Chapter Eight
Talia hadn’t expected to miss a bed quite this much after only two nights sleeping on bamboo.
She’d thought she could rough it for several days without complaint, but when sand migrated into places that sand should never migrate into, she was really beginning to reconsider her reasons for entering this TV show.
That was why, when she stepped onto the deck of the luxury bedtime reward, she gasped. Vivian had promised a night of sumptuous feasting, steaming showers, and luxurious bedding, but to see it in person was on another level. Sabine was close behind her.
The deck sat slightly elevated above the sparkly white sand.
It was made from pale teakwood with poles at the corners holding gauzy white curtains that fluttered in the soft breeze.
A freestanding porcelain bathtub occupied one corner of the deck, already filled and steamy with petals of frangipani floating on the surface.
Next to it was an open-air shower rising from a slate platform with a brass fixture gleaming in the sun.
And beside it sat a compact wooden table laid out with all the luxuries of a proper spa: thick white towels rolled tight, a small ceramic dish of sea salt scrub, glass bottles of lavender-infused shampoo and conditioner, and a pale bar of soap speckled with crushed oatmeal and flecks of dried herbs.
Talia nearly moaned.
Then she spotted the bed that was wide with crisp white linen, stacked plump pillows the color of clay, and a woven throw folded at the foot. She moaned loud enough for Sabine to glance her way and narrow her eyes questioningly.
“What?” Talia said, feeling dangerously giddy. The sandalwood incense was doing a number on her head. “Have you never heard a woman moan before?”
It was a joke. A bad one.
Sabine’s lips pressed so tightly together that Talia felt regret settle deep into her bones.
Shit. Had she crossed a line she couldn’t get back from?
Had she just offended Sabine on camera for the world to see?
And then it dawned on Talia that maybe Sabine hadn’t heard a woman moan before.
Maybe she was a late-blooming lesbian with nil experience.
Or maybe she was just really bad at pleasing women.
Talia was desperate to ask. Though she wouldn’t dare.
Are you a newbie lesbian? Or do you just suck at fucking?
Either way, Talia would probably be kicked off the show.
And she couldn’t have that. Her very future depended on winning the whole thing.
Sabine, luckily, didn’t say anything and headed toward the small dining table with matching benches that sat under a pergola.
There were linen napkins, real porcelain plates, and heavy-weight cutlery.
The food looked exquisite. Seared tuna with a sesame crust. A citrus-and-fennel salad with microgreens.
Coconut rice molded into a neat dome and a basket of bread next to a little ceramic bowl with whipped butter.
Two glasses of pale pink rosé stood in the center, already sweating in the heat.
“This is insane,” Talia gasped, lifting her leg over the bench. She should probably have a shower first, but food was the priority. Two and a half days of eating nothing but cold-soaked rice and bananas were enough for her stomach to feel permanently hollow.
Sabine seemed to agree. She settled onto the bench on the opposite side of the table and reached for a slice of bread. “You’d expect this kind of reward after two weeks of being out here. Not three days.”
“Is that what it’s like on Survivor?” Talia asked, doing the same. The bread was warm. Not that Talia was surprised. And the butter was soft and salty. She licked the side of the knife and closed her eyes, savoring it. Butter was Talia’s reason for living.
Sabine frowned slightly, though it was hard to tell if she was actually doing it. There was just a faint line between her brows that wasn’t there before. “Have you really not watched Survivor?”
“I didn’t realize it was a prerequisite,” Talia said, proud of herself for using such a sophisticated word.
She could think of half a dozen other impressive-sounding words, although maybe none of them would be impressive enough to actually impress the doctor.
Even after winning, all Sabine had given her was a limp, floppy high five.
You’d think balancing on a beam for close to an hour was impressive enough to earn a warm hug.
“We should probably talk strategy,” Sabine suggested, spearing a sliver of tuna with her fork. “We’ve had two reward challenges, so it only makes sense that someone will get voted off next.”
Talia didn’t want to talk strategy. Not yet.
Not with the sun warm on her shoulders. Not with the ocean sparkling like a painting of glitter.
Not with this delicious, decadent spread of food in front of them.
Talia’s mouth had watered when she spotted the lemony panna cotta topped with fresh berries.
They had the entire evening for strategy.
And tomorrow morning before they slipped back into the campsite, clean as beans.
She lifted her glass of rosé by the stem and brought the rim to her lips. “Why don’t we get to know each other a bit first?”
There was that line on Sabine’s forehead again.
“You can tell me why you got into emergency medicine,” Talia offered. “Or you can ask me a question. I’m an open book.”
Sabine shifted on the bench before scooping rice onto her plate. “So, what happened to your shoulder?” she asked, holding Talia’s gaze, or more like kidnapping it.
Shit. She’d walked straight into that one.
Talia looked down at her plate, which was piled high with rice, tuna, and salad, and felt a twinge of panic set in.
She’d told the doctor at the medical workup that her shoulder didn’t bother her.
Which wasn’t a complete lie. There were plenty of times the pain was non-existent, like when she was lying on the sofa watching TV or sleeping.
She stole a glance at the camera crew hovering a few feet away.
Maybe she could ask them to stop filming.
