Chapter Two
Diana
Diana swirled the golden liquid in her glass, inhaling the floral aroma, trying to pinpoint the various notes.
She pursed her lips. Truthfully, it was a little too sweet for her liking.
Probably not worth the headache. As she edged ever further away from forty, even the smallest taste of alcohol left her with a throbbing temple in the morning. But she had to pass the time somehow.
She’d opted for a private transfer to the port, unable to stomach the idea of squeezing onto a sweaty bus with a handful of strangers. Unfortunately, they’d still arrived a moment too late. Even Diana’s fifty-euro offer couldn’t convince them to let her cross the choppy water to the island.
Diana tapped at her phone to light up the screen, but still she had no messages. She’d asked her daughter to let her know when she arrived at Sandy Springs, but their chat sat idle, with Diana’s last three messages unanswered.
It wouldn’t be the first time she’d received the silent treatment from her daughter, but she’d hoped that her agreement to attend this three-week course at Sandy Springs together meant they were finally turning a new page.
So far, no dice.
A raucous bellow of laughter came from the other side of the bar, and Diana narrowed her eyes.
She’d already fended off the men’s advances with a sharp bite when they’d spotted her sitting alone.
The oldest of the group, a round man with a quickly receding hairline, reminded her of her ex-husband, Jason.
The way his deep voice carried over the room, his exaggerated arm movements, and his preference for crinkled polo shirts were enough to induce a sickening wave of déjà vu.
Even though they’d been divorced for over a decade, it never failed to amaze her how quickly those memories could resurface. Remembering dates, deadlines, and other professors’ names—that took real brainpower. But her ex-husband’s cutting words still lingered in her mind, taking up valuable space.
“You’ve abandoned me, and you’ve abandoned your daughter.”
Diana sighed and took another sip from her glass, letting her gaze pass over the collection of pictures and signs decorating the bar.
Rain hammered against the small windows; the candles placed on the empty tables flickered, filling the room with the scent of pine.
A tasteful collection of mismatched chairs and sofas placed around the room gave the space character.
Plus, the wooden bar-top was smooth and not sticky.
Sitting here beat checking—then rechecking—her emails in her tiny room, even if the wine was sub-par.
Unable to fight the itch scratching at her any longer, she grabbed her phone and pulled up her inbox.
No matter how many times a day she checked, there were always fresh emails waiting for her.
Her heart quivered when she caught sight of one from Harvard, announcing who was taking over her socioeconomics classes.
She tightened her grip on the phone as she read the name—Selena Borgo, her eager French colleague who was always nipping at Diana’s heels like a perfectly groomed miniature poodle.
Bloody hell.
She fired a quick text off to her agent, Leanne, and sighed, rubbing her forehead.
This Sandy Springs course better be worth the leave she’d taken from work.
In Diana’s field, she couldn’t afford to sit and admire the view.
Especially when Selena Borgo was breathing down her neck.
What had started as a visiting post at Harvard had the potential to become something more permanent.
Diana wanted to be first in line when that happened.
The door squeaked open, and a woman entered, big doe eyes nervously flitting around. The room held its breath while her eyes steadied on Diana, weighing something.
She wore a simple blue hoodie and jeans, but something about her shifted the energy in the bar.
Her make-up accentuated her natural cheekbones, a slender nose, and full lips, her dark hair falling long and straight past her shoulders.
A few loose strands framed her face imperfectly. Simple, yet oddly striking.
The woman brushed her hands over her torso, perhaps a nervous tell, before making her way over.
Then her clear turquoise eyes, winged with thin black eyeliner and eyeshadow that shimmered under the warm light, locked with Diana’s.
The well-rehearsed Portuguese greeting she offered caught Diana by surprise.
“Boa noite,” Diana returned, catching how the woman’s cheeks warmed.
As she leaned on the bar, her soft scent—petrichor and vanilla—filled Diana’s senses.
She let her gaze drift over her clean baby-blue hoodie and oversized jeans as she sipped at her wine, trying to guess the woman’s order.
Gin. Something fruity, maybe. Diana collected data all the time, observing people. She couldn’t help it.
“Do you have anything non-alcoholic?”
That surprised her again. As did the woman’s accent.
