Chapter 2 #2
Seriously, Simone doesn’t know what she’s missing.
My best friend from college recently got married and has been waist deep in Irish mob chaos ever since. Her husband isn’t exactly Prince Charming, but I’m split on whether they’ve caught feelings for each other.
One second she’s desperate for an out. The next, the two of them are practically holding hands at Christmas dinner.
If I had to guess, it’s not that they hate each other. More like that they hate to love each other so much.
It reminds me of these out-of-season Bottega Veneta mules that had absolutely no business being as ugly-cute as they were.
I was obsessed and wore them anyway, fashion faux pas or not.
I’m barely forty minutes into my relaxation, half considering texting Simone, when my phone buzzes. It’s Destiny, my gallery assistant, sending through several short, panicked texts.
Apparently there’s an issue with the Nakamura we’re expecting at the gallery. The bronze sculpture took three long months of negotiating, but as bubbly as I am, I usually don’t take no for an answer. I wanted it for the spring showcase and had been told it would arrive today.
Destiny’s saying Customs flagged the shipment and is requesting documentation we apparently don’t have on file.
I heave a sigh and compose a quick text.
Call Kareem at the customs brokerage.
His number’s in the shared contacts under freight.
He’s handled this exact situation before.
Destiny responds promising she’ll do as I’ve said and thanking me for solving the crisis.
All in a day’s work… even from the beach in the Maldives.
I set my phone face down on my beach towel.
Destiny’s more than capable, and the Nakamura piece is going to be fine, and I’m not about to let a temporary customs problem ruin my time in the Maldives.
The art gallery has always been a dream of mine, but I’m absolutely not about overdoing the #girlboss nonsense.
Give me work/life balance any day of the week.
…which causes my gaze to wander back over to the private villas.
Ours is only thirty feet away. Through the tall glass panels I can see Greg, pacing back and forth, phone to his ear, making the same jerky hand gestures he always does when he’s in the middle of a negotiation and things aren’t going the way he wants.
He’s been at it for a couple hours now.
Maybe it’s time for a distraction. Business is business, but my ass in this bikini is such a sight it’s enough to cure the blind.
I give it another moment, then make my way back to the villa, warm from the sun and pleasantly loose from all the champagne I’ve drank since we’ve arrived.
Greg’s finally off the phone, sitting on the private deck with a scotch, the tension in his shoulders making them even broader than usual. He notices me only as I’m within a few feet of him and reaches out to pull me into his lap.
His lips press a kiss to my temple, and I lean into him, breathing in the familiar notes of cedar and bergamot from his cologne.
Suddenly we feel a lot more like a couple again, my needy complaints melting away.
“Do I finally get you to myself?” I purr, toying with one of his shirt buttons.
“Almost done,” he answers. His thumb draws a slow circle on my bare shoulder. “A few last matters to handle, and then tonight is completely ours. I mean it this time.”
My bottom lip pokes out poutily. “You’ve already said that twice today.”
“And I mean it more each time.” He tips my chin up and studies my face as if calculating a monetary value. “Wear the green dress tonight. The mini one that shows off your legs.”
“Do I get to know what you have planned?”
He drops a peck on my lips. “Seven o’ clock. You’ll find out then.”
He slides me off his lap and heads back inside with his scotch and phone in hand.
I hang back on the private deck and turn my attention onto the turquoise waters.
The light has shifted as afternoon gradually turns to evening and the bright bluish green shades deepen.
Soon the horizon will be doing that thing where the sky and sea start to blur together at the edges and dusk fades entirely.
The view is flawless. The villa is peak luxury. The champagne crisp and sweet.
Everything is like a dream.
Yet as I sit on the private deck alone, I can’t help wondering if today’s set the tone for how our couple’s retreat will go. If Greg really will be like all the others—Dad included—so work-obsessed he’s engulfed in it even on vacation.
What other matters could he possibly have to handle? What business could be so important?
Then I chase the questions away, reminding myself it’s none of my concern. I know my role, and that’s all that matters.
