“Nice book,” Matthew jeers without looking at me as he falls into the lounger farthest from me. I bite my lip, resisting the urge to tell him I’ll loan him some picture books if he’s feeling left out.
“God, this music is terrible,” he gripes as Steven pours him a tequila on the rocks. “Hasn’t anyone told them what year it is?”
I roll my eyes. Only Matthew could complain when we’re sitting in paradise. He walks off towards the DJ booth and a fewmoments later, music that sounds like a mix between techno and radio static is blaring through the speakers. I wonder if Matthew keeps a separate wallet in his pocket specifically to make sure he gets things his way.
“Problem solved,” he says as he saunters back. Steven laughs at him.
“Looks like you’ve pissed off a few locals.”
I look to my left, where an older man is covering his ears.
“Excuse me miss?” Matthew shouts, getting the attention of a server who’s walking by. I cringe, willing myself to sink into the cushions. “Bring everyone a round of Clase Azul, would you?” He lifts the bottle into the air. “On me?”
“Of course, sir,” she says.
He turns back to us.
“That should shut them up.”
“Does he just buy his way out of everything?” I whisper to Steven. He shrugs.
“Mattie’s particular. He likes having things his way.”
So I’ve noticed. But if I want to play nice with the family, I can’t keep focusing on all the things that annoy me about Matthew. Especially not while I’m supposed to be enjoying paradise.
“Anybody wanna go for a swim?” I ask the boys, gesturing out to the sparkling water.
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
“C’mon, Matthew—this water’s stunning!” I say. “How can you not want to take a dip?”
“I’ve seen better,” Matthew says. “You think this is blue, try Moorea. Or the Maldives.”
“Remember that girl we met at the St. Regis?" Steven chuckles conspiratorially. “The one who had the birthmark on her?—“
“Shh. Not in front of the kid, Steven,” Matthew interrupts.
My face reddens. We’re literally sitting on Cloud Nine and Matthew is complaining about not being in Tahiti?
“I’m getting in,” I tell the boys as I slip off the white t-shirt to reveal my very pale stomach. I may still be stressed over this morning with Caleb, but I’m going to at leasttryto enjoy my vacation.
“Fine,” Matthew says. “But we’re jumping from there.”
He points up to the third-story diving board I saw as we pulled in. Instantly my stomach tightens. I think I’ve done enough high jumping for one day.
“I’m good here,” I tell him. “But you go and I’ll video you!”
“Stella,” Steven says, “You can’t come to Cloud Nine andnotdo the high jump. It’s tradition.”
Matthew sighs.
“Don’t bother, Steven,” he says. “She’s obviously not interested in having fun.”
He looks disdainfully at my iced tea as he and Steven saunter towards the stairs, and I resist the urge to stick my tongue out at him. All the better to read my book in peace. But with one of the bar’s massive black speakers three feet from my face, it’s a little hard to concentrate on Dickens.I pick up my bag and wander around to the back of the bar in search of a quieter table. While there’s none to be found, I do find an unoccupied corner behind the kitchen where I can hang my legs over the edge. I watch in awe as a silvery school of fish dances below my feet, their bodies swaying above the multicolored reef. But there’s something else floating above the coral. A darker shape that skims its black-tipped fin just below the water’s surface.
“Oh my god!”
I pull my feet back in, jumping up to stand as I recognize the form of a shark. In fact, once I realize what I’m seeing, I can countfiveof them. I look around, searching for someone toalert—there areswimmersout there—when a small Fijian woman carrying a large mesh bag comes around the corner.
