"Mother, please," she implored, the desperation evident in her trembling words. "Don't do this. Javier—he's everything to me. You have to understand, I love him. What’s wrong with that? We have known each other forever. We played together as children here. His mother works for us. I love him. I think I have always loved him. What can be so wrong with that? Can’t you be happy for us? For me?"
Her eyes brimmed with tears, daring to spill over as she searched her mother’s face for a sign of compassion. At that moment, Isla was stripped bare, her heart exposed, vulnerable to the disapproval she knew was brewing within her mother. The depth of her emotion was palpable, a raw display of longing and affection for the boy who had become her world, her sanctuary from the expectations that were chaining her down.
"Love?" Victoria repeated, the word laced with scorn. Her lips set in a firm line, her gaze cold as the ocean depths. The sun, which had once cast a golden glow upon them, now seemed to highlight the ice in Victoria's veins, the unyielding nature of her resolve.
"I know what is best for you, Isla."
Her voice was a blade of steel slicing through the air. "This… infatuation, it will pass. It’s a phase, like so many other things. Like when you played the piano, huh? Remember that? Or when you just had to start playing volleyball, but quit after two weeks. You’re a child, a teenager. You don’t know what love is. You will thank me one day."
“Please, Mom, please try and understand….”
Isla's plea hung between them, fragile as a seashell, crushed by the sheer force of Victoria's authority. There was no room for negotiation in her mother's world, no space for the kind of love that didn't fit within the pristine edges of their family's facade.
"Enough!" Victoria commanded, every syllable a nail in the coffin of Isla’s hopes. Her presence loomed over them both, a testament to the power she wielded, the control she clung to with a fervor born of fear—fear of scandal, fear of deviation from the path she had so carefully constructed.
"I refuse to stand here and watch you ruin your life. Your future is not with him," Victoria said, her decision etched into the lines of her face, immutable as the rocks that bordered the beach. She grabbed Isla by the arm and started to pull her away.
"It never can be."
Chapter20
PARADISE KEY – SUNDAY MORNING
I leanedagainst the veranda railing, my gaze sweeping over Paradise Key Private Resort's splendor. It was morning again, and I had barely slept. Olivia finally fell asleep around four a.m., so I let her sleep a little longer while I went out for breakfast. The rustle of palm trees and the distant murmur of ocean waves usually brought a sense of peace. Not today. My chest tightened as I entered the main house.
The grand foyer opened before me, sunlight streaming through the windows and casting long shadows across the floor. With each step toward the breakfast buffet, I scanned faces, analyzed postures, and listened for hesitations in voices that might betray nerves or guilt.
"Ms. Thomas, enjoying your stay?" Mr. Harrison, the resort manager, greeted me with practiced charm. It was routine for him, a question he obviously always asked guests in the morning.
"Not really," I replied, matching his grin while my mind worked double time. "With everything that’s been going on. But I have noticed that you run a tight ship here."
"Only the best for our esteemed guests." He puffed out his chest like a proud peacock.
"Indeed." I let the word hang, then moved on. “Say, how long have you worked here, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Oh, we’re coming up on fifteen years, me and the wife.”
“I see,” I said. “So, you live here?”
“We do. No better place in the world.”
“And you were here when Isla Walton was found murdered?” I asked.
He took a deep breath and shook his head. “Yes, such a terrible, terrible tragedy. And now it’s happening again. We have known the Waltons for many, many years and never thought we’d see this happen to them again.”
“And Mr. Walton, he died five years ago, am I right?”
“That is correct, yes. Heart attack as we understand it.”
“Yeah, that’s what Victoria told me, too. Did you know Isla well?” I asked.
“She would come here every summer when she was out of her boarding school. I believe she went to school in England. She preferred it here to being up north. Didn’t do well with the cold, I take it.”
That’s why I didn’t know about her.
“And the boy, Marcus Cole, who was convicted of killing her, did you know him?” I asked.
“Most certainly. He would also come here to visit every summer. They were the loveliest couple. A very good fit for one another, in my opinion. And Ms. Victoria seemed to think so, too. She was very fond of him, even though he came from a different background than Miss Isla. She very much encouraged their relationship. It’s very strange what happened. He was such a nice young man. It makes one think… who can you really trust? Especially around your children.”
