5. Heavenleigh
Heavenleigh
I trusted Yara with my life, but she was one of the few on the short list of people outside my family whom I could.
Other than a few conversations on the phone, I’d never actually met Warren in person.
He’d never come to visit Yara at college that I was aware of, though that didn’t mean much.
Yara had parts of her life that she kept off-limits, just like I did.
That was why we’d connected so seamlessly.
Family was family, friends were friends.
They didn’t have to coexist for either of us to be happy.
Honestly, Yara was a safe harbor for me.
With her, I was just the friend she’d met at art school.
I wasn’t Drake Stevenson’s daughter or Arella Stevenson-Moreitti’s sister.
Yara didn’t look at me with stars in her eyes for who I was related to.
We rarely brought up our relatives, and after she’d confided in me about her own, I realized that I was her safe harbor too.
We never talked politics or what it was like to grow up in the public eye.
We’d just existed and lived our lives for ourselves back then.
Despite the distance that separated us after she’d moved back home following graduation, we’d remained close.
Not a day had gone by when we didn’t talk, even if it was some emoji texted at midnight.
It was my trust and love for Yara that had me dropping everything and jumping on a flight last minute. That trust did not extend to Warren, who had a driver waiting with my name on it when I walked out.
A driver with a name card that simply read Heavenleigh.
Not Ven or Heaven.
Heavenleigh.
I spotted the driver, then the card, and immediately clocked three different paparazzi standing around.
They were dressed in Hawaiian shirts and board shorts with cameras hanging around their necks, like they were merely any other tourists.
But they were in no rush to leave the airport and see the beautiful island.
Their attention bounced from one driver to the next, taking in the names and waiting like the vultures they were to see if it was that Heavenleigh.
It took less than five seconds for me to take it all in as I exited with the other passengers.
I didn’t hesitate, didn’t second-guess myself, just walked on by and got into a taxi outside the airport.
When I arrived at the hotel, I checked in to my own room, using my ID and credit card that had my alias on it.
Mieke ensured we all had the right documents for traveling under the radar, including passports and separate cards.
She would get a notification when my card went through, but I texted her as I went up to my room, letting her know I was safe, with friends, and not to let anyone know.
Alerting her to my whereabouts was the smart decision.
She could make sure that if my name got tagged in anything for the next few days, it would come down instantly.
It was an extra safeguard to guarantee my parents didn’t find out about my weekend adventure.
After I was settled in my room, I made a quick trip down to the boutique for a few things.
Hair products, a couple outfits to have something to wear to dinner or a club later, and beachwear.
Last on the list was shoes. I always left that for the finale because I was my mother’s daughter.
Shoes were my weakness. I limited myself to only two pairs, heels that worked for any outfit and cute sandals for the beach.
By the time I got back to my room, my stomach was making demands.
If Yara didn’t arrive soon, I was going to eat without her.
Which she would forgive me for, because she knew the consequences if I didn’t eat as soon as I decided I was hungry.
I had less than an hour before I turned into an entirely different person, and even Yara wasn’t exempt from the hanger-rage-infused version of myself.
As I opened my hotel room door, my phone rang. Seeing it was my friend, I lifted it to my ear before I’d even closed the door. “Hey, bitch.”
“Babe!” she cried. “We just got to the suite. Where are you? Warren said the driver never picked you up. I told him to chill, you’d find your own way. But then we got to the hotel, and you haven’t checked in. Please tell me you’re on the island. I need you!”
“It wasn’t safe for me to take the driver,” I explained. “Too many eyes were on the name card, Yara.”
“What?” She groaned. “Did they use your full name?”
“Just the first name, not the last, but that was enough to pique interest, and they were watching. I’m at the hotel, just in my own room.” She huffed, and I softened my tone. “It’s better this way, babe. Plus, we can hide out in my room and gorge on room service desserts anytime we want.”
“Warren’s assistant reserved two presidential suites. There are six rooms between the two of them. I was hoping to use one of the suites for prewedding prep.”
“We can still do that,” I promised. “Or whatever else you want. I’m here for you and nothing else. This weekend is for you, Yara.”