Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Zara
I can’t believe I’m here.
My apartment is spacious and simply furnished, the tiled floors cool beneath my feet.
I kick off my sandals the minute I walk in the door, and wander barefoot through therooms. There’s a large bathroom with a separate shower and bath, all tiled, and two bedrooms, both with double beds made up with spotless white linen.
There’s also a huge open-plan kitchen, living and dining area, the cupboards and fridge already well stocked with food.
It’s five times the size of my single room at home and, after hanging up my small wardrobe in the main closet, I fall back on one of the double beds, sinking into the soft quilt with my arms spread, laughing up at the ceiling.
I wish I had someone to share this with.
My laughter dies away. Fucking Dean. My throat tightens, tears threatening, as his betrayal rolls over me again.
I should be here with someone who loves me, who thinks I’m as special as I think they are.
I should have had that, all along. But I never did.
How stupid I was, blinded by love, letting him string me along like a fool.
Eloise warned me, even Georgia seemed dubious.
Eloise had asked me if I was really in love with him.
And, the more I think about it, the more I’m not sure.
It feels like infatuation, like I was in love with the idea of being loved, the promise of building a home with someone. We barely knew each other, after all.
Loneliness lies heavy in my stomach, an aching weight. I roll onto my side, curling up around it. I’m definitely not falling that fast again. Eloise was right. What I need is a fling, something mindless and fun, no hearts involved. I’m in Morocco, and I’m going to make the most of it. Screw Dean.
I get up, slip out of my skirt and T-shirt and look for something cooler to wear.
It’s warm outside, a wonderful shock to the system after the cold and damp of London.
I settle on the red dress, letting the soft folds fall around my legs, adjusting the ties at the shoulders.
There are sliding doors with tall shutters in the bedroom, and I push them open and step out onto the small square balcony.
There’s a sun lounger and a small table, plus a rack for drying swimwear. And the most spectacular view.
Below me is the pool area and small garden, as well as a terraced BBQ section with shaded seating upholstered in colourful striped fabric.
A few people are down there already, drinking beers and relaxing in the sunshine, or getting up to cheer what I’m guessing is a particularly good surfer on the waves beyond.
It’s a completely different world and I watch them for a moment, taken by how carefree they seem.
My gaze moves beyond, to the pale crescent of sand next to our rocky promontory.
Waves roll into shore, breaking into white foam, dashing themselves against the dramatically sculpted cliffs.
The road we came in on continues above, curving into the distance, the occasional car going past. A pathway set into the base of the cliff leads to what looks like a small campfire area on the beach, bounded by stones.
And beyond it is the sea, shifting and changing, stretching to the horizon.
It’s gorgeous and ridiculous and again that sense of unreality comes over me, as though I’m in a dream.
A burst of laughter and cheering comes up from the BBQ area and I decide, on a moment of impulse, to go down and join them.
Myles told me to go and relax, so I’m just doing what he asked.
But as I’m putting on my sandals there’s a knock at the door. I tense. Oh God. Is it Myles? I smooth back my hair, hastily rewrapping the elastic band around it, and adjust my dress so it doesn’t sit as low. Then I open the door.
A plump middle-aged woman, her dark hair partially covered by a veil, is standing there. “Hello,” she says, smiling. “I’m Amira, the housekeeper. May I check that you have all you need in your room?”
“Of course.” I open the door wider so she can come in. “But honestly, it’s lovely. I have everything I need.”
She bustles in, taking a look around, opening a cupboard I hadn’t noticed to reveal piles of white towels and some extra pillows.
She turns, her hands clasped under her bust, and nods, smiling.
“Here is the internet,” she says, going over to the TV.
A modem is plugged in and she turns it over, showing me the password.
I realise with a shock I hadn’t even considered it.
Myles is still getting emails, and I’m still supposed to be working.
I should at least let the office know we’ve arrived safely, plus check all the details for his meetings again, even though I know them off by heart.
I pull my laptop out, set it up and sign in.
Amira nods again, heading for the door. “Anything you need, ask for me,” she says. “I wish you a lovely stay.”
“I will, thank you so much,” I say, following her to the door. Bright sunshine spills in, pooling on the floor, warming my feet. The air smells of salt and flowers. I glance back at my laptop, then down the stairs to the glimmering pool.
Screw it. I work hard. Myles’s emails can wait. I want to explore.
* * *
A short while later I’m sitting in the terraced BBQ area, a cold drink in my hand.
The group of people I spotted from the balcony are still there, but I’m too shy to approach them.
I order a drink from the smiling bartender, then sit where I can watch the waves and the surfers curling in and out of the rolling foam.
It seems like a lot of work for a short payoff, I think, as I watch them paddle out on their boards, diving beneath breaking waves and emerging on the other side until they reach the perfect spot to catch a wave.
Iwatch for a little while, the cycle repeating itself over and over.
A knot of something hard inside me loosens slightly.
I haven’t been anywhere since my three days in Greece with Eloise on her hen do, and that was a blur of cocktails and nights out, giggling like loons.
Before that, I can’t even remember the last time I had a proper holiday.
Between Mum getting sick, then dealing with the aftermath and meeting Dean, I suppose I never had the time.
I didn’t even go to Dubai. How stupid I was.
