian read out loud. “Perfect for watching elephants while enjoying a private soak.”
She pictured Sienna perched in that tub with Nisha behind her, arms holding her tight while steam curled around their shoulders. Her stomach twisted painfully. If Vivian had any sense at all, she would have stopped reading two pages ago.
But her eyes scrolled on, completely unstoppable.
“Wood-fired hot tub on terrace offering a romantic escape under the stars. Includes champagne cooler and plush robes.”
She groaned but didn’t stop. The next page showed photos of a burnt-orange sunken lounge with cream tasseled cushions surrounding a flickering fire pit. “Ideal for marshmallow roasting and intimate conversations with your loved one.”
Vivian wanted to toss her iPad into the bush like a grenade. But she didn’t. Because, of course, she wanted or needed to see more. Which didn’t help her state of mind. Especially when the next photos showed an immaculate kitchen with stone countertops, a backsplash, and a smiling man wearing a crisp white apron and a chef’s toque that looked straight out of a luxury food magazine. “Private chef’s kitchenette for personalized dining experiences. Choose from curated menus featuring local delicacies and gourmet desserts.”
Vivian’s traitorous mind jumped straight to chocolate truffles. She could practically see Nisha feeding them to Sienna off a silver platter.
“Would you like some company?”
Vivian nearly dropped her iPad. At least her reflexes were still intact, which was something she couldn’t say for the rest of her. She flicked her head back to the voice and inwardly moaned. She wouldn’t have minded the interruption so much if it had been Themba, ready to impart another one of his bushveld pearls of wisdom, but it wasn’t Themba.
It was Elise.
And Elise was walking right up to the table like she’d been invited. She drew out a chair, set her drink—bourbon on the rocks—on the table and plopped down beside Vivian. “You really shouldn’t punish yourself like that,” she said, gesturing towardthe iPad with a tilt of her head. Curls bounced on her shoulders like springs wound up too tight.
Vivian promptly clicked the screen blank. She didn’t need advice from Elise. Not when Elise was part of the reason why she was in this position, though smaller than she wanted it to be. The real reason was harder to accept. The truth was, it was mostly Vivian’s fault. She was the one who had decided to fall in love with Sienna. But was that really a conscious decision? Or could something like that not be decided at all, like breathing or gravity, or any other involuntary act?
“I’m not punishing myself,” Vivian said, smoothing a hand over the table. There was a thin layer of dust across the wrought-iron mesh. She rubbed her dusty hand on her jeans. “The website was still on my tab from the last time I checked it for, you know… research.”
If Elise didn’t believe her, she didn’t show it. She just swirled the bourbon in her glass. The ice clinked pleasantly, and Vivian wondered what had possessed her to come out here without a drink.
“I know this must be hard for you,” Elise said.
Ha. Such a comment deserved a special place in hell. Vivian didn’t think Elise knew anything about how this felt. According to Fi, Elise had been divorced twice. And without conscience, apparently. She’d taken each husband for everything they had and then some. Her love, if one could even call it that, seemed to function more like a business arrangement. Vivian could even go—or maybe she shouldn’t—as far as saying Elise had the emotional range of a teaspoon and the survival instincts of a crocodile.
“I don’t think you do,” Vivian said flatly.
