Chapter Twenty-Three
Vivian had promised herself she wouldn’t spend the evening obsessing over the villa date.
Since she didn’t have to host tonight, she could, in theory, welcome distractions in different forms: a stroll along the lodge’s winding wooden pathways, a casual dining experience at the open-air boma, a trip to the bar where Coco, a feisty bartender with a tendency to over-share could easily tell her stories of tourists who made even the most patient safari guides want to scream.
Instead, she found herself sitting alone on the library’s balcony overlooking the bushveld.
Her spine was pressed against the wrought-iron backrest of a bistro chair while she flicked through an online brochure for Villa Saseka—the fanciest villa in all of Ndloveni Lodge.
The same villa where Sienna and Nisha would be spending their date tonight.
Beside her on the floor was the cushion that had fallen off the chair minutes ago. Comfort was for people who kept their promises. Vivian reminded herself of that when she’d nearly picked it up to deposit behind her back.
“Freestanding copper bathtub with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Mirhi Watering Hole,” Vivian read out loud. “Perfect for watching elephants while enjoying a private soak.”
She pictured Sienna perched in that tub with Nisha behind her, arms holding her tight while steam curled around their shoulders. Her stomach twisted painfully. If Vivian had any sense at all, she would have stopped reading two pages ago.
But her eyes scrolled on, completely unstoppable.
“Wood-fired hot tub on terrace offering a romantic escape under the stars. Includes champagne cooler and plush robes.”
She groaned but didn’t stop. The next page showed photos of a burnt-orange sunken lounge with cream tasseled cushions surrounding a flickering fire pit. “Ideal for marshmallow roasting and intimate conversations with your loved one.”
Vivian wanted to toss her iPad into the bush like a grenade.
But she didn’t. Because, of course, she wanted or needed to see more.
Which didn’t help her state of mind. Especially when the next photos showed an immaculate kitchen with stone countertops, a backsplash, and a smiling man wearing a crisp white apron and a chef’s toque that looked straight out of a luxury food magazine.
“Private chef’s kitchenette for personalized dining experiences.
Choose from curated menus featuring local delicacies and gourmet desserts. ”
Vivian’s traitorous mind jumped straight to chocolate truffles. She could practically see Nisha feeding them to Sienna off a silver platter.
“Would you like some company?”
Vivian nearly dropped her iPad. At least her reflexes were still intact, which was something she couldn’t say for the rest of her.
She flicked her head back to the voice and inwardly moaned.
She wouldn’t have minded the interruption so much if it had been Themba, ready to impart another one of his bushveld pearls of wisdom, but it wasn’t Themba.
It was Elise.
And Elise was walking right up to the table like she’d been invited.
She drew out a chair, set her drink—bourbon on the rocks—on the table and plopped down beside Vivian.
“You really shouldn’t punish yourself like that,” she said, gesturing toward the iPad with a tilt of her head.
Curls bounced on her shoulders like springs wound up too tight.
Vivian promptly clicked the screen blank.
She didn’t need advice from Elise. Not when Elise was part of the reason why she was in this position, though smaller than she wanted it to be.
The real reason was harder to accept. The truth was, it was mostly Vivian’s fault.
She was the one who had decided to fall in love with Sienna.
But was that really a conscious decision?
Or could something like that not be decided at all, like breathing or gravity, or any other involuntary act?
“I’m not punishing myself,” Vivian said, smoothing a hand over the table. There was a thin layer of dust across the wrought-iron mesh. She rubbed her dusty hand on her jeans. “The website was still on my tab from the last time I checked it for, you know… research.”
If Elise didn’t believe her, she didn’t show it. She just swirled the bourbon in her glass. The ice clinked pleasantly, and Vivian wondered what had possessed her to come out here without a drink.
“I know this must be hard for you,” Elise said.
Ha. Such a comment deserved a special place in hell.
Vivian didn’t think Elise knew anything about how this felt.
According to Fi, Elise had been divorced twice.
And without conscience, apparently. She’d taken each husband for everything they had and then some.
