Chapter 8
I’m so high off the adrenaline from my high-jump turned MMA fight that I forget to dry my legs and end up trailing wet footprints all over the salon floor.
I try to clean it myself with my towel, but Gia soon emerges from the kitchen and runs over to me, insisting I let her take care of it.
I don’t dare argue after what I just heard upstairs.
When I get back to my room, I notice a glass-framed itinerary has been set up on my desk on Vela Bianca letterhead:
*Swimsuit and sunscreen encouraged
I run through a mental list of what “Cloud Nine” could be.
A resort with an infinity pool the size of a small island?
An elite underwater spa that gives rich people a close-up view of the reef without actually having to ruin their hair?
Whatever our destination du jour is, at least I’m unlikely to end up underdressed again.
I throw a big white t-shirt over my wet bikini: a simple turquoise triangle top and matching bottoms that covers enough of my chest to feel family appropriate, but not so much that I look like a grandma.
I take a deep breath and pick up my phone to compose a text to Marianne.
Captain is a total ass. Thinks I don’t belong here.
A green typing bubble appears immediately.
Whatever—screw him! I bet his only friends are sheep.
I stifle a laugh. Marianne is right—screw this guy. I’m not about to let a glorified deckswabber on a power trip ruin my whole vacation. If he thinks he can treat me poorly because I’m not some upper-crusty trust funder, he’s got another thing coming.
I spent four months creeping around campus trying to avoid an awkward run in with my ex, and all it got me was a suspension. I refuse to do it again. I need to show Captain Snobberton I’m not to be messed with.
The ride to the mysterious Cloud Nine is nothing short of exhilarating.
After we meet on the back deck, all five of us pile into the tender: the small rubber boat Jim uses to shuttle us to and from the Vela Bianca.
Small, of course, being a relative term.
The tender, as it turns out, has the same horsepower as a speedboat and, as Harry explains to me, can easily pull a waterskier.
We fly across the mirror-like blue, weaving between reefs as Jim steers us away from the small group of islands where we’re anchored.
All the while, Matthew pats down his freshly styled hair like a prom-goer in a convertible as Steven tries to snap photos of him looking “rugged.”
I wonder how much of Steven’s vacation time is dedicated to snapping content for Matthew’s Instagram.
After about ten minutes, we approach what looks like a tall barge sticking out in the center of miles of blue water.
Several small boats are pulled up alongside.
This must be Cloud Nine. The two-story floating bar is full of tourists sprawled on white loungers with tiki drinks in their hands: there’s even a diving board on the top floor that someone backflips off as we pull in. My stomach turns just watching her.
“Here we are, boys and girls,” Jim says as he drops us at the ladder. “Welcome to Cloud Nine!”
“Look at this water!” Jules squeals. “I think I saw this place in a travel magazine. Harry, can you take a picture of Stella and me?”
Jules squeezes me towards her as Harry breaks out his phone.
“The last time we were here, Matthew and I were teenagers,” Harry tells us as Jules poses and I try to look less awkward. “My parents found us locked in the bathroom taking slugs of a Malibu bottle we stole off someone’s table. I swear, I’ve never seen Matthew look so green.”
“Seriously, Harry?” Matthew snaps back.
Harry shrugs.
“C’mon, that’s hardly your worst offense. And besides, we’re all family now!”
The look Matthew gives him tells me he’d sooner chug another bottle of Malibu than admit he’s in any way related to me.
“You’ve been to Fiji before?” I ask Harry as he helps me up the ladder to the dock.
“Oh yes. We circle back to the same locations every few years.”
“How can your parents get away so often?” I ask.
“They try to make it out to the boat at least once a quarter. But the crew is here year-round. The Vela Bianca travels the globe with or without passengers.”
I nod and smile, like it’s the most normal thing in the world to hemorrhage enough money to pay for the college tuition of the greater Chicago area to keep a boat traveling by itself.
Once we’re all present and accounted for, we’re greeted by a friendly host who brings us to a set of cushy ocean-front loungers overlooking the surf break.
“Thanks,” Matthew says, in a tone that makes me think he’s anything but grateful. Still, he was right about the view. In the distance, I can see the massive waves rolling over the reef and the jet skis zooming out to tow in the surfers.
“That’s Cloudbreak,” Steven points to the famous surf spot. “Cap said the swell is over fifteen feet today.”
“People surf that?” I ask, horrified. Steven nods.
