Chapter 24
A FTER I ’VE TUCKED C AMILA IN, I WASH MY HANDS IN HER bathroom. I look like we rolled back from the restaurant instead of walked. It turned out Camila was still not up for the golf cart, so we left it at the dock. Thanks to her short, mummy-like steps, it took forever to get back to the house.
I’m heading to my cottage when I hear voices coming from the fire pit at the edge of the compound.
“Hey! Where were you guys?” Santiago calls out as I approach. “You missed one hell of a session.” I scan the faces around the fire. Two equipment techs, our chef, and René’s manager, ángel, are drinking beers.
“The song is so good,” announces our chef.
There’s a song?
“Everything was flowing. Natalia and René were on fire,” Santiago says. “It’s, like, basically done. There are a couple of things René wants to do with it, but it’s all there.” I slump onto a bench. “We couldn’t stop listening to it. We called everyone in.” Santiago’s words hammer down on me.
“It’s excellent,” confirms the technician with the long hair.
“I think it could be the first single,” Santiago adds.
“Where were you? Is everything okay?” ángel asks. I can’t imagine what it must look like, me waltzing in here at this time of night.
“I was taking care of Camila in town. She wasn’t feeling well.”
“Oh no, you should have called me.” ángel’s voice is heavy with disappointment.
“You’re right. I wish I had, but my phone had died when I thought of it. And Camila… didn’t have hers.” While it’s all true, they sound like pathetic excuses. I feel like that one kid whose dog actually ate their homework.
“What about James? Where was he?” Santiago chimes in innocently.
“Asleep.” I feel a tightening around my throat. “He wasn’t feeling well either.”
The group goes quiet, and after a moment, I excuse myself and walk away. There’s a ringing in my ears, and all other sounds get muted.
René recorded an entire song. With his megastar ex-flame no less. While I was stuck on the other side of the island, living a nightmare called Rehydrating Camila . And the first reviews are in. It’s a big hit, maybe even the first single. Apparently the process was spontaneous and inspired, and we didn’t capture any of it.
I rest my head on the window as the cab drives past another beach. It’s busier on this side of the island. Campers have set up tents on the sand, and small boats drift near the coast. The car pauses at a stop sign, and I watch a family make their way to the water under the harsh, early afternoon sun. They seem blissfully sluggish and relaxed. Which is completely at odds with how I’m feeling. I can’t stop thinking about last night. Maureen will be here tomorrow, and I have nothing for her. Nothing of any substance anyway.
The cab drives past a strip of small, casual restaurants and drops me off in front of a modern concrete structure unlike anything else I’ve seen on the island. I’m meeting James here for lunch since René doesn’t want to start until four today. I know this because I heard it from Santiago at breakfast, not because Camila was up early handing out studio schedules. After how sick she was last night, I don’t think anyone will be seeing so much as a Post-it from her.
James headed out early to explore this side of the island, so we’re meeting at the restaurant. I had a work meeting to attend about the concert tomorrow, where we’re showcasing three new artists on our label. It sounds much bigger than originally planned. Hundreds of fans, influencers, and journalists are being ferried to the island from San Juan, and René will be performing as well.
When they asked me for an update, I did not mention the duet with Natalia. But I’m sure Maureen will hear about it tomorrow. ángel will probably tell her about it when he sees her and I’ll be forced to come clean.
I walk inside the hotel, and the soothing scent of a spa hits me. Planks of matte gray wood cover the walls, so the space feels relaxing yet sleek. The restaurant is straight ahead with views of the ocean behind it. A nice lunch with James is exactly what I need.
I need to forget about work for a few hours. Forget about last night. How we failed to capture something as big as El Rico reuniting with his ex for a new duet. Natalia left early this morning, so if there’s been a reconciliation, we missed that too. The only thing I did get last night was a reminder of who René really is. No matter how different he seemed on the beach. Just look at Camila and Natalia, and all the other women who might be caught in his web.
I catch my reflection in a large mirror, and do a double take. I’m wearing the hot pink camisole Meri stuffed into my suitcase, with its plunging neckline and spaghetti straps, and my high-waisted black jeans. I should wear more pink. I tuck into a bussing station, take a decent empowerment selfie with a tall shelf of plates and fresh glasses behind me, and send it to Meri. I find James seated at a table in the center of the restaurant studying the menu. I feel instantly more relaxed. Being around James is like slipping into a broken-in pair of pajamas. Always there, always dependable. Well, except for last night.
He’d taken something for an upset stomach, and it made him feel groggy so he slept through the alarm. His apology this morning was sincere but quick. He’s not the type of person who lingers on a problem. While I would normally appreciate this approach, I wasn’t ready to move on. I wanted to sulk. I wanted to complain. And it stung a little that he didn’t give me the chance.
“You look nice.”