“Hey, g’day. You just arrived?” A weight joins mine on the padded bench. I turn to see one of the group of people watching the surfers has sat down near me. He’s tall, though not as tall as Myles, with messy sandy hair and a cheeky smile. He’s wearing a T-shirt and shorts, his feet bare.
“Um, yeah.” I meet his smile with my own. “Got here a few hours ago.”
“You English?” His eyebrows raise.
I nod.
“I’m from Sydney,” he says. “Spent a year or so in London, though. Great place.”
“It’s not too bad. But it’s nothing compared to this.” I wave my drink at the view, feeling ridiculously relaxed. Surfer boy is pretty cute.
“I’m Jared,” he says, holding out his hand.
“Zara.” I take his hand, shaking it. He holds it maybe a moment too long before letting go, his sea-blue eyes meeting mine. I take another sip of my drink, hiding my blush. “Have you been staying here long?”
“A couple of days.” He nods over his shoulder at the group of people. “We’ve been travelling along the coast, filming some surf promo stuff, you know?”
“You’re a pro surfer?” Shit. Myles is pretty well known in the surfing world. I wonder if he’ll mind being recognised.
Jared shakes his head. “Videographer and photography. I love to surf, but didn’t quite have what it takes to turn pro. What about you? You surf?”
“No,” I say, laughing. “I don’t. I’d like to try one day though. It looks like fun.”
“Maybe I can take you out sometime, you know? Just to give it a go. You can’t come all this way and not get in the water. Plus those waves can be pretty strong. Better to be with someone.” He winks at me.
He is very cute. Just what the rebound gods ordered. I bite back a giggle, thinking of Eloise. She’d be cheering me on right now, I’m sure.
“Sounds nice,” I say, sipping my drink. I might still have to be “work Zara” when I’m with Myles but right now, sitting with a cool drink and a hot surfer on the African coast, I feel as though I could be someone else as well.
The someone who’s going to live by the ocean one day, who’s going to achieve her dreams, no matter what.
The someone who isn’t going to let a little heartbreak hold her back.
It’s a nice feeling.
Myles
The water is cool, sliding like silk across my skin as I coast back in, letting the waves take me to shore.
A surf was exactly what I needed, the salt hiss of the waves washing away my irritation, calming my longing for Zara.
There’s something about sitting on a board, riding the swell as though it’s a great beast beneath you, the rise and fall of the waves like a breath moving in and out, that tends to put things into perspective.
Even though there are other surfers out here, we are each our own small island amid a vast sea.
It’s humbling to face a power greater than your own, but that’s part of surfing.
You have to surrender to the ocean in order to ride her.
I stand, pick up my board and head across smooth sand towards the path at the base of the cliff, pausing to unzip my wetsuit and roll the top down around my hips, the heat stifling once I’m out of the water.
As I near the hotel I glance up at the balconies, but Zara is no longer there. I wonder what she’s doing.
The security guard nods to me as I pass through the gateway leading into the hotel grounds. I walk past the BBQ area, then pause.
A woman, her red skirt tucked up so her long legs are revealed, is sitting on one of the cushioned benches. She’s laughing, a drink in her hand, the sun glancing off her smooth brown hair. I would recognise that damn ponytail anywhere.
It’s Zara.
The guy she’s sitting with leans in, laughing as well.
Myhand clenches into a fist. I lean my surfboard against a wall and head down into the BBQ area, trying to hold onto that Zen feeling I’d found in the waves, the calm of the deep ocean.
But it’s difficult when someone has his hand on Zara’s arm, and is making her smile like that.
Fucking hell. I need to calm down. Zara doesn’t belong to me.
And I told her to go and relax. I shake my head and make a right turn to the bar, where I ask for a mineral water.
I take a few sips, wondering what the hell I’m doing.
Maybe I should just go back to my room, take a shower and look over my notes for the meeting tomorrow.
“Myles?”
Damn. I turn around.
Zara is standing there, haloed by the sun like some sort of red-robed angel, sent to tempt me. She’s biting her bottom lip. Christ.
“Hey, Zara,” I say, much more calmly than I feel.
“Is there… Do you need something?” I watch her mouth as she talks.
You. I need you to come up to my room with me and let me slowly strip you naked, untie your hair so it falls over your shoulders, then make love to you until you come, over and over. The thought crashes through me, and I take a swig of water to cover my confusion.
“Just this.” I hold up my drink. “Just had a surf.”
“Oh. That’s nice,” she says, but there’s still uncertainty in her brown eyes. “Um, there should have been mineral water in the room. Is it not there? I can arrange some for you?—”
“Go back to your drink,” I snap, more harshly than I mean to. But I can see people starting to recognise me, and that’s the last thing I need. Maybe I should have just rented a villa somewhere, instead of staying here. But this place feels like home to me.
I wish I could turn back time and take back my harsh words, as I see her face fall.
Her soft mouth twists. “All right,” she says, quietly. “Just let me know if you need anything. Your first meeting is booked for tomorrow at ten and?—”
“I know,” I say, more gently than before. I toss back the remainder of my drink, putting the glass on the bar. “It’s fine. Honestly. And I’m sorry I snapped at you. I will need you to come with me tomorrow afternoon, though. Be ready at 12.30.”
Her eyes widen for a moment. “All right,” she says. “And?—”
“I’m going up,” I say, hating that I’m cutting her off, but knowing that I need to. “See you later.”