Chapter 19
Caleb’s “Fiji midnight” quickly turns into Fiji three a.m as I try every trick I’ve ever heard of to get myself to sleep.
But my brain is still reeling over Caleb.
I don’t regret my decision. I swear. Whatever this bizarre attraction is between us, it’s just that: attraction.
And it absolutely cannot be allowed to turn into anything.
But as soon as I close my eyes, I see him.
I feel the glorious orbit of his body next to mine.
And suddenly, my hand on my stomach is his hand.
The tropical breeze from my open window is his breath tracing the contours of my neck—his lips on my skin.
The blanket above me is his weight on my hips.
His strong fingers pushing into my ribs to draw me close to him.
The sea-salt taste of his lips brushing against mine…
I bolt up and pull the hair-tie on my wrist.
Snap.
Caleb is what Jane Austen might call an unmitigated ass. He’s more stuck up than the barnacles Jim has to scrape off the bottom of the Vela Bianca.
Snap.
He’s so concerned with keeping up his nauseating hero routine that he can’t even tell when he’s being a complete jerk.
Snap.
His face is so frozen in a perpetual frown that if he keeps it up, he’s going to have the forehead of a bulldog in ten years and his stupid eyebrows are always pinched and his eyes are so beautiful that even when he’s angry it feels like they’re boring into my soul and—
Snap! Snap! Snap!
This isn’t working. I can think of all the reasons in the world to hate Caleb and my body would still betray me.
I groan, casting off the rumpled sheets and rolling out of bed right into the thick, white monogrammed robe that’s waiting for me on my desk chair.
I have the desperate urge to call Marianne, but she’ll swim out here just to slap me if I wake her up before sunrise.
Instead, I lie in my bed and stare at the upholstered ceiling, wondering how I could possibly have handled this worse.
Needless to say, a night of no sleep doesn’t exactly work wonders for my appearance.
As soon as my alarm goes off, I get up and plant myself in front of the mirror, taking stock of the bags under my eyes.
If Caleb isn’t already running for the hills after last night, maybe my haggard appearance will help scare him off. Which is exactly what I want.
Isn’t it?
Even though I’m basically a zombie at breakfast, nobody seems to notice.
Arthur is inordinately excited about our day at Mamanuca resort, which is apparently his favorite place in the Pacific, and I’m as eager as he is to put some distance between myself and Caleb.
Unfortunately, the universe seems to have other plans.
I curse under my breath when I catch sight of him waiting in the tender, eyes sunken—lips pinched.
From the looks of him, I’m not the only one who didn’t sleep last night.
He doesn’t even have the energy to give me his usual condescending glance. Instead, he just looks… broken.
“Easy does it,” he says listlessly as he reaches out a hand to help Patricia into the tender. He doesn’t even bother to make some charming comment about the fact that she’s ditched her usual black blouse in favor of a peach-colored silk top.
“Patricia, you’re a vision!” Jim cuts in instead. “Embracing the island life?”
“My other tops are being steamed,” she replies.
Reluctantly, I follow her down into the boat and take Caleb’s tentative hand.
“Miss Olsen.”
Miss Olsen? Could he be any more suspicious?
Even though everyone’s chatting up a storm in the tender, I spend the ride silently pressed up against the rubber as far away from Caleb as humanly possible.
Only Jules notices my weirdness, and mouths a reluctant “you good?” at me from across the boat.
I give her a thumbs up. The last thing I need is for her to get suspicious.
I check my phone again—for some reason I haven’t had service since last night.
All I want is to call Marianne—to tell anyone what’s going on so it doesn’t feel so bizarre.
For a second, I even consider telling Matthew now that we’ve bonded over the terror of his family’s wrath.
But something tells me his ‘brotherly love’ only goes so far.
I practically spring out of my seat when we unload from the tender onto the beautifully polished dock at Mamanuca island.
This is no Narara. A smiling man in a white shirt helps us tie off as the whole family files onto the dock, marveling at the beautifully polished wood and glistening, white shells that decorate the rail posts.
Well, at least Jules and I are marveling.
It’s almost beautiful enough to distract me from the fact that Caleb doesn’t stay in the boat—he steps out right after Steven and shakes the hand of the uniformed dock attendant.
“What are you doing?” I blurt out, fully aware that Harry and Arthur are standing right behind him.
Caleb glances up at me without moving his head, and even that one motion sends butterflies exploding in my nether regions. I mentally squash every single one of them.
