Chapter Eighteen CASEY
Chapter Eighteen
CASEY
I’m not going to fall for a man in less than a week. I’m just ... not going to accept that as my fate. How pathetic. How ... wacky! I should be on one of those TLC shows called Overnight Fiancée or something equally cringeworthy. Those people are absolute loony tunes, and now I’m one of them.
It’s why I booked it out of Phillip’s suite just now. There is not going to be some cheesy dinner scene where we argue over the playlist, and he teases me about my love of Weezer and Red Hot Chili Peppers. Where we tuck into some pizza, and he goes “Oops, you have some sauce just there” and points to my lip and then leans in to kiss it off with a laugh and a giggle.
No to all of that.
Can you imagine what would happen if I were to admit to Phillip how I’m starting to feel about him?
Oh my god, he’d think. The poor girl fell in love with me . Not poor as in sad , but poor as in lacking sufficient funds . LOL .
This way is much better. He proved to be the distraction I needed, because now as I lie in bed back in my quiet suite, I’m not wallowing in self-pity about my job and bleak life prospects anymore; I’m laughing at myself for being dumb enough to actually develop feelings for Phillip.
I had literally one one-night stand, and look at me! I want him to propose! I want him to whisk me off and solve all my problems! I want him to be my Prince Charming!
Oh my god. It dawns on me suddenly like an anvil dropping straight onto my noggin. Maybe that’s what this is really about. Maybe I’m a gold digger, and I never even realized it until now. The sex with Phillip is only mind blowing because of how many zeros are in his bank account. That must be it. I don’t want him; I want what he can provide me. I’m after a Birkin. A Bentley. An all-expenses-paid trip to Bora Bora.
This theory makes me feel better for all of ten seconds, at which point I ask myself the obvious question, Would I still want Phillip if he were as destitute as me?
Yes.
The answer comes to me completely unbidden. Relentlessly fast, even.
Like a wimp, I try to scratch a line through it and try again. No! Of course I wouldn’t. But the truth is already there, scaring me.
I pull the bedding over my head and try to hide. Of course it doesn’t work. My breath is too hot, and though I would like a quick end to this evening, I’m not looking to suffocate beneath a down comforter, so I toss it back off my face and perk up as I hear Sienna’s door slam. She’s back from dinner! Muffled voices carry through the wall. Oh shit! She’s not alone. I think that’s Javier’s accent, but I can’t quite be sure. Then I hear a blunt object hit the wall, and I sit up.
What is happening over there?
But of course I already know.
Sienna releases a loud, throaty moan, and for the next thirty minutes, I’m treated to what could be considered free porn. I try shoving my pillow over my ears; then I turn on the TV and crank the volume up full blast. That only makes the people above me stomp on their floor, telling me to knock it off.
I wind up finding some earplugs in the bathroom, and that mostly does the trick. I mean, they can’t go all night ...
Cut to 3:00 a.m., my face is pressed against the wall as I shout “YOU GUYS HAVE TO STOP. LITERALLY, GO TO SLEEP! ”
I mean, hello, some of us have had several mental breakdowns today, and we could really use some rest.
Sienna laughs and shouts back “ SORRY! ” in her singsong British accent, and I mostly forgive her, though I’ve already decided it’s only fair that I rib her about this tomorrow for at least most of the morning. That’s if I see her. She and Javier might be holed up in her bedroom all day. I smile at the thought, happy for her, somehow. I always thought misery loved company, but that’s not how I feel. More like, at least someone’s having a good day, you know?
Saturday is my seventh day on board Aurelia , and it brings with it the potential for a fresh start. When I pry my eyes open at a quarter past eight, I try not to immediately spiral back into the same funk I found myself in yesterday. I’m going to table the work situation for the time being.
Someone from the crew has slipped the day’s itinerary under my door, and there’s a whole slew of fun things lined up, from the looks of it:
Poolside Yoga—9:00 a.m.
Guided Historic Walking Tour—depart Aurelia at 9:00 a.m.; return by 12:00 p.m.
