Chapter Five
Harper felt like a golden eagle plucked from the jagged cliffs of the Himalayas and dropped unceremoniously onto a limestone-paved driveway in Positano.
She was used to tracking Andean condors as they circled canyon rims, or watching a markhor pick its way across a cliff face in northern Pakistan or freezing her tits off in the wind-swept Atacama just to catch the perfect shot of dawn spilling across the salt flats.
Now it was all heels clicking, makeup artists panicking about which lipstick would survive the Mediterranean sun—seriously, who cared—and stylists running around with dresses draped over their arms. Everywhere she looked, there were people rushing, fussing, and calling across each other like a colony of capuchin monkeys scrambling for fruit.
Harper was so far out of her element she didn’t know if she was coming or going. Her lungs ached for the thin, crisp air of the Andes, not the scent of hairspray and lemons and whatever incense was lingering in the foyer.
But she had no right to complain. She wasn’t there against her will.
Quite the opposite, actually. Harper had responded to the email that had landed in her spam box like a sign from above.
Instead of taking time to heal, or use her newfound free time to do something meaningful like go on a well-deserved holiday—or you know, find herself since the reason she got a divorce was because she had no idea who she was anymore—she’d researched The Sapphic Match, came across Elise’s face in an online article and applied for the job at once.
Which she regretted now. Hugely.
Elise didn’t even know who she was. Or at least she pretended she didn’t.
Harper wasn’t sure which was worse. Or were they equally humiliating?
She pondered which was sadder just as the first stretch limo hissed its brakes.
The door opened, and Harper lifted her camera without even thinking.
Her thumb rested on the focus ring, her index finger feathered the shutter button, and her body aligned as if she were about to photograph a rare bird in flight.
Amelia Navarro stepped out first. Harper recognized her from the headshot she’d studied on the plane.
Not only had she memorized the contestants’ faces, but their bios too.
She’d had way too much time to think. And thinking led to over-analyzing her entire life, which would’ve sent her into a spiral right there in her aisle seat if it hadn’t been for the distraction of those contestant files.
Amelia wore a steel-grey gown that caught the setting sun and shimmered like poured mercury. She was thirty-one, tall and toned, which made sense given she was a firefighter.
Monica welcomed her. “Are you ready?”
“Can a person ever be ready to possibly meet the love of their life?” Amelia asked, smiling so candidly that Harper nearly rolled her eyes.
Yuck, she thought. Then, what the hell am I doing here? Then she remembered how Elise had stuck out her hand to greet her earlier, like that same hand hadn’t found itself between Harper’s thighs—twice—and she nearly forgot to snap a few shots.
“Well, I’ll cross my fingers for you,” Monica said, then gestured toward the deep-blue carpet that had been rolled out from the limo door all the way to the stone steps leading up to where Megan waited beneath a relatively flimsy arch of climbing jasmine.
A light breeze stirred the tiny white blossoms, sending a few drifting down lazily around the bachelorette, who looked stunning in a champagne satin gown that flowed to the floor like a waterfall.
Next up was Kira James in a gold sequin halter neck dress with a slit so high Harper hoped she was wearing underwear. Kira was a twenty-eight-year-old marine biologist from Cape Cod, Massachusetts, who collected teaspoons everywhere she went. Harper caught her as she stepped up to Monica.
“You look nervous,” Monica said, her voice all buttery and sympathetic.
Kira looked a little taken aback by the observation but quickly plastered a smile on her face. “Is it that obvious? I thought I was masking it pretty well.”
“Deep breaths,” Monica told her. “Forget all about the cameras.”
“Easier said than done.” Kira chuckled, definitely not masking her nerves.
In fact, she looked entirely more nervous than when she’d just climbed out of the limo.
But then Harper would feel that way too if she were walking toward the bachelorette with a jar of what looked like pickles.
She raised her camera, zoomed in, and caught the glint of something briny inside the glass.
The next limo door opened before Kira had even disappeared up the carpet, and Rebecca Morrison stepped out in a deep emerald dress that hugged her like it had been tailored an hour ago.
Harper recognized her from the contestant packet too.
Rebecca was thirty-four, from Denver, and worked as an architect, which somehow made perfect sense the second she looked at her.
