She mutters something under her breath. It could be an insult, for all I know, but that doesn’t bother me. I’m in a good mood, despite a night that wasn’t exactly restful.
The king-size bed in which we slept wasn’t to blame. It was large enough to fit us both comfortably. The annoying cameras and mics were gone—the bedroom is off limits for them. Laura climbed into the bed first and opened a book. I spent thirtyminutes in the armchair, answering business emails. My last message wasn’t work related. I texted Pedro on the secure line, asking him to help me find a pretext to question Laura about the music box without raising suspicion.
When I joined Laura in bed, she’d just switched off the bedside lamp. I wished her good night and turned my back to her. It was the smart move. That woman smells too good and looks too appealing even for my steely willpower.
“Good night,” she said quietly.
I heard her scoot away from me. When I looked over my shoulder, she’d moved so far to the edge she was practically hugging the nightstand. I worried she’d fall off the bed. That worry woke me up several times during the night. She was still on the bed—and still perched as precariously as before. Her breathing suggested she was asleep, so I didn’t dare to wake her up.
I hope she doesn’t pull that stunt again tonight!
Laura’s voice pulls me back to the present. “How much farther?”
“The best view is still ahead,” I reply evasively.
She nods and keeps walking. The trail narrows. Her steps become slower, and her breathing grows audible. Alain, the cameraman behind her, isn’t doing much better. I can hear him huffing and puffing like an old steam engine.
Laura catches me looking at her with concern. “I’m fine!”
“Good.” I turn forward again.
The truth is, she’s doing OK. I thought that by this point she’d be demanding we turn back, but she keeps going. It looks like her stubbornness is making up for what she lacks in stamina and skill.
Alain mutters something about needing a break. Laura’s hand brushes a tree trunk as she steadies herself on the climb.She’s tired but doing all she can to hide it. Her flushed cheeks, beaded forehead, and faintly trembling steps give her away.
I check my watch. The actual spot with the best view is another twenty minutes ahead. Judging by Alain’s wheezing behind us, he’s not going to make it. Neither, I fear, is Laura.
I stop abruptly and gesture toward a small landing to the left of the trail. “This is it!”
“That spot over there?” Laura peers, doubtful.
I deadpan, “Best view on the trail.”
Alain groans and collapses onto a rock nearby. His camera dangles around his neck, and he lets it. All he manages to do is hold up five fingers to convey he needs five minutes before he can function again.
Laura steps onto the landing, looking skeptical. But then she brushes her hair damp with sweat from her forehead and looks down. Her eyes widen as she takes in the scene.
I plant myself next to her. The sea stretches out before us, a dazzling, almost unreal blue. The sunlight catches the waves, making them glitter like shards of glass. The cliffs rise sharply to the left. Their spiky edges cast long shadows over the beaches below.
“Pretty,” Laura says.
I cross my arms. “Pretty? Is that all you can say?”
“Fine. It’s amazing. Happy?”
“Overjoyed.”
Alain picks up his camera. He points it at us and repositions himself to get a better angle.
Laura leans closer to me and whispers, “I feel like we should say something profound to make our fans as overjoyed as you are.”
“Like what?”
“Um… Something about how this view is like the marriage we’re hoping to have.”
“Wow.” I shoot her an awed look.
“Will you say it?”