“Guys like Caleb, maybe. It’s a little above my pay grade.”
Of course the ridiculously hot New Zealander is also a surf champion. Is there anything Captain Caleb can’t do, besides show a shred of human emotion?
“Boys,” Harry announces, “Let’s hit the bar. Can I get you ladies anything?”
“I like the look of those Mai-Tais, babe,” Jules answers. She looks to me next.
“Just an iced tea for me.”
Harry nods, but Steven puts a hand on my shoulder before he goes.
“Sure I can’t get you anything more exciting?”
“I’m good—thanks though,” I tell him.
He flashes me an Ivy-League smile before heading off towards the bar. When I plop onto the lounger, Jules squeezes my thigh.
“Steven’s pretty cute, huh?” She practically shouts over Jimmy Buffet’s “Five O’Clock Somewhere”.
“Jules!”
“What? I’m just observing. Of course, he’s got nothing on Captain Caleb. That man looks like they plucked him off a romance novel cover.”
Certainly doesn’t act like it. Unless, maybe, he’s playing the villain. I decide to ignore her comment and address the more pressing issue of my sister trying to set me up with maritime ken doll.
“Aren’t you supposed to be engaged, Jules? If you want to jump ship for a newer model, I’m an excellent wing-woman.”
I wink at her.
“Very funny. I meant for you! Steven comes from a good family, you know. And he’s on the board of the LA Humane Society—an animal lover!”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I tell her. “I can’t think of anyone more complicated to get involved with than a Warren family friend. And honestly, I’m not interested in dating anyone for the next hundred years.”
“I get it. But you can’t let one bad egg put you off for good. There are plenty of other proteins out there!”
I grimace.
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just make a thinly-disguised man meat joke and go back to my book,” I tell her, pulling out a ratty, second-hand copy of Great Expectations.
Jules and I have become less close over the past few years than we used to be, probably mostly due to my self-burial in academic service.
But she knows how humiliated I was by my breakup.
If she knew what I’d really lost as a result, I doubt she’d be so quick to send me into the arms of yet another inevitable disappointment.
I clench my hands around the spine of my book.
I have no doubt that Jules loves Harry, and he’s clearly obsessed with her too.
But I can’t help but worry that this whirlwind romance is derailing her life.
What happens if Jules stops working to fit into Harry’s life and things go south?
After our dad died, I put college on hold for two years to make sure Jules made it through high school.
God knows I’m in no place to bail her out this time.
“Change of plans, hon,” Harry interrupts from behind us in his million-miles-a-minute cadence. He ambles up, sans-cocktail, and puts his hand on Jules’s shoulder. “I got us appointments for a top-deck massage! Can you wait on the mai-tai?”
She gasps in delight, wrapping her arms around him like a giddy teenager.
Somehow, even with all the shitty cards she’s been dealt in her life, Jules has never had any default mode but joyful.
Despite my concerns about Harry’s background, I can’t help but be happy that someone’s finally treating her like the queen she is.
“Oh, Harry! You’re so sweet! You don’t mind, do you Stella?”
I shake my head. While the idea of watching Matthew and Steven hit on nineteen-year-olds is less than appealing, the idea of third-wheeling my sister’s couple’s massage is even worse.
“Of course not. Go, have fun!”
A few minutes later, Matthew and Steven return not with a glass, nor a carafe, but a white ceramic bottle of tequila so fancy, it doesn’t even have a label.
“Nice book,” Matthew jeers without looking at me as he falls into the lounger farthest from me. I bite my lip, resisting the urge to tell him I’ll loan him some picture books if he’s feeling left out.
“God, this music is terrible,” he gripes as Steven pours him a tequila on the rocks. “Hasn’t anyone told them what year it is?”
I roll my eyes. Only Matthew could complain when we’re sitting in paradise.
He walks off towards the DJ booth and a few moments later, music that sounds like a mix between techno and radio static is blaring through the speakers.
I wonder if Matthew keeps a separate wallet in his pocket specifically to make sure he gets things his way.
“Problem solved,” he says as he saunters back. Steven laughs at him.
“Looks like you’ve pissed off a few locals.”
I look to my left, where an older man is covering his ears.
“Excuse me miss?” Matthew shouts, getting the attention of a server who’s walking by. I cringe, willing myself to sink into the cushions. “Bring everyone a round of Clase Azul, would you?” He lifts the bottle into the air. “On me?”
“Of course, sir,” she says.
He turns back to us.
“That should shut them up.”