Chapter Twenty-Two
Adrienne wasn’t surprised when Isla gave the speech of her life.
Nor was she surprised when every single vote had gone in her favor.
What Adrienne hadn’t expected, though, was Valerie whispering goodbye in her ear the second Isla had sabered the first bottle of Dom Perignon with a giant knife.
They had been at the wrap party in mainland Mykonos, and the DJ had just played Fuego and by the time Adrienne had actually made sense of what Valerie had said; the engineer was gone. Valerie had vanished into thin air.
Adrienne hadn’t been able to find her at Villa Helios either.
She’d spent the hour before midnight in a frantic manhunt, checking the infinity pool, the outdoor bar, even the dark cobblestoned paths winding down to the private beach.
But there had been no sign of Valerie. Although Adrienne had accidentally found Carmen heavily making out with one of the camerawomen inside the Villa’s stone chapel, and if Adrienne hadn’t been so consumed with finding Valerie, she would’ve happily interrupted them to point out the roaring hypocrisy of it all.
Instead, she’d rushed back to the villa to check Valerie’s room.
After ten minutes of knocking, and a very inelegant peek under the doorway—Adrienne had gone nose to the floor and had seen nothing but furniture shadows—she’d gone to her room, locked the door, cracked open all three of the tiny bottles of Grey Goose Vodka she’d found in the small fridge, and dumped them straight into a mug.
Then she’d run a scalding hot bubble bath while Mazzy Star looped from the speakers.
She scrubbed every last bit of dirt from her fingernails before massaging lavender oil into her skin.
Unfortunately, none of it had made her feel any better.
The truth was that Adrienne was a wreck.
She’d honestly expected Valerie to pull her into a kiss under the cascade of confetti like Tamsyn had done with Isla in their Flinders Ranges season.
She’d spent all of Safiya’s speech imagining Valerie begging Adrienne to move to Sitka with her, or at the very least, ask Adrienne for her cell phone number so they could connect after all of this was finished.
But nothing.
There had been a moment right when Eden had licked the tequila out of the waitress’s belly button when Adrienne had found herself wondering if the connection between them was entirely imagined, or worse, that it had been one-sided.
But then she remembered what Valerie had said: finding something genuine is the purest thing a person can do.
Surely Valerie had been referring to her.
And if that was the case, didn’t Adrienne deserve a little more than a whispered goodbye? Yes. She. Did.
Which was why she yanked open her door, stomped out into the bright corridor that still smelled richly of the buttery, honey-soaked bougatsa pastries that were delivered to everyone’s suites this morning, and took a left back toward Valerie’s room.
She was about to give it to Valerie so hard that Valerie would feel the burn two Alaskan winters from now, but when she got to Valerie’s room and banged her fist against the wood, there was no answer.
She knocked again. And again. And again.
When her fist ached from the pounding, she rested her forehead against the wood and sighed so dejectedly she even felt sorry for herself.
“You can’t freeze me out just because we lost, Val. Even if you think it’s my fault.”
Because that was all this could be right? Valerie was upset with Adrienne for being too disliked to get to the final two. She was blaming Adrienne for losing to Isla and Safiya when, really, Isla had deserved to win this season all along.
“Can you just open the door?” she muttered, then gave another half-hearted knock. “I just want to talk. Please. I can’t be the only one who feels this.”
“What are you doing?” a voice suddenly said.
Adrienne jerked back as if the door had shocked her. Her heart vaulted into her throat.
But it wasn’t Valerie. It was Tamera.
Adrienne groaned. “Oh. It’s just you.”
“Well, good morning to you too,” Tamera said, though she was smiling as bright as the morning sun.
She casually flicked her blonde hair back over her shoulder and jutted out a hip.
Adrienne would have to be completely blind not to notice the way Tamera’s legs stuck out of her distressed mini skirt like tanned skyscrapers at sunset.
“I’m really not up for an argument,” Adrienne replied, already stepping back to get the hell out of there. Tamera had made her disdain for Adrienne crystal clear all season, and just because the game was over, it didn’t mean their rivalry was.
“I’m not here to argue,” Tamera said, her tone softer than Adrienne had ever heard it.