Snorkeling Excursion (Coki Point beach)—depart Aurelia at 10:00 a.m.; return by 2:00 p.m.
Culinary Arts Cooking Class with Executive Chef Thomas Keller (La Dame kitchen)—11:00 a.m.
Wine Tasting (Library)—3:30 p.m.
Sunset Cocktails (The bow—deck six)—6:30 p.m.
Jazz Band and Supper Club (La Dame)—8:30 p.m.
I would gladly do any of these activities, but Sienna and I talked about snorkeling, and though her plans might have changed now since Javier likely bent her into a pretzel several times throughout the night—I’d imagine she might need a little break from physical activities—I still have my heart set on being outside and in the water today. I need some good ole vitamin D.
I get dressed in a one-piece layered beneath jean shorts and a simple white blouse. I slip on sandals and grab a water bottle and stow a few snacks in my bag, just in case. I’m not sure what all the snorkeling excursion will entail, but I don’t want to be out on a boat, starving because I didn’t think to pack some mixed nuts.
On the threshold of my suite, I hesitate for a multitude of reasons.
I didn’t crack open my laptop this morning. Should I at least check my email? Absolutely not.
Okay, well ... should I be worried about bumping into Phillip immediately upon walking out into the hallway? Possibly.
But I can’t stay locked away all day just because I’m scared of what it will be like when I see him today. Leaving how I did, all cloak and daggers like I was a secret agent, was kind of dumb, I realize. It’s too late to change it, though. To go back and offer a firm handshake and a curt goodbye.
If I see him, I’ll be cool. I’ll smile and pretend like it’s any other day on any other boat.
I head toward the dining hall, not bothering to knock on Sienna’s door first. I don’t want to accidentally see Javier’s peen this morning, thank you very much. They can sleep in.
There’s a breakfast buffet happening, though on a scale and magnitude I’ve never experienced before. This ain’t your uncle’s favorite Golden Corral. There’s a bevy of French pastries set out on a table, the length of which could rival a football field. Fruit has been arranged in delicate little crystal glasses, presliced and perfectly proportioned. A chef whips up omelets. Another folds Nutella and strawberry cream inside delicate crepes.
I head toward the end of the line, not surprised that we’re trudging forward at a snail’s pace. Everyone wants to take their time perusing the options, including me. There are so many things to choose from. I don’t have the biggest appetite, shocking considering I skipped dinner last night, but even I’m tempted by the cute French toast bites up ahead.
“Morning,” a chipper voice says behind me.
I turn to see Tyson pick up a tray and plate of his own, then scoot into line behind me. It’s always nice to see him, though obviously, my first instinct is to check to see if he’s alone. It seems that Phillip is never far off. This morning, though, there’s no Phillip in sight. A funny mixture of relief and disappointment washes over me, but I try not to let it show.
Instead, I smile brightly at Tyson, forcing the expression in the hope that I will actually start to feel happier than I am. “Hi, Tyson.”
“Big morning so far?” he asks.
I laugh a little. “Oh ... I sort of just rolled out of bed. Is that embarrassing? I do plan on snorkeling in a bit, though.”
“Awesome. That should be really fun. I haven’t snorkeled in Saint Thomas, but I hear it’s great. Where are they taking you guys, again?”
I rearrange my tray, pushing it onto my left hand so I can dig into my purse for my itinerary. “Coki Point beach. Not sure I’ve pronounced that right ...”
“You did. Co-key . It’s a beautiful beach. Great areas for swimming, and you should see plenty of fish.”
The line moves, and I tuck my itinerary away and shuffle forward. “What about you? Big plans today?”
“I’m actually departing this afternoon. Heading back to the States.”
I’m surprised to hear this. “But we still have a few more destinations.”
He nods. “Yes, but it was always the plan for me to leave early. I try to keep my travel to a minimum. It just gets to be too much, and I don’t like to be away from my girlfriend, Samara, for too long.”
“Phillip doesn’t mind it? The travel?”
