Chapter Five
“Hey! Before you go in there, I want to ask you for a favor.” Lana hurries over, stopping me before I enter the double doors to the Ladies’ Lounge inside The Orchid for brunch with the girls.
I stifle a yawn. My miles-long to-do list waves behind my eyes, mocking me. I fell asleep in front of my laptop last night.
“Come again?”
“Actually, scratch that. Two favors.” She bats her eyelashes. “I need two favors, and it has to be you.”
“I must be dreaming because what can I possibly do for the Lana Anderson?” I bite back a grin.
Before Grace and Taylor found out their dad was Linus Anderson, Lana was the youngest Anderson sibling and the only girl. And like all the other Andersons, sans one particular brother, she’s easygoing.
She’s now one of my best friends.
“Ah, shut up.” She rolls her eyes. “You might have seen the headlines, but Rex got himself in a mess at Mystique. Striptease and dry humping on stage. Folks are literally jumping ship, including a few doctors scheduled to work on the cruise.”
Rex. My pulse stutters.
The night a week ago won’t leave me. The images appear at night as I lay on my bed—the searing intensity in his eyes, the palpable tension between us.
How my body heated and throbbed when he tongued the cherry like it was my clit.
Then, the gut feeling the man was hiding something. That the playboy persona was an act.
I’d twist and turn, telling myself I had no business thinking about the asshole, but it was hopeless.
Desperate, I’d convince myself fantasies weren’t reality as my fingers slid down my stomach until they reached the tender spot between my legs, only to find it wet.
It’d take a few seconds before I got myself off, but I’d still be unsated. Needy. Craving something.
The guilt would flood in, my inner voice telling me I should be disappointed in myself. How it was improper to fantasize about someone so obviously wrong for me.
“Why are you all red in the face?” Lana asks, drawing my attention back to her.
I clear my throat. I’m ridiculous. “The inaugural cruise all over the news?”
“Yes, it’s a mess.” She sighs. “We’ve backfilled most of the openings, but I still need a psychiatrist. I need you.”
“Me? On a cruise? Why do you need a psychiatrist?” I deflect. “No way. I have patients to see.”
“The cruise will be The Orchid on water, which means we’ll have our version of the Rose floors aboard.
You know how it is…sex, kinks, consensual dubious situations.
Feelings getting involved. Plus, our patrons expect top medical care at all our facilities.
So, it makes sense to have a psychiatrist who specializes in talk therapy. You know how rare that is.”
I do know. Most psychiatrists focus on the medicine aspect of treatment, referring the talk therapy to therapists. But I prefer to be a one-stop shop. This way, I have all the facts.
I control all parts of the treatment plan.
Lana directs her doe-like eyes at me. “Please, Olivia. We’ll make it worth your while. We’ll set up state-of-the-art videoconferencing so you can still do your thing. We need someone we trust, and with you being Maxwell’s doctor, well…that carries weight.”
She leans down and clasps my shoulders. “We need you.”
“You look like that Uncle Sam poster right now.” I imagine her in a top hat, pointing a finger at me. I snicker. I really should sleep more—I’m getting delirious.
“Imagine this. Crystal blue waters, swimming in Mykonos, white buildings and blue roofs dotting the horizon, exploring gothic castles and forts in Dubrovnik, burning sculptures in Valencia, stuffing your face with the best spaghetti in Tuscany—”
Burning sculptures in Valencia.
My heart palpitates, and I grip her wrist. “Hold on, rewind. Burning sculptures? Are you talking about Las Fallas Festival?”
Her slate-gray eyes light up. “Yes! Sanctioned, controlled destruction. Once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, right? It’s amazing…”
I don’t hear her anymore. All I can hear are the words Las Fallas Festival.
“Live for me. Promise me, Olive. When you’re thirty, do it for me. Go to Valencia. Experience Las Fallas for me. Burn our regrets. Don’t stop living because of me.”
“Olivia, do me a solid?” Lana shakes me.
The promise I made to Mia echoes in my mind.
No. I can’t drop everything and go. It’d be irresponsible. I have patients. I need to figure out the ADAS funding. I’m so busy, I can’t even eat on time. No way. There’s no way I can do this—
“We’ll talk later. You don’t need to decide right now.” Lana peers at me. “Just think about it, okay?”
She pats my shoulder, and we enter Ladies’ Lounge.
Our feet come to an abrupt halt.
The lounge is turned upside down as The Orchid staff pushes furniture against the walls. I clock the lighting, cameras, and equipment with more knobs and buttons than I can count.
