Next up was Kira James in a gold sequin halter neck dress with a slit so high Harper hoped she was wearing underwear. Kira was a twenty-eight-year-old marine biologist from Cape Cod, Massachusetts, who collected teaspoons everywhere she went. Harper caught her as she stepped up to Monica.
“You look nervous,” Monica said, her voice all buttery and sympathetic.
Kira looked a little taken aback by the observation but quickly plastered a smile on her face. “Is it that obvious? I thought I was masking it pretty well.”
“Deep breaths,” Monica told her. “Forget all about the cameras.”
“Easier said than done.” Kira chuckled, definitely not masking her nerves. In fact, she looked entirely more nervous than when she’d just climbed out of the limo. But then Harper would feel that way too if she were walking toward the bachelorette with a jar of what looked like pickles. She raised her camera, zoomed in, and caught the glint of something briny inside the glass.
The next limo door opened before Kira had even disappeared up the carpet, and Rebecca Morrison stepped out in a deep emerald dress that hugged her like it had been tailored an hour ago. Harper recognized her from the contestant packet too. Rebecca was thirty-four, from Denver, and worked as an architect, which somehow made perfect sense the second she looked at her. Everything about her was clean lines and quiet control, from her sleek bob tucked behind one ear to the way she paused, took in the setup, and smiled like she was already editing it in her head. Monica greeted her with the same polished warmth, but Rebecca’s “I’m ready” came out steady, like she actually meant it. Harper lifted her camera andcaught the exact moment Rebecca glanced toward Megan at the top of the steps, her expression shifting from composed to unmistakably intrigued.
Then she shifted her camera to the left and caught sight of blonde corkscrew curls in the production tent. Elise was standing behind a monitor, staring so hard at the screen she wasn’t even blinking. For a second, Harper willed Elise to meet her gaze, hoping that if she did, she would see a flash of recognition in her eyes. She was even tempted to walk over there and ask Elise what the hell was going on, because surely she couldn’t have forgotten a night like that, under the stars, the sand pleasantly warm beneath the towel Harper had laid out for them.
But she didn’t. Because the next limo came to a halt. Jasmine Patel climbed out. She was wearing a ruby-red wrap and had long brown hair that would’ve cascaded down her back if the breeze hadn’t been whipping it across her face like a runaway scarf. In fact, the wind had picked up so much that even Monica, whose dress was flowy but short, seemed to struggle to keep it from ballooning around her legs.
“I think we should take a break,” Elise called, walking out of the production tent toward the carpet. She was waving an arm in the air to get everyone’s attention. Her curls were going feral in the wind. A few strands flew into her mouth, which she immediately spat out with a quick, irritated puff. “Before the light reflectors blow away.”
That was a touch dramatic. Though Harper did agree with taking a break. Not because the blue carpet was rippling under Harper’s feet, or the petals from the jasmine arch were spinning like tiny white frisbees, or the lanterns flanking the path were toppling over, but rather because a break meant she could get Elise alone. And to get Elise alone meant she could find out if she actually remembered her.
A gust suddenly slammed into the jasmine arch. It shuddered so violently that the entire structure bent like a bowstring pulled too far. Branches creaked. Blossoms tore free in a white flurry, and the metal brackets anchoring it to the limestone gave a terrible screech.
The next minute, the entire arch was soaring through the air.
Harper’s brain registered danger a fraction of a second too late. But her body did not. She lunged toward Elise, who for some reason wasn’t moving out of the way, grabbed her by the arm, and yanked her out of the arch’s path just as it slammed down onto the limestone with a teeth-rattling crack. White blossoms burst across the ground. A vine whipped past Harper’s cheek. Monica screamed, but Harper couldn’t see her and assumed her scream was more of a warning than anything else.
And then suddenly, Harper realized she had Elise in her arms, and the wind, which was still whipping like crazy, felt calm in comparison to the storm in her stomach.
Elise’s hand fisted lightly in the front of Harper’s shirt. For a terribly long five seconds, neither of them moved. Then a jasmine blossom drifted down and landed in Elise’s hair, and Harper leaned in just slightly to blow it away with a puff of her breath. It was then that a memory unfolded as clear as glass in her mind: Sesriem campsite. Red sand dunes. The two of them had agreed to share a tent for the night because of the tent shortage. Then a sandstorm had rolled in so fast it swallowed the dunes. A tent pole snapped. The two of them were holding up the polyester walls with tired arms until the entire thing just collapsed. Their sprint to the communal bathrooms, hair plastered to their faces, laughing because the only other option was crying. Elise had stood under the flickering light with sandcrusted in her eyebrow. And Harper had reached out to brush it away.