There’s something deeply satisfying about getting dressed up and looking in the mirror to admire how good you look.
It’s minutes before seven, and I’ve taken my time getting ready. A long, hot bath, some more champagne and chocolate truffles, blasting music as I finish hair and makeup.
Greg’s been gone handling the last details of his business situation, which means I’ve had the entire villa to myself.
Cool with me.
Simone has always said I’m the kind of person who makes the best of a situation. Definitely more of a glass half full kind of person. If I have to spend most of this vacation entertaining myself, that’s totally fine. So long as I’m in paradise, I’m happy.
I spritz some perfume on my pulse points and then move in front of the mirror for another look at myself.
The green Retrofête dress hugs my curvy figure and accentuates all the best parts. It’s short and leggy, and with the tall sandal heels I’m wearing, I’m practically model height.
Sort of.
I glance at the clock.
Six fifty-eight. Two minutes to spare.
Just enough time to take a couple final selfies before Greg shows up.
I’m lining up the angle when a knock comes at the villa door.
I lower my phone slowly. Greg has a key and wouldn’t need to knock. Unless he somehow lost it or forgot it somewhere?
But as I cross toward the door, intuition tells me Greg isn’t the one who’s knocking. I have a different visitor who’s decided to stop by.
I lean toward the peephole and peek out the glass.
It’s covered.
I go still, squinting at the darkness blocking out any view.
“Who is it?” I call.
“Room service,” answers a male voice, the tone flat and robotic.
“We didn’t order room service.”
A second goes by with no response, then he repeats himself.
“Room service,” he says. “Please open the door so it can be brought inside.”
The hairs on the back of my neck rise. “Why is the peephole covered?”
“Open the door, ma’am.”
I back away and grab my phone to call Greg. But as I unlock the screen and bring up his name, I notice there’re no bars. Not a single one when I’d had full service only minutes ago.
I flit across the room, holding it toward the window in hopes it’ll come back.
Nothing.
My heart thickens inside my chest, my breathing slowing up.
What is going on?!
The pounding starts. Heavy and rhythmic and completely aggressive, the door shakes from how hard the person on the other side slams their fist into it. The door handle rattles along with it, as the person grows more and more irate and forceful.
“Stop it!” I scream at the door. “Go away or I’ll call the police!”
I lunge for the landline phone on the nightstand, clumsily fumbling with the handle and punching the button for the concierge.
Right away, the line feels as if it’s ringing forever and no one bothers to answer. I’m left in a panic as the door shakes and then the situation gets even worse—two masked figures climb onto the private deck.
They promptly step toward the glass sliding door with some kind of latch tool in hand, placing it against the frame and cranking away to force it open.
I scream again, louder and more panicked. Sheer terror unlike any sound I’ve ever made.
It’s another three seconds before both doors are officially breached. The glass door slides open while the main door to the villa crashes inward as one of the men kicks it open.
Six men flood the room from both sides. Four through the villa door. The other two rushing in from the private deck.
All wearing ski masks with a skeleton’s face on them.
I grab the lamp off the nightstand and hurl it at the closest guy, the ceramic shattering against his shoulder. But as he staggers, two more leap for me, grabbing at my arms and easily overpowering me.
“Get your hands off me!” I scream, twisting in their hold. “Come anywhere near me and my father will—”
A seventh man steps through the villa’s door.
Greg strolls inside straightening the sleeve of the dress shirt he’s changed into. He peers around the room as if there isn’t a group of masked men in black who have broken in and grabbed hold of me. His expression is so flat and bored you’d think this is expected.
Then, with sinking dread, as my gaze connects with Greg’s, I realize it is.
“Apologies, Chantal,” he says calmly. “This was never my intention, but an offer came up. The price on your pretty little head was just too good to ignore.”
“Greg!” I gasp, tears springing to my eyes. “What—”
“You know how it is,” he interrupts. “I’m a money man at the end of the day. Isn’t that what you love about me?”