“I have to be dreaming because this definitely isn’t brunch.” Yes, dreaming would make more sense than the idea of me going on a cruise. “Go back to sleep, Olivia. Then you can finish your six patient files, insurance peer reviews, ADAS emails—”
“She’s talking to herself. The shrink needs to be shrunk,” someone whispers.
Redhead. Sly grin. Alexis Vaughn—no—Alexis Anderson, now that she married Ethan.
“Psst. That’s old slang and derogatory. Doctor. Psychiatrist. Use the right title.” Lana snickers.
A handyman hammers a nail into the faux-stage. Definitely not sleepwalking. “Okay, I give up. What’s going on? This is one of Alexis’s items, isn’t it? She lured us in with drinks and gossip and now we’re pawns for her bucket list.”
“Ding, ding, ding!” Alexis exclaims. “Aren’t unexpected surprises the best?”
No. Definitely not. I like to-do lists and plans. Preferably months in advance.
“Surprises, by definition, are unexpected, Lexy,” I reply.
She beams at me, then explains the surprise for the day—to record a version of Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night.
It’s one of her bucket list items, and Taylor has an upcoming ballet performance based on the play.
It’s random, but that’s expected of her.
Alexis flies by the seat of her pants and we love her for it.
Usually.
But something about this one makes me uneasy.
“I’m more of a behind-the-scenes type—fetching water, giving high fives, handing out tissues.” I eye the makeshift stage dubiously. “So, I’ll be standing over here cheering you guys on.”
Mia would’ve loved this. If she were here, she’d volunteer to go first. She’d create costumes out of tablecloths and use wine for blood or water for tears. I’d follow her with tissues, blotting her faux-blood and tears, righting props she’d chuck in a moment of passion.
“Hell no.” Taylor shakes her head as she ambles over. “If I’m suffering through this, you’re going down with me.”
As luck would have it, after a competitive session of rock, paper, scissors, I have to go first.
Huffing a breath, I grab a stack of scene cards containing the modern English translations of the original play from Alexis and hand one to Taylor.
“Act Two, Scene Four. Viola is traveling with her twin brother, Sebastian, and after a shipwreck, she thought he died. To protect herself, she pretends to be a man named Cesario and begins working for Duke Orsino,” Taylor intones with the enthusiasm of a man about to meet the guillotine.
“Gee, you’re inspiring my creative juices, Tay.” I snort.
“Fuck you. In ballet, I don’t have to talk, okay? I just dance.” She sticks her tongue out. Taylor is a principal ballerina in the top ballet company in the country. Not that you can tell with her incessant cursing, dark makeup, and nose piercings she calls her mood rings.
“Is there a Razzie award for the worst theatrical performance? We can definitely win one.” Heat crawls up my face. I hate being in the center of attention.
“Suddenly, she’s all jokes and smiles.”
“Enough chitchat. Read!” Alexis shouts in a…megaphone?
I take over reading. “Viola falls in love with Orsino, who thinks she’s a guy. Cue shenanigans.”
We get into our positions, and I wince as the spotlight hits my face. I want to flee, to go back to the safety of my office and analyze other people’s problems, to help others. Save lives.
But I sneak a glance at Alexis, finding her bright eyed and excited. I don’t want to be a buzzkill and disappoint her by not participating.
It’s just a play, damn it. Recite a few lines and it’ll be done before I know it.
The cameraman makes a hand motion, and Alexis tells us to begin.
“My dad had a daughter once, and she fell in love with someone. Desperately. If I were a woman, maybe I’d fall in love with someone like you,” I murmur, gripping the scene card tightly.
Love isn’t for me. Frankly, I’m afraid of it—of being blinded by an emotion that drives people to do stupid things. I don’t think my heart has skipped a beat for any man.
An image of Rex at the club flashes through my mind. The raw sexuality in his gaze, the way his fingers grazed down his rippling torso, all the while looking like he was pissed at me or wanted to devour me alive.
The unwanted pulsing between my legs.
No. That’s just the environment. Lust maybe. Nothing more.
I can’t afford to be blind again, especially in my profession. Lives are at stake.
But I know what it’s like to pretend, like Viola is doing in this scene—masquerading as a man to the person she loves.
“What happened to your sister?” Taylor asks, pitching her voice low, clearly getting into her role as the duke.
“I…never found out.” Dizziness swamps me. The old ache flares in my chest.
I never got my answers either. Mia didn’t leave them for me. There were only riddles, questions, clues.
No closure.
Only bottomless grief.
Silence falls in the room and I hear my laborious breaths. I wet my lips and push through the next lines. “I-I never knew how she felt. Whatever it was, she’d let it eat her alive. She smiled through the pain, s-she…”