“I have no idea how we actually survived that night in Sesriem,” Harper said so quickly she didn’t even realize the words were out of her mouth until Elise had let go of her shirt and was looking up at her with those blue eyes the color of the ocean at dusk.
“We should never have fought the wind as long as we—” Elise started, then stopped. She took a quick breath in and glared down at the ground as if she’d said something she was desperate to take back.
But she couldn’t. Harper had heard her. Elise was only pretending not to remember her.
Which should’ve made Harper feel ecstatic, but somehow it didn’t. Because the look in Elise’s eye wasn’t dreamy nostalgia, and it wasn’t gratefulness for Harper saving her from nearly being pancaked by a jasmine arch. It was anger.
“Can we talk, please?” Harper asked, but her voice was fighting the wind, and by the look on Elise’s face the answer would be a solid no. Still, she had to try. “I know you’re busy, and I know it’s probably quite a shock to see me here of all places.” She gave a nervous sort of chuckle, hoping it would disband the tension between them. But it didn’t. Elise didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. Probably hadn’t even heard her over the wind.
“I have to go,” Elise said finally, sweeping her hand backward to where Megan and Monica were huddled in the doorway of the villa. The limos sat idling at the end of the driveway, holding the remaining contestants, and the video crew wrestled with the reflectors that also threatened to take flight.
And she did. She walked away, leaving Harper more confused than she’d ever been in her life. Which, frankly, was saying something. She waited a few more seconds until she wassure she didn’t want to run from the villa and ducked against the wind.
She wasn’t going to give up. Elise needed to hear her side of the story.
Chapter Six
Elise usually loved mornings. Back in Los Angeles, mornings had been her time. She’d start at her apartment in Silver Lake, a large sun-splashed loft tucked between bougainvillea-draped walkups with hardwood floors that creaked under her bare feet and huge windows that gave her a fantastic view of the city. Coffee usually came first. Strong and black from the tiny artisanal roasters a few blocks down. She’d take it back to her apartment where she’d sip on it on her balcony and watch joggers make their way around the reservoir while the rest of the city stretched awake beneath the hills.
After coffee, she walked—never ran, her ankles were too delicate—and always wound up at Griffith Park, where she pretended she was alone in the world, even when the mountain bikers whizzed past her. Occasionally, she’d stop at Griffith Observatory, just long enough to breathe in the panorama of the city sparkling below and prepare herself for the avalanche of emails and deadlines waiting like tiny landmines.
But this morning was shaping up to be a full-blown irritation. Not only was Harper in Positano, of all places, but she was waking up in one of the crew houses, stretching under the sheets, possibly naked, in a way that was all elbows and knees. Her sandy blonde hair was probably all mussed at the back, like it used to be ten years ago. Elise had a very clear image of Harper walking out of her tent, fingers working hard to detangle her hair, while she yawned so wide she nearly swallowed the desert whole.
Elise groaned. She needed a way to get that mental image out of her head before it permanently lodged itself in her frontallobe. Which was why she stepped out onto the tiny balcony that overlooked the glittering sea and planted her feet on the cool limestone before wobbling into downward dog. There was no wind. Not even a lick. It was as if last night’s windstorm had never happened.
She stretched out the tight line of her spine and pretended she was able to clear her mind of Harper. But then again, the more you tried not to think about someone, the more you did. Unfortunately, another memory came rushing in quickly. Elise was sure her brain hated her. Plastered in her mind like a movie was Etosha National Park. Lightning had ripped the sky into shards. Rain had hammered down like someone had shaken the clouds and wrung every last drop of moisture out of them. The two of them sprinted for the jeep from the production tent. Elise had been tasked with getting biltong for Jimbo, and Harper was just coming along for the ride. Just as she had reached the jeep, Elise slipped on the wet ground, and Harper had grabbed her arm to steady her. Both of them were drenched, panting from adrenaline, and acutely aware of just how close they were to each other. There was a moment when they both stared at each other’s lips, but then Harper had let Elise go. She had thrown herself into the jeep. Elise had followed, slamming the door behind her, and just like that, the moment was gone.
But the memory had never left.