It feels almost strange to bring him up like this, as if my motives are overtly obvious. I hate that I want to know so much about him. It doesn’t exactly help matters.
He shrugs. “Oh, Phillip’s always loved the travel aspect of his job. I doubt he could ever stay in one place for long. Kind of like you travel journalists.”
It stings to hear him call me a travel journalist when I’m truly anything but that at this point.
“Right, yes. I do love that part of my job ...,” I lie, glad to see we’re finally inching closer to the crepe station. “Where is he this morning?” I inquire mildly. “Phillip, I mean.”
Tyson narrows his eyes in thought. “He’s probably running around making sure the ship is ready to take on a few more passengers.”
New passengers?
“I didn’t realize there were others joining us midcruise?”
“I think it’s a bit of a surprise thing.” He smiles conspiratorially and leans in. “Vivienne and her friend flew in to see Phillip. Wanted to congratulate him on Aurelia ’s maiden voyage and everything. They definitely pulled it off. I didn’t even know about it.”
My chest constricts with this news, and it takes me an awfully long time to comprehend what he’s saying.
Vivienne is here?
In Saint Thomas?
On board Aurelia ?
“That—that must have been some surprise.” My voice hitches, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“I can’t imagine. I’m sure Phillip was glad to see her.”
Tyson doesn’t mean to wound me with his words. He’s not being intentionally cruel, after all. It’s only ... I guess Phillip hasn’t mentioned any of the things that have transpired between us. I’m not offended by it. That’s okay. I told Sienna but only because it felt necessary to bring her in on it. Phillip has proved to be an extremely private person, so why would he go running to Tyson about our ... our whatever it was .
Was being the operative word. If Vivienne is here, it’s absolutely, conclusively finished between Phillip and me.
“I’m so happy for him.”
Tyson sighs with relief. “God, me too.” With a shake of his head, he adds, “You know, he bought a ring. Back in January, I think it was, before they broke it off. It really devastated him when things ended.”
I touch his arm as I ask quickly, “So she ended it? Not him?”
Tyson looks at me curiously, and I realize this must seem odd. My eagerness, that is.
“This is absolutely off the record,” I say solemnly, in case that’s what he’s worried about. “I’m not digging for an article or anything. I’m only just ... wondering.”
“Ma’am—”
The person in line behind Tyson waves for me to move ahead. It’s about to be my turn to order a crepe.
“Oh, sorry,” I say, rushing forward.
Tyson follows, and I’m aware of his attention on me. He studies my profile until I gain the courage to look up at him. His brow is furrowed. Whatever he’s thinking, it looks like it’s important.
“I’ve been wondering something myself actually. About you and Phillip.”
“About us?” I nearly croak.
“Yes, it’s just ... it seemed like maybe there was something happening there.”
“A friendship, that’s all,” I say, smiling, trying to cover our tracks. I’m not ashamed of what I’ve done with Phillip. I just don’t want to ruin anything for him. If Vivienne has suddenly come back into his life and they’re planning to work things out, I won’t stand in the way of that. I don’t want him to land in hot water just because of a few careless nights with me, ones he’s likely already put behind him.
Suddenly, I can’t do this.
“You know what?” I thunk my forehead with the heel of my hand. “What was I thinking? I have to be off. I can’t stand in this line, not if I want to make it in time for snorkeling.”
“Casey—”
“I’ll see you later, okay?” I scurry to set my tray back with the others and then take the quickest route toward the dining room exit.
I don’t mind really that I won’t get to eat. Whatever tiny appetite I had was snuffed out by Tyson’s mention of Vivienne. Now all I want to do is get off this boat as quickly as possible. Never mind that we aren’t meant to meet for snorkeling for another hour. I walk off the ship and continue out onto Crown Bay pier, squinting beneath the blazing sun.
Beyond the gates of the port, there’s a small shopping mall and a welcome center. But when I inquire, I’m told walking from Crown Bay to downtown is very difficult.
Just great.
