11. Ryan
11
Ryan
I knew the course was going to go down like a lead balloon with Emma, but Phil’s determined that we both attend, and so, here we are, making our way to some remote island in the Caribbean off the coast of the Bahamas. It’s a secluded location where people with a big bank balance pay someone else to tell them how to be in love.
Granted, it sounds idyllic. Well, apart from the fact that we’ll be spending the weekend jumping through hoops and pretending to be a couple. It’s not how I would choose to spend my weekend, but there are some perks. Like watching Emma’s face earlier when we stepped onto my private jet.
“Holy cow,” she gasped as we settled into the plush leather seats.
I couldn’t help but smile as her head spun one way and then the next, scanning the expensive interior of the plane.
“How the other half lives, huh?”
“We could always have gone coach,” I quipped back.
“No, I think I’m good. If I have to sacrifice my weekend, you better believe I’m taking the good with the bad.”
An hour and a half and several glasses of champagne later, we arrive at the resort after being picked up and driven from the airport in a limousine. Check-in is pretty painless, and we’re quickly shown to our suite.
While I’m perusing the balcony that looks out over the rolling ocean, Emma’s looking around the place. When I turn, I catch her surveying a brochure that’s sitting on a low, dark wood table.
“What is it?” I say, walking over to see.
She shows me the magazine. The title’s written in curlicue letters across the top, each letter bubbling with hearts.
“ A Crash Course in Romance ,” she says dramatically, rolling her eyes.
“You never know,” I say, grinning at her obvious disdain. “It might be fun.”
“Sure,” she smirks. “I think I’d prefer bullfighting.”
“Wrong continent,” I quip.
“Funny.” She curls her lip in a fake smile.
Yes. This is going to be just swell.
An hour later, I’m back on the balcony waiting for Emma to finish getting ready for dinner. We have separate rooms in our suite, something I demanded and knew she would want. This course is a stretch too far for her already. If we’d arrived and been expected to share a bed, I think she might have internally combusted.
“Shall we go?” she says from behind me.
“Sure,” I say, spinning around.
Thankfully, she’s no longer looking at me because I flounder when I see her. She looks stunning in a full-length, mint green dress that hugs her body. It shimmers when she moves, lightly brushing her curves. Not to mention, the color really suits her long red hair that currently hangs over her shoulder as she bends to lift the room key off the table.
Taking a swift breath in, I straighten my dinner jacket and reach the door just as she does. When I open it for her, she looks up and gives me a soft smile.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” I reply.
The restaurant is small and intimate, with a large oblong table situated right in the middle. There’s a whole side of it open, giving us a view of the ocean rolling onto the white sandy beach not fifty feet away.
“Wow,” Emma breathes.
“Yes,” I say, feeling as blown away as she sounds.
Over the next half an hour, we meet the three other couples that are joining us on this retreat, all of them from different places of the globe: Italy, Canada, and the UK.
The conversation is flowing, when suddenly, a whirlwind of colorful fabric sweeps into the room. The woman approaching the table is a vision in a purple velvet kaftan, adorned with jangling bracelets. Her hair is swept up in a wild bun, and her eyes sparkle with enthusiasm.
“My darlings! Welcome to your weekend of love!” she sings, rolling her r’s with dramatic flair. “My name is Madame Amour, and I will be your instructor for the weekend.
When I hear Emma mutter, “Oh, Lord,” under her breath, I struggle not to burst out laughing.
“You will all be my darling duos this weekend , yes?” She clasps her hands, scanning the table and catching everyone’s eyes.
“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Greg, the guy from England says.
Brown-noser.
“Excellent, darlings!” She claps her hands again. “This evening, I want you all to relax and enjoy your meal. The real work will begin tomorrow. I will see you all at eight a.m. sharp.”
“Oh, I can’t wait,” Emma mutters sarcastically.
I didn’t realize she was so witty, and swallowing another chuckle, I’m now looking forward to the next couple of days.
*****
Madame Amour is just as enthusiastic the following day, but that much energy at this time in the morning is a bit much for me.
“Now, let’s get you all out of those comfort zones, hmm? Love is all about trust, about letting go, about surrender!”
And then she tells us that we’re starting with a trust fall, and I suddenly feel like I’m on the same page as Emma. This really is ridiculous.
Emma stands facing away from me, her arms crossed awkwardly over her chest.
“Darling, you must let go!” Madame Amour calls over when Emma hesitates. “Trust is the foundation of any love that lasts, yes?”
I’m standing, waiting and ready, and then I see her “let go.”
Catching her feels like nothing. I mean, she’s pretty slender, and my bad knee doesn’t impair my upper body strength. It does, however, impair my balance, and I feel myself having to step back.
“Sorry,” Emma says, glancing down at my leg. “Are you okay?
“Will you quit worrying?” I smirk. “I’m a big boy. I can handle myself.”
When we’ve done a few falls, and thankfully not dropped each other, Madame Amour leads us out of the resort and towards the beach. As we approach, there are three rowboats all painted different colors and decorated with ribbons and flowers.