Talia took a deep breath. “I tore my supraspinatus when I was sixteen. The tendon snapped off the bone.” She only used the technical term because Sabine was a doctor and she was trying to sound smart.
Supraspinatus. Infraspinatus. Teres Minor.
Subscapularis. Four muscles that make up the shoulder’s rotator cuff.
Back in high school, when she’d first memorized the Latin names, she’d said them all the time.
She’d only torn one of them, but she learned all the vocabulary.
Sabine’s fork stilled. “How did it happen?”
“Years of overuse,” Talia said, shrugging.
She was probably imagining it, but her shoulder suddenly felt achy.
“I used to swim two hours in the pool before sunrise and another three after school. It was a lot. I felt the tearing start months before it actually happened. But I just continued swimming through, hoping it would go away.”
“But it didn’t.”
“Nope,” Talia said, chuckling. She wasn’t sure why she was laughing.
But she did feel a few stray nerves bundle in her stomach.
Which had nothing to do with her shoulder and everything to do with the way Sabine was watching her, like she’d somehow opened the curtains to Talia’s soul and was taking a peek inside.
“My shoulder bombed during the National Championships. Two hundred freestyle finals. My specialty event. I dove in, hit the first fifty strong, and started feeling that familiar burn I’d been ignoring for months.
Third lap, on the recovery phase, something just went out.
” Talia remembered the feeling like Velcro ripping apart inside her shoulder.
“When I climbed out of the pool, I couldn’t lift my arm above my waist. That was it.
Then it was surgery, rehab, and the end of my bright swimming future. ”
“I’m sorry,” Sabine said, and she looked genuinely sorry.
Surprising? Yes. Talia hadn’t expected that.
Sabine seemed the sort of doctor who announced you were dying with zero expression on her face, not because she was cruel, but because she didn’t want to see the tears that would ultimately follow.
“Don’t be,” Talia said. “Someone else probably got that scholarship. Maybe they needed it more than I did.” Talia cleared her throat and sipped her rosé.
Thank goodness for alcohol. She felt like she’d opened up a hatch within herself and given Sabine the key.
Now everyone watching would know what had happened.
Maybe, if she were lucky, this conversation wouldn’t make it to the final edit. “Now it’s your turn.”
But Sabine didn’t look ready to move on. “Is that why you didn’t go to college, because you lost your scholarship?”
“Who says I didn’t go to college?” Talia asked, digging into the panna cotta before she’d even finished her mains.
It was sweet and creamy, and she was disappointed that they each got only one serving.
“There are plenty of bartenders out there with a college degree. And plenty of successful people who didn’t go to college. ”
“I didn’t mean it that way,” Sabine said quickly, looking almost flustered.
Talia chuckled. “I’m just pulling your leg.
” She liked seeing Sabine squirm. She had a feeling Sabine rarely squirmed.
Which was good, if you happened to be lying on an operating table with Dr. Sabine standing over you, a scalpel in her hand.
“Friends do that. They pull each other’s legs,” Talia added.
“We’re not friends,” Sabine said matter-of-factly, picking up her wineglass. She sipped it delicately, her lips barely over the rim.
“Are you sure?” Talia asked, glancing at the view behind Sabine.
The sun was slipping lazily toward the horizon, and the ocean shimmered like a sheet of liquid bronze.
Solar-powered fairy lights that were wrapped around the poles flickered to life.
“Because you’ve been spooning me for the last two nights.
If we weren’t friends, that would be considered sexual harassment. ”
“What?” Sabine gasped and then proceeded to choke on her wine.
She hit her chest with a fist. Talia rose slightly out of her chair, ready to do the Heimlich maneuver if necessary.
But then Sabine finally coughed enough to speak.
“What do you mean I’ve been spooning you?
” She spat the words as if it were preposterous.
But it wasn’t.
Talia would lie through her teeth if she said she didn’t look forward to it. Against the crisp night air, Sabine’s arms were firm and warm and curved around her like a perfectly tailored winter coat. It was the only reason Talia wasn’t waking up in the morning with purple half-moons under her eyes.
“Surely you understand the definition of spooning,” Talia teased. “You know, when two people cuddle together. One usually wraps their arm around the other.”
Every bit of color drained from Sabine’s face. Apparently, she wasn’t aware of her nighttime habits. Although Talia had a sneaking suspicion that wasn’t the case. Both mornings, before Sabine had woken up, Talia had shrugged out of her embrace, careful not to disturb her.
“You’re lying,” Sabine said.
“I’m not. Why would I even lie about something like that?”
Sabine huffed, and then she kicked back the last of her wine. She wasn’t looking at Talia. In fact, she seemed to look everywhere but at her. She set the glass back on the table and pushed the bench back as she stood up. “I’m going to take a bath,” she muttered. “We can talk strategy tomorrow.”
Before Talia could help herself, Talia joked, “Are you sure I can’t join you? We can spoon just like we do at night. You at the back. Me in the front.”
All the blood that had previously drained from Sabine’s face came rushing back. Her cheeks flushed a deep, furious red. She opened her mouth to say something, but instead she stomped off toward the bath, leaving Talia wondering if she’d overstepped.
One look at the camera crew, which consisted of a woman wearing a knit beanie who was laughing silently, and another who was giving her a thumbs up, told her yes, she’d most definitely overstepped.