I don’t want to dish out the money it’ll cost me to take a taxi, so I just start walking through the parking lot with no real objective. I have hopes that the people in the welcome center were lying about the distance to downtown just to give the taxi drivers business or something, but no, it’s ... actually very far. I make it to Waterfront Highway and then decide that walking forty minutes on a sidewalk while inhaling exhaust fumes doesn’t sound all that appealing. So I turn back and aimlessly walk around the pier until I find a little concrete ledge right on the water. It’s nice with the breeze.
Eventually, I reach for my trail mix, glad now more than ever that I thought to pack it considering it will be serving as my breakfast and lunch.
I’m proud of myself for keeping it together on the pier.
Given the gravity of the situation, I would have assumed that Tyson’s news about Vivienne would rock my world, but it’s had the exact opposite effect, actually. I feel totally numb. Like my emotions took one look at the pit of despair awaiting me and thought, Hell, nah , packed it up, and called it quits for the day.
I think, too, there’s the benefit of not having seen Vivienne with my own two eyes, to confirm everything Tyson told me. It’s not that I don’t trust his word, but maybe he has it twisted or maybe Vivienne is only here to, I don’t know, give Phillip his old sweatshirt that she accidentally kept after their breakup. That seems like as good an excuse as any to make a quick trip to a tropical island.
“You know, he bought a ring. Back in January” replays through my mind like a song I can’t get out of my head.
A ring.
He bought Vivienne a ring.
Was it like ... a little gemstone thing from James Avery? Or are we talking about a ring ? The ring? Some whopping eight-carat diamond from Tiffany it’s better, actually, because then I don’t have to explain myself to her. I can just be the quiet, weird one in the group, and no one questions it.
Our snorkel guide is hot. I notice him, eventually, when we’re out on the boat and he comes to sit down next to me.
“Do you need any help getting your wet suit on?”
“Oh.”
I must have zoned out for a second. Everyone else is wiggling and jiggling their bodies into some kind of moisture-wicking spandex material, and I’m meant to be doing the same, but instead, I was just staring off into the distance, comatose.
“I think I can manage it,” I say, really looking at him for the first time since I boarded the little snorkeling boat.
He has longish, floppy blond hair, stormy-gray eyes, a jagged scar near his left eyebrow. His smile is nice and straight and white, and the way he’s looking at me proves that, on the outside at least, I’m still whole. None of the sadness has eked out of me to pool on the surface and turn my skin a pallid, sickly gray.
He looks at me with a sort of funny expression. “Are you okay?” he asks, likely now wondering just how far gone I really am. He’s probably worried he’ll have to call the coast guard on me.
“Totally fine.” I stand and pick up my wetsuit. “Now, what’s your advice for getting this thing on?”
I have a tiny bit of fun, at least while I’m out in the water, swimming above a coral reef. I spot a giant sea turtle and all sorts of tropical fish. Way off in the distance, there’s a reef shark, but he leaves us alone, wanting nothing to do with a bunch of annoying tourists. Smart shark.
We get to go out twice, and when it’s time to wrap it up, I’m the last one to get back on board. I don’t want to leave the water, even though my biceps and calves burn from all the swimming I’ve done. It’s a good ache—a physical reminder that I am alive and well, even if it doesn’t feel like it at the moment.
Our guide tries again to engage with me on the way back in.
“Want to steer the boat?” he asks, all lopsided grin and boyish charm.
I’ll bet that works really well for him. He’s probably pulled dozens of tourists with that same exact line. I’m not in danger of falling for him, though, so I shrug and stand. “Sure, why not?”
Because I’ll probably never get another chance to steer a boat through the crystal clear turquoise waters surrounding Saint Thomas, so I might as well go for it.
“You’re a natural,” he says, sidling up behind me, a little too close. “Do you have plans la—”
“Not interested,” I say quickly, mildly, like I don’t mind at all that he’s asked, but I’m not willing to go down that road even a tiny bit.
He nods, unbothered. “Roger that. Would you mind letting me take over again, then?” he says, edging me away from the wheel. “You’re steering us in circles, actually.”