“Tying us off?”
I look down at Caleb’s feet and realize I’ve missed a very crucial detail. He’s wearing hiking boots.
Not again…
“Our fearless Captain is playing tour guide today,” Arthur announces, his voice stuffy from the copious amounts of gin he consumed at last night’s dinner. “Making sure no one gets lost in the forest.”
“Fantastic,” I say cheerfully. Should I be scared that I’m getting so good at faking emotions?
So much for staying out of each other’s way.
Caleb, on the other hand, looks totally unbothered.
Maybe last night really didn’t mean anything for him.
Maybe he does this kind of thing so often that acting normal after a near conquest is old hat.
It’s ok, I tell myself—forty-eight hours ago I hated his guts. All I have to do is try my best to remember that feeling, and I’ll be golden. But something about the electricity that zings up my arm as his hand accidentally brushes mine tells me that’s easier said than done.
The Mamanuca Resort is stunning: it’s a private hideaway, Harry informs me, for celebs and the ultra-rich (or as he says, “extra well-off”).
Gentle music that may or may not be played by a mandolinist hiding behind one of the shrubs greets us as we reach a set of hand carved wooden doors as tall as some of the island’s palm trees.
Palm fans waft the smells of frangipani and ginger around the covered entrance and a small man with a curly, white beard (and by small, I mean the only Fijian man I’ve seen who’s under six feet) guides us past a quiet salt water infinity pool to a breezy outdoor lobby walled in by orchid-covered trees.
Casual. Standing in the center amongst a few ridiculously elegant honeymooners is a round woman with wiry-grey hair wrapped in a shimmering orange Sari-style dress.
As soon as she sees us, she gleefully opens her arms.
“Caleb!”
“Tracy!”
Caleb’s face lights up in recognition as he jogs over to her. It’s the most genuine smile I’ve seen on Caleb since I met him. He wraps the older woman into a huge hug, lifting her off the ground until she giggles and swats at his shoulder.
At the lagoon, Caleb said he had a friend on this island. I just wasn’t expecting someone old enough to be his mother.
“Put me down, you scoundrel,” Tracy insists through her laughter. “I’ll throw out my back!”
“A spring chicken like you?” he asks as he sets her back on the ground. “Impossible.”
“Arthur Warren,” Arthur extends his arm in greeting, but Patricia smacks it away.
“Honestly, Arthur,” she scolds before turning back to Caleb’s friend. “Can’t remember a face to save his life. It’s nice to see you again, Tracy.”
Patricia leans in to give Tracy one of her modified air kisses.
“Tracy,” Caleb says, “I’d like you to meet Harry’s fiancée, Jules, and her sister Stella. This is my godmother, Tracy Watanabe.”
Of course. Caleb told me his godmother lived in Fiji when we were looking for Patricia. I just wasn’t expecting to be visiting her.
“It’s lovely to meet you.” she clasps my hand in hers. “It’s always such a pleasure to have friends of Caleb visit! I see him so rarely these days.”
Even with her hand on mine, Caleb’s arm is still around Tracy protectively, holding her close like she might blow away.
I inexplicably ache for him to put those same arms around me, and I have to distract myself by looking over at the tangle of exotic orchids that curl around the lobby’s wooden columns.
“Please make yourselves at home while you’re on the island,” she tells us. “We’ve set up loungers for you by the pool.”
“Trace,” Caleb says, “a few of the Warrens want to fit in a hike before lunch. Can you show them the trailhead?”
“You’re not coming?” I blurt out, and he blinks at me.
“Bad ankle,” he says coolly, the lie coming to him so quickly nobody questions my awkward outburst.
“Happy to!” Tracy ushers us towards the other side of the restaurant and points to a neat stack of white stones and a break between palms. “The trail is just through that grove. But I wouldn’t linger too long—looks like it’s going to rain today.”
I look up at the sky—the same perfect, cerulean blue it’s been all week. What weather report has she been reading?
“Got it,” Harry says, taking the lead. “Hope you’re all ready for some speed-trekking!”
“Mom and I are going to sit this one out,” Matthew informs us. Somehow in the last thirty seconds, he’s procured a powerful looking cocktail with a pineapple frond sticking out from the top. “Get in some bonding time.”
“I can assure you, the only thing Matthew will be bonding with is his phone,” Patricia corrects him. “Steven, care to join us?”