“Today, my loves, we learn about partnership!” she says, flourishing her arms toward the boats. “For in love, you must row together, yes? Paddle in harmony, or you go nowhere at all!”
Emma blinks at the boat, then at me, while I’m stifling a laugh.
“Does she really expect us to—?”
But before she can finish, Madame Amour ushers us toward the boats with surprising efficiency, and five minutes later, we’re out on the water with paddles in hand.
But it becomes immediately apparent that “harmony” is an overly ambitious goal. While I’m paddling to the left, Emma’s paddling to the right, resulting in a rather ridiculous series of circles.
“Left, right, left… Let’s try going left first?” Emma suggests, frowning as we spin in another lazy arc.
I nod in agreement, and matching my paddle with hers, we manage a few decent strokes before a particularly enthusiastic one sends a wave of water over Emma’s arm, splashing her shoulder.
Not that the water is cold, but naturally, Emma freezes before staring at me.
“Oh, well, now you’re asking for it,” she says with a mischievous smirk. Grabbing her paddle, she concentrates all her strength, and a second later, I’m soaked to the skin.
“You don’t want to play this game with me,” I warn.
“No?” she mocks. “Are you scared?”
“Okay. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Five minutes later, after much thrashing and rocking, nearly toppling us both into the ocean, the two of us are soaked from head to foot and in stitches laughing.
“Oh, darlings, what a scene!” our instructor says when we return to shore. “But I suppose laughter is partnership, hmm?” She hands us towels with a dramatic sigh.
She then declares a two-hour break for lunch.
“Before that, you might want to go and get changed.” She lifts the corner of her mouth sultrily. “Maybe you want to skip lunch, huh? Just be back in two hours.”
Emma’s eyeballs nearly pop out of her head at the woman’s words, and I burst out laughing at her reaction. “Can you believe what she just said? And in front of everybody, too.”
I’m still laughing. “Sure, but she thinks we’re actually a couple, remember.”
Emma’s face burns red at that comment, so I don’t say another word until we get back to the suite.
After lunch, the challenge involves blindfolds and food. Needless to say, it gets pretty messy. I’ll admit, I don’t really get it, but I can’t say it isn’t fun.
We’re left to our own devices for the rest of the afternoon, and after a walk and a rest, we head down to dinner. Like the night before, our instructor doesn’t join us, and we figure the challenges are over for the day. That is, until she comes swooping in once the sun’s gone down.
“Follow me,” Madame Amour says, leading us through a door.
After continuing through several doors, we’re led outside, where we find a dance floor, complete with fairy lights strung across the trees and soft music playing from somewhere nearby.
“Tonight, you will dance under the stars,” she says with a twinkle in her eye. “Even if you cannot dance, it does not matter. Just let yourselves feel the music, hmm?”
“Eternal Flame” by the Bangles starts playing, and even while she rolls her eyes at the cheesy song, Emma looks nervous.
“Look,” I say, offering my hand, “it’s not that difficult.”
“You can dance?” she gasps.
“No, but I can skate, and it’s basically the same thing. It’s just about finding your rhythm.”
Slipping one arm around her waist, I pull her a little closer and take her hand. Slowly, I move from side to side, but it soon becomes clear that Emma has plenty of rhythm and doesn’t need my help at all.
“Why were you so nervous?” I ask, looking down at her and feeling confused.
She shrugs and looks a little coy. “I suppose it’s just been a long time.”
“How long?” I ask.
“A few years.”
Her reply surprises me, and I say so. “Seriously? How is that possible? You’re stunning.” Her face blooms bright red, and I realize I’ve embarrassed her again. “Sorry.”
“It’s alright. But you know relationships are more than skin deep, right?”
“Of course,” I say flippantly.
But even as I answer, I have to wonder if I do know that. Let’s be honest, my dating patterns are hardly merited on their depth.
Come on, man. You know Megan had a lot to do with that.
And like Emma is reading my mind, she says, “When was your last relationship? Serious one, I mean.”
“Two years back,” I say. “It started off good, and it was more than skin deep. Only, it took me six months to figure out that she was using me as a stepping stone. She wanted fame, and she used me to get it. That, and my money,” I say tersely.
“I’m sorry,” Emma says, her tone genuine.
I shrug. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Clearly, it does, if it’s the reason you haven’t been in a serious relationship since.”
I’m about to reply when Madame Amour drifts by, nodding approvingly. “Yes, my darling duo,” she murmurs, smiling. “Love is not in perfection; it is in this—the trying, the foolishness, the togetherness.”
Later, we sit at the bar as a group and talk about the day. But as it gets late, we decide to head back to the suite.
Once inside, I say, “We should get some sleep. Madame Amour will probably have us scaling walls or serenading squirrels tomorrow.”
“I think she’s nuts enough.”
“I see what you did there,” I laugh.
She gives me a cheeky grin and disappears into her room, leaving me standing there for a second, wondering what tomorrow is going to bring. I know one thing. I’ve actually enjoyed today, and it’s only because I’ve been here with Emma.