My phone beeps again, and it’s yet another notification from Troy, telling me yet again to stay home. And why can’t he track me? Well, in a way, it’s his fault. If he weren’t friends with them, I wouldn’t have known they existed. Yep, it’s all my brother’sfault, and for that I switch off my phone and slip it deep into my purse.
Chapter Five
Clover
It takes forever to get where I’m going. The final leg of the journey involves a helicopter ride, and then, finally, I’m on the island where The Hook resort is located.
It’s stunning. Everyone is so super friendly, but after a long journey, all I want is to be shown to my room so I can nap for a bit.
I push open the door to my room, and my mouth drops open. Holy crap. It’s absolutely beautiful.
The four-poster bed is enormous and draped in crisp white linens. The gauzy canopy flutters gently in the breeze from the balcony doors, which had been opened before my arrival.
I drop my purse onto the bed, and that’s when I notice the intricate design of the posts. There are metal-engraved rings around the posts, and wrapped around each post are layers of silky... rope. I want to examine further, but the floor-to-ceiling windows capture my attention. I have a lovely panoramic view of the ocean, and it’s breathtaking.
“Just what I need,” I think to myself as I take in the rest of the finer details of the room. Beyond the bed, a huge vanity, and a table with chairs, a strange piece of furniture is tucked against the far wall.
It looks like a padded leather bench, but it’s shaped a little oddly. That sloped angle is not meant for comfortable sitting. I decide it’s an art piece... but with...wait, what? Why does it come with soft wrist and ankle cuffs attached at strategic points? And why is the middle raised so high? Oh, maybe it’s for yoga? Or some fancy massage thing? The restraints don’t look very relaxing, but to each their own.
A tall marble sculpture catches my attention next. It graces the corner of the room. It’s... interesting. Elegantly curved and somewhat oddly shaped as well. I tilt my head, and it almost looks like a... No, of course not. It’s clearly modern art, very abstract, and is probably something completely different from the phallic ornament I imagine it to be.
I wander over to the dresser and spot another similar one. This one is much smaller, with subtle ridges running along the length and a thick, flared base.
Well, again, that’s modern art for you. I reach out and run a finger along it. It’s not a sculpture of a dick, I remind myself. Besides, I’m probably too literal to enjoy this kind of art. But other people do.
I pick up another ornament next to it, and it looks innocuous enough. It’s a flower. Except, the closer I look at the shape...
No. No, it is not a vagina. What I have is penis-and-vagina-infused jet lag. A nap and a shower will set me right.
I completely ignore the flogger that rests artfully on a crystal stand on a shelf. And the row of stainless steel... orangesqueezers that go from big to small. And the various crops in a copper vase. And the black cabinet that screams at me not to open it.
So, the hotel’s decorator is bold and has interesting interior design choices. All that matters is that the bed is comfortable—I checked—and the bathroom is to die for.
I strip off my clothes and remove my earrings. I plan to leave them in the bedside table drawer, but when I open it, I gasp so loudly, I’m sure the people in the next room heard me.
In the drawer is a neat row of sleek black objects in different sizes, still in their original packaging, alongside a fancy little bottle labeled ‘For Your Pleasure’ and a small remote control. There is nothing ambiguous about the contents now.
Okay, then. Well, the website did emphasize that the island is all about pleasure, relaxation, and fun. Good for you, The Hook Resort!
I take a shower, moisturize my skin with the hotel’s special coconut-oil lotion, and slip into a nightshirt. I try to sleep, but I’m too excited.
Besides, I want to enjoy every minute of this place. It cost me a fortune. Well, it cost the billionaires a fortune—a drop in the ocean for them. And again serves them right.
I want to be out there, with people. So I can forget about them and the agonizing thought of them being with those women, the magazine claimed they might be dating.
Screw them.
I choose a pretty summer dress from my new arsenal of summer dresses, do my hair and makeup, and set out.
Ah. I breathe in the tropical air and soak up the cool breeze as it catches on my coconut-oil-moisturized skin and entertains my nostrils.
I’m in prime tropical island mode, and I smell like it, too. The resort opens into a gorgeous open-air space with soft white sand stretching right down to the ever-blue waters of the ocean.
Palm trees sway, fronds rustle. It’s the definition of a hidden island gem, and I love it.
A big open-air bar on my left, built right on the beach with a thatched roof and glowing string lights, is filled with people dancing to the music and clinking their glasses together.
Since it’s early afternoon, I’ll spoil myself with some cocktails here before heading to the restaurant for dinner. I’m going to indulge in everything on the menu.