“Thanks. So do you.” He’s wearing the white linen button-down he knows I like.
He gives me a quick, easy smile before turning back to his menu. I go with the ravioli and a Puerto Rican cocktail made with rum and anise because it sounds nice and strong. James orders the pork chop and a Moscow Mule.
I study him as he calmly handles the waiter’s questions regarding appetizers, salads, and what kind of water we’d like. He sits tall and unwavering. A gale could blow through here and he’d probably still be sitting like that. He’s always sturdy and reliable.
“I think you’d like this.” He holds out his drink for me to try, and I take it.
“That is good.”
“Have as much as you want.” He always said the same thing when we were dating, and the drink would become our drink.
I try to imagine what it would be like if we were together. It would be so easy to slip back into this. Do I want to slip back into this? I decide to sit still for a moment and wait for my body to send a response.
An hour later, the message is clear. No. Though I haven’t quite put my finger on why.
“How are things at home?” he asks.
“Good, the new windows are going in as we speak.”
“Wow, that’s great news. Did you go with the sliders? Or the awnings?”
“Sliders.”
“Nice.”
I give him an appreciative nod and look down at my plate. There’s only one ravioli left.
I’d forgotten what a slow eater James is. I’ve had my half of the meatball appetizer and most of my ravioli and he’s still working on his salad. His untouched pork chop is just sitting there looking drier by the second.
Not wanting to finish my meal before he’s started on his, I set my fork down.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask,” James says, his tone now serious. “Your father was from here?”
“Um, yeah.” I’m rattled by the question, so I take a long sip of water.
“So… how do you feel about being here?” He’s trying to be careful but there’s no use. I no longer feel the breeze, only the heat rising from my core. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
“Thanks.” I’m grateful he’s trying to help, but I’m still trying to process how I feel about being here. Maybe René is right and I should let it all out.
“Check it out.” To change the subject, James pulls his phone from his back pocket. “I worked on this commercial last week.” It’s a picture of an elaborate setup of multiple cameras on tracks around a shiny new luxury car in a bright white studio.
“That looks cool.”
“I thought about buying those cameras, but that setup is pricey. I made a budget and I’d barely break even in three years, and that’s if I got regular rentals.”
I try to fight off a yawn but fail. “Sorry, you know I love budget talk, but I’m tired. Last night was… rough.”
“You did the best you could. What more can you do?”
James is an incredibly hard worker, but he once told me his favorite part of his career was always being able to remain detached. Light it. Film it. Go home. But it’s not like that for me. I love my job. I want to get the best out of René. I need to get him to open up on camera the way he did on the beach. And I need him to write and record another new hit song. Preferably by the weekend.
James finally moves on to his pork chop, so I scoop up a forkful of ravioli and pretend to love the feel of room temp ricotta in my mouth. When we were dating, I had the timing of our meals all figured out. I got into the habit of ordering foods that required assembly. Fajitas. Lettuce wraps.
James takes a small sip of his drink. “Here, have the rest.” He sets the drink down in front of me. He’s barely had any of it.
It occurs to me James may have ordered this drink because, when we were browsing through the menu, I said I wanted to try one. I also happen to know he ordered the appetizer because I love meatballs. It was always like this with him. Everything was frictionless and simple. I was never pushed or had to think. And I never had any idea what James really wanted.
I realize this is why, the whole time we’ve been apart, I’ve missed some things about our relationship, but I haven’t missed him .
When we get back to the house, and pass through the ornate double wooden doors, we’re immediately embraced by nature. There’s a steady, cool breeze in the house. The glass panels have all been slid into the walls, so the place is opened up.
Music is coming from outside, so I take a peek at the pool. Santiago is out there, swimming with a couple of guys I’ve never seen before. We pass the kitchen and my phone buzzes in my hand with a call from Meri.
“I should take this.” I stop walking.
“Okay, sure,” James says brightly. “See you at four in the studio?”
I nod quickly and take the call. “Hey!” Meri appears on the screen, sitting in her car holding what appears to be an extra-large smoothie.
“Okay, that top is officially yours.” There’s a little tiredness in her voice. “Where were you? And more importantly, who were you with?”
I open my mouth to respond but the sound of flip-flops approaching make me panic. I step backward up the stairs that lead to the second floor of the main cottage. “Hold on,” I whisper as Camila walks by wearing a crochet knit bikini.
I ordered her a new phone but it was too expensive to have it rushed same day to the island. I don’t want to tell her it won’t be here until tomorrow. Though I’m relieved to see her up and about. Silver lining, Camila’s alive.
“Sorry, that was Camila.” I reach the top step, find an open room, and shut the door. “It’s a long story, but I don’t want her to see me.”
“Who are we avoiding, Daniela?” René’s deep and sexy voice is behind me.