Her love, if one could even call it that, seemed to function more like a business arrangement.
Vivian could even go—or maybe she shouldn’t—as far as saying Elise had the emotional range of a teaspoon and the survival instincts of a crocodile.
“I don’t think you do,” Vivian said flatly.
“I do,” Elise said, unfazed by her tone, which Vivian had tried to make as icy as possible. “I’ve been in a position just like this once. Fell for someone I had absolutely no business falling for.”
This was a surprise. Did Vivian dare ask? Of course, she was going to. There wasn’t a universe in which she’d let Elise get away without giving her a detailed explanation.
“Who?” Vivian asked, as if she personally knew who Elise was referring to. Why not? Any one of these people on set could’ve fallen prey to her at some point in their lives.
“Her name was Harper.”
“Her?!”
Elise smirked into her bourbon. “Don’t look so shocked,” she said, her cheeks flushing slightly.
Or maybe Vivian was just imagining it. The light was dim after all.
“It’s perfectly normal for a straight woman to have a lesbian crush at some point in her life.
” She cleared her throat before Vivian could point out that no, that wasn’t true at all.
“Anyway, it was years ago. I was a production assistant on a travel series. We were filming in Namibia on some ridiculous show for honeymooners. Harper was the wildlife photographer they hired for promotional shots. She was this sunburnt, sarcastic Brit with hair the color of sand and a camera that cost more than three months’ stay at this lodge. ”
This time Vivian didn’t interrupt again. She wasn’t sure she could.
“She was engaged to some finance guy back in London,” Elise went on, staring at a large stone vase near the edge of the balcony overflowing with dried proteas.
“I told myself that meant she was off-limits. But sometimes she’d lean over my monitor to check shots, and my entire body would just shut down. ”
Vivian couldn’t believe this. Elise—the Elise she knew—wasn’t someone whose body shut down for anyone. The idea of her going weak over some engaged woman was almost too impossible to picture. But picture it, she did.
“I’d find excuses to be near her,” Elise went on, picking Vivian’s head out of the gutter.
“Like get her coffee when I thought she looked tired. Or offer to help carry her gear. Once I even called her up asking for her schedule even though it had nothing to do with me.” She laughed under her breath, and Vivian felt the air in her lungs hitch.
Was this actually happening? Was Elise really telling her this?
“One night, after too many Windhoek Lagers, we ended up sitting by a fire pit outside the crew tent. We talked about everything: life, jobs, whether either of us believed in marriage. And then she kissed me.”
Vivian’s heart thudded before she could stop it. “What happened?” she asked. She leaned so far forward in her seat that her backside was nearly off the chair. “After the kiss?”
“She left for London two days after that,” Elise said. “She sent me a postcard six months later to say that she got married but still thinks about me often.”
“Really?” Vivian said. “What a bitch.”
“No,” Elise said, shaking her head. “She wasn’t.
” Then she inhaled deeply and, for a second, she just stared down at the glass before catching Vivian’s eye.
“I know it hurts. I know what it feels like to want to be with someone, but there’s something standing in the way.
In my case, it was Harry the accountant. In yours—”
Vivian interrupted. “It’s you.”
“I guess that’s true. I should probably thank you for not fighting me on it. But I’m not going to. Not until the show is done.” Then she pushed her glass across the table. “Here. You look like you need this more than I do.”
Vivian did. She really did.
She nodded her thanks, wrapped her fingers around the heavy glass, and took a long sip that burned straight through her chest into her bloodstream.
It took a moment before the alcohol shocked her weary brain into what could only be called clarity.
The decision formed so quickly that it startled her.
“Well,” she said, setting the glass down.
“You probably won’t get a chance to thank me. ”
Elise looked up, frowning hard. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m not going to make the same mistake as you,” she said, shooting up from the chair. “I don’t want a postcard from Sienna in six months’ time announcing her marriage.”
“Where are you—”
But Vivian was already halfway to the door. She didn’t bother to answer Elise’s question because she assumed Elise already knew where Vivian was going.
She was going to crash a date.
A romantic villa date.