She hadn’t expected her to sound so English, so…
Northern. She followed her with her gaze as she took her drink and sat on the other side of the room in an orange armchair.
A light buzz coated Diana’s skin, from the wine or curiosity about the woman’s presence—maybe both—and she stroked her thumb over the cool stem of the glass.
Her phone buzzed across the wooden top with a reply from her agent.
Leanne: I knew it! Selena would jump in your grave if she thought it’d give her a leg up
You know what you have to do, right?
Diana: I’m not stalking her social media to dig up dirt
Three dots bounced on the screen. She imagined Leanne’s lips pressed together. Fingers moving at lightning pace. Black, springy coils falling over her eyes.
Leanne: She’s squeaky clean. I’ve tried
Diana: I don’t want you to do that
Leanne: If you’re not the lion, you’re the dead antelope
And get writing that damn book! We have to move quick while publishers are still interested
Diana’s agent hadn’t been overly thrilled at the prospect of her taking three weeks off instead of working on her follow-up to Bridging the Gender Gap.
It’d been the first of her books to really take off, landing her interviews, inviting her to speak at prestigious conferences, and unlocking doors to teaching at the best universities in the world.
Leanne was always her biggest cheerleader, but Diana found it hard to articulate why she’d been so far behind on her manuscript.
Whenever she sat down to write, nothing came out.
It was as though she had nothing of interest left to say.
Leanne: I need something substantial to work with by the end of the month. Can you do that?
Diana sighed, letting her gaze wander until it landed on the pretty woman in the corner.
She was scribbling something in a small book.
What is she writing? Her presence stood out like a sore thumb—as she imagined she did too, in her orange pantsuit.
She assumed the storm had something to do with the woman’s late arrival.
She sucked in a deep breath and exhaled, trying to dislodge some of the pressure building in her skull.
If she couldn’t shake this writer’s block, she was going to get left behind.
Selena taking over Diana’s classes wasn’t an act of altruism.
It was competition. And there was no way she’d allow Selena to be the lion eating her sorry carcass.
Diana: Give me these three weeks to write. I’ll sort it
Leanne: That’s more like it. Agent mode, signing off. As your friend, I do hope this course brings you and Molly closer together
Diana: Me too. Speak soon
She placed her phone down and rubbed her temples.
Hopefully, the change of environment and interaction with different people would spark something.
These next few weeks were going to be challenging.
But if she could put together a decent proposal, everything would be fine.
She could write while Molly attended the guidance sessions on the island.
It wasn’t as if Diana needed a self-help course.
Something small and shiny caught her eye, and she bent to pluck it from the wooden floor. A debit card belonging to a Faye Donovan. Diana smiled to herself, the name playing on her lips. It suited her. She must have dropped it earlier.
Raul had pulled up a seat to join the noisy men, so Diana had to be a good Samaritan and give the card back to Faye.
Hopefully, the distraction would keep her from rechecking her emails or glancing at Selena’s Facebook page to see if she’d made an announcement about taking over her position.
That woman didn’t need any excuse to gloat.
She sipped from her glass, letting the alcohol give her a boost and push her to her feet. Twining her fingers around the wine-glass stem, she glided across the room.
“I think this might belong to you,” she said, holding the card up between two fingers.
Faye glanced up at her from under thick black lashes. “Oh, god. Thank you.”
Diana gave her the card. “You’re welcome.”
“I can’t believe I did that.” She shook her head. “This has been such a disaster.”
Diana observed her for a beat, the sleek, straight hair and the impeccable make-up. She hardly embodied a walking disaster. “Did the storm ruin your plans, too?”
“You could say that. So far, Portugal hasn’t exactly welcomed me with open arms.”
Diana nudged her chin at the book in front of Faye. “And sudoku doesn’t help?”
Faye let out a soft laugh, her fingers brushing the page. “Not really. I’m stuck on this one.”
“I’d offer my assistance, but sudoku isn’t in my wheelhouse.”
She shrugged. “That’s alright. It’s not everyone’s cup of tea.”
“But it’s yours?” Diana eyed the pencil markings in the margins and couldn’t stop the edges of her lips from lifting. What twenty-something-year-old spent their time doing extra-hard sudoku at a bar?