6. Clive
Clive
T he early afternoon sun beats down on my shoulders as I step out onto the deck of Casa Azul. The infinity pool stretches before me, its azure waters merging seamlessly with the Caribbean beyond. I inhale deeply, savoring the salt-tinged air that always reminds me why I bought this place. Here, I can breathe.
Old habits die hard, even on what's supposed to be a vacation. The others are still sleeping off last night's welcome dinner—notably Jack, who predictably overindulged in the tequila I'd reserved for special occasions. Kay retired early, claiming jet lag but more likely plotting her next social maneuver.
But then I see her—Rebecca—stretched out on one of the loungers by the pool. Her black bikini starkly contrasts her pale skin, a book propped on her lap. She hasn't noticed me yet, and I take a moment to observe her. Without Jack hovering, her posture is different—relaxed, unguarded. She absently twirls a strand of dark hair around her finger as she reads, completely absorbed.
I clear my throat as I approach, not wanting to startle her. "Glad to see I'm not the only one eager to take advantage of the sun."
She looks up, shielding her eyes from the sun. "Oh! Hello, Clive." She sits up straighter, adjusting her bikini top in a self-conscious gesture that makes me avert my eyes momentarily.
"I was about to make myself a drink. Now that we're on vacation, can I get you something stronger?"
"Something with juice would be wonderful, thank you." She marks her place in her book—something with a historical-looking cover. "This is the first moment of peace I've had in months and I don't want to miss a second."
I nod, moving to the outdoor bar. "I never truly stop working but when I'm here, I like to savor every minute of leisure I can." I prepare two Palomas and settle into the lounger next to hers, conscious of maintaining a respectful distance. The poolside is spacious, with six loungers arranged around the infinity edge, but I've chosen the one closest to her.
"Hangover?" I ask, nodding toward the house where, no doubt, Jack lies unconscious.
She smiles ruefully. "Epic one.
"Some things never change." I take a sip before continuing. "I hope you're not too disappointed about missing the snorkeling tomorrow."
Her expression flickers briefly. "It's fine. The fishing will be... educational." She attempts enthusiasm but falls short.
"You know," I say carefully, "the boat Jack and Kay are taking doesn't leave until eleven. That gives us about three hours if we get an early start. The reef at Palancar is only twenty minutes away by boat. "I could take you out myself. I have a smaller boat in the marina that's perfect for two."
Her eyes light up, and something tightens in my chest. "Really? You wouldn't mind?"
"Not at all." I take another sip of my Paloma, savoring the tartness. "The sunrise over the reef is something everyone should experience at least once."
Becca's smile warms me more than the Caribbean sun. "That would be amazing. Jack mentioned you were an excellent sailor."
"Did he now?" I can't hide my surprise. Jack rarely compliments me.
She laughs softly. "Well, Jack actually said that you're 'obsessively meticulous' about your boats, which I took to mean you know what you're doing."
I chuckle. "Fair enough."
We fall into a comfortable silence, the only sounds being the gentle lapping of water against the infinity edge and distant seabirds calling to one another. I steal glances at Rebecca's profile as she gazes at the horizon. The sun catches the natural highlights in her dark hair, and I notice a small scar near her collarbone I've never seen before.
"What are you reading?" I ask, nodding toward her book.
"Oh, it's a historical novel about Catherine de Medici." She holds it up, revealing the cover. "I've always been fascinated by powerful women in history who navigated impossible situations."
"Appropriate reading for someone who deals with bridezillas for a living," I observe.
Her laugh is genuine this time. "God, you have no idea. Last month, I had a bride who insisted we release fifty white doves at sunset, but she discovered that her groom was terrified of birds."
"What happened?"
"We compromised with butterfly releases. The groom was fine with insects, thankfully." She takes a sip of her drink. "This is delicious, by the way."
"Secret family recipe," I say with mock seriousness. "Passed down through generations of Bishops."
"Really?"
"No. I googled it five years ago and memorized it to impress guests."
She laughs again, and I realize I've been counting her smiles since I sat down. Seven. Seven genuine smiles in less than ten minutes, more than I've seen Jack elicit in hours.
"So what's your escape, Rebecca?" I ask, surprising myself with the personal question.
"My escape?"
"Everyone has one. That thing they do when the world gets too loud." I gesture around us. "This is mine. The ocean, solitude."
She considers this, tapping her finger against her glass. "I have a cat named Mr. Darcy. When things get overwhelming, I go home and tell him all my problems while he ignores me completely."