Was Adrienne wrong? Were they going to prove the viewers wrong and become the unlikely best friends?
“But if you are looking for Valerie, she’s not here.
” She said it as if it were a fact. Was it a fact?
“She left for the airport about thirty minutes ago. I thought you knew.”
“What?” Adrienne gasped. She did not know that.
As far as she was concerned, they were all supposed to be shepherded together to the airport where they’d all say their teary goodbyes before boarding the official charter flight.
It was part of the mandatory wrap-up schedule.
Surely Valerie wasn’t above everyone else.
Surely she wasn’t allowed to just vanish.
“Are you okay?” Tamera asked, stepping closer. A soft frown pulled between her eyebrows, and Adrienne could feel the sympathy oozing off her. It was revolting.
Adrienne opened her mouth to snap back something snarky, but the retort died in her throat when she felt something wet slip past her cheek before landing on her lip. Was that a tear? Was she crying? Of course, she was fucking crying. Valerie had left without saying goodbye.
“I’m fine,” she said quickly, wiping away the tears with the side of her hand.
But she wasn’t fine. She would never be fine again.
What would Nicki say if she knew Adrienne had been ghosted by the love of her life?
And yes, Valerie was the love of her life.
Would she book her a flight to Ibiza and tell her to get over it? “I have to go.”
Adrienne had already walked past Tamera when Tamera said, “You know that part of the movie The Proposal where Andrew rushes to the airport to stop Margaret from getting deported to Canada?”
Adrienne stopped in her tracks. Of course, she knew that scene. Everyone knew that scene. The airport run. The grand romantic gesture. Hollywood had milked that fantasy for decades, and frankly, it worked every time.
“Well, I hope you get there in time.”
Was that Tamera’s way of telling Adrienne that she was actually rooting for her? That behind their rivalry, she wanted Valerie and Adrienne to work just as much as Adrienne did?
Adrienne didn’t stay to find out. Once she’d taken the corner, she started running.
First, she bolted to her bedroom where her Louis Vuitton Keepall was thankfully nearly packed.
She grabbed her passport, slipped out of her Prada leather platform sandals that felt like walking on literal clouds, and into her Adidas Samba sneakers, and then headed toward the villa lobby where, by the grace of Outlast Her gods, she bumped into Elise.
After spending two minutes explaining herself, Elise held up her hand. “Go. Now. Tell her how you feel.”
The drive to Mykonos Airport was ten minutes, if not less, but it felt like an agonizing year.
What if Valerie had already gotten on the plane and this little excursion was useless?
Adrienne’s flight to JFK, with a rushed layover in London, was only at nine pm tonight.
She’d planned on spending the day lounging at one of Villa Helios’ pools.
And she’d planned on doing it with Valerie by her side.
Maybe with a little afternoon delight thrown in.
“We’re here, Ma’am,” the driver said as the car pulled up against the curb.
Adrienne didn’t wait for him to open her door.
She grabbed her bag and stormed into the airport.
Was this how Andrew Paxton felt as he sprinted through the terminal?
Was Adrienne going to get there too late?
But instead of booking a flight and catching Margaret at her New York office like Andrew had done, Adrienne would decide it would be too much trouble to run after someone who clearly didn’t even want anything to do with her.
If Valerie had actual feelings for Adrienne, she never would’ve left in the first place.
Shit!
Adrienne slammed her foot directly into a heavy, floral-printed rolling suitcase pulled by an older woman with a towering silver perm.
The lady let out an outraged wheeze just as her neck pillow went spinning to the floor.
Then, in almost the same breath, Adrienne had to sidestep a young mother juggling a takeaway coffee and a screaming toddler on her hip.
The mother hissed a furious “Watch it!” as Adrienne clipped her arm with her Keepall, nearly sending the caffeinated drink flying through the air.
“Sorry,” Adrienne mumbled out a breathless apology, already five steps ahead. But she couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t. Not until...
There, at the counter a mere ten yards away, Adrienne spotted a woman with dark brown hair carrying a lilac backpack over her shoulder. From the top zipper hung a silver salmon charm and a metal tag that read Sitka. How many brunettes carrying a Sitka charm could possibly be at this airport?