"Sounds like my board of directors."
Eight smiles. This one reaches Becca's eyes, crinkling the corners.
"At least Mr. Darcy doesn't interrupt you with quarterly projections," I add, taking another sip of my drink.
"No, but he occasionally walks across my keyboard when I'm working from home. Last month he sent an incomplete email to my biggest client." She laughs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Nine smiles.
"What did it say?"
"Just 'kkkkkk7777777.' Very professional."
"Sounds like most of Jack's business proposals," I say before I can stop myself.
Her smile falters slightly, and I immediately regret the comment. Damn it. The last thing I want is to make her uncomfortable.
"I'm sorry," I say quietly. "That was out of line."
She shakes her head, surprising me. "It's okay. He's... not exactly career-focused right now."
That is an understatement if I've ever heard one. Jack hasn't been "career-focused" since I reluctantly hired him at Kay's insistence. But I don't say this.
Instead, I ask, "How did you two meet? I don't think I've ever heard the story."
"College party. I was ahead of schedule, finishing my MBA, while he struggled to finish his senior year. He spilled a drink on my economics textbook and bought me coffee to apologize." She gazes out at the horizon, her expression softening with nostalgia. "He was charming back then. Funny. Said I was the smartest girl he'd ever met."
I can believe that part, at least. Rebecca is brilliant—anyone with half a brain can see that.
"Five years is a long time," I observe carefully.
"It is." Something shifts in her eyes—a flicker of doubt, perhaps? But it's gone as quickly as it appeared. "Anyway, what about you? Any pets at your new place?"
I allow the change of subject. "No pets. My travel schedule is too unpredictable."
"That must get lonely sometimes."
Her perception catches me off guard. I rarely admit to loneliness, even to myself. "Sometimes," I concede. "But I've gotten used to it.
"Is that why you bought this place? To have somewhere that feels like home?"
I consider her question, watching the sunlight play on the pool's surface. "Partly. I also like the anonymity. In New York, I'm always Clive Bishop, CEO. Here, I'm just another American with a vacation home."
"Humble," she teases, raising an eyebrow.
"Alright, perhaps not 'just another American,'" I concede with a smile. "But you know what I mean. There's a freedom in stepping away from expectations."
"I wouldn't know," she says quietly, almost to herself.
I study her profile, noticing a certain heaviness in her expression that wasn't there moments ago. "What do you mean?"
Becca hesitates, running her finger around the rim of her glass. "Nothing, really. It's just—" She stops, glancing toward the house as if checking for eavesdroppers. "I've always been the 'good girl.' The one who checks all the boxes. Perfect grades, perfect job, perfect relationship..."
Her voice trails off, and I find myself leaning slightly closer. In the five years I've known Rebecca, I've never heard her speak this candidly.
"And is it? Perfect?" I ask, my voice lower than I intended.
She meets my eyes for a beat too long, then looks away. "It should be. On paper, everything's exactly where it should be." She takes a long sip of her drink. "Sorry, I don't know why I'm telling you this."
"Sometimes it's easier to be honest with someone who isn't directly involved in your life," I offer. "No judgment, no expectations."
"But you are involved," she says. "You're Jack's stepfather."
"Ex-stepfather," I correct gently. "And I've always considered myself more of a... reluctant mentor."
That earns me smile number ten—a small one, but genuine.
"Can I ask you something, Clive?" She shifts to face me more directly, tucking her legs beneath her.
"Of course."
"Why did you agree to this trip? After the divorce, I mean. It must be awkward."
I consider my answer carefully. I can hardly tell Becca the truth—that I came because she would be here, that I wanted to see her away from Jack's influence, that I've been fighting this inappropriate attraction for years.
"Kay can be... persuasive," I say instead. "And despite everything, we're still family in some ways. Old habits."
"Like the way you still twist your wedding ring that isn't there anymore," she observes, nodding toward my left hand.
I glance down, surprised to find my thumb rubbing the empty space where my ring used to be. "Perceptive," I acknowledge. "Fifteen years leaves its mark."
"Do you miss her?" Rebecca asks, then immediately backtracks. "I'm sorry, that's too personal."
"It's alright." I set my glass down on the small table between us. "I miss the idea of what we could have been. The reality was something else entirely."
She nods thoughtfully. "I understand that feeling."
The implication hangs between us, unspoken but unmistakable. Before I can respond, the sliding door opens behind us. I don't need to turn around to know who it is—Rebecca's expression shifts immediately, a careful mask falling into place.