Everything about her was clean lines and quiet control, from her sleek bob tucked behind one ear to the way she paused, took in the setup, and smiled like she was already editing it in her head.
Monica greeted her with the same polished warmth, but Rebecca’s “I’m ready” came out steady, like she actually meant it.
Harper lifted her camera and caught the exact moment Rebecca glanced toward Megan at the top of the steps, her expression shifting from composed to unmistakably intrigued.
Then she shifted her camera to the left and caught sight of blonde corkscrew curls in the production tent.
Elise was standing behind a monitor, staring so hard at the screen she wasn’t even blinking.
For a second, Harper willed Elise to meet her gaze, hoping that if she did, she would see a flash of recognition in her eyes.
She was even tempted to walk over there and ask Elise what the hell was going on, because surely she couldn’t have forgotten a night like that, under the stars, the sand pleasantly warm beneath the towel Harper had laid out for them.
But she didn’t. Because the next limo came to a halt.
Jasmine Patel climbed out. She was wearing a ruby-red wrap and had long brown hair that would’ve cascaded down her back if the breeze hadn’t been whipping it across her face like a runaway scarf.
In fact, the wind had picked up so much that even Monica, whose dress was flowy but short, seemed to struggle to keep it from ballooning around her legs.
“I think we should take a break,” Elise called, walking out of the production tent toward the carpet.
She was waving an arm in the air to get everyone’s attention.
Her curls were going feral in the wind. A few strands flew into her mouth, which she immediately spat out with a quick, irritated puff.
“Before the light reflectors blow away.”
That was a touch dramatic. Though Harper did agree with taking a break.
Not because the blue carpet was rippling under Harper’s feet, or the petals from the jasmine arch were spinning like tiny white frisbees, or the lanterns flanking the path were toppling over, but rather because a break meant she could get Elise alone.
And to get Elise alone meant she could find out if she actually remembered her.
A gust suddenly slammed into the jasmine arch. It shuddered so violently that the entire structure bent like a bowstring pulled too far. Branches creaked. Blossoms tore free in a white flurry, and the metal brackets anchoring it to the limestone gave a terrible screech.
The next minute, the entire arch was soaring through the air.
Harper’s brain registered danger a fraction of a second too late.
But her body did not. She lunged toward Elise, who for some reason wasn’t moving out of the way, grabbed her by the arm, and yanked her out of the arch’s path just as it slammed down onto the limestone with a teeth-rattling crack.
White blossoms burst across the ground. A vine whipped past Harper’s cheek.
Monica screamed, but Harper couldn’t see her and assumed her scream was more of a warning than anything else.
And then suddenly, Harper realized she had Elise in her arms, and the wind, which was still whipping like crazy, felt calm in comparison to the storm in her stomach.
Elise’s hand fisted lightly in the front of Harper’s shirt.
For a terribly long five seconds, neither of them moved.
Then a jasmine blossom drifted down and landed in Elise’s hair, and Harper leaned in just slightly to blow it away with a puff of her breath.
It was then that a memory unfolded as clear as glass in her mind: Sesriem campsite.
Red sand dunes. The two of them had agreed to share a tent for the night because of the tent shortage.
Then a sandstorm had rolled in so fast it swallowed the dunes.
A tent pole snapped. The two of them were holding up the polyester walls with tired arms until the entire thing just collapsed.
Their sprint to the communal bathrooms, hair plastered to their faces, laughing because the only other option was crying.
Elise had stood under the flickering light with sand crusted in her eyebrow.
And Harper had reached out to brush it away.
“I have no idea how we actually survived that night in Sesriem,” Harper said so quickly she didn’t even realize the words were out of her mouth until Elise had let go of her shirt and was looking up at her with those blue eyes the color of the ocean at dusk.
“We should never have fought the wind as long as we—” Elise started, then stopped. She took a quick breath in and glared down at the ground as if she’d said something she was desperate to take back.
But she couldn’t. Harper had heard her. Elise was only pretending not to remember her.
Which should’ve made Harper feel ecstatic, but somehow it didn’t. Because the look in Elise’s eye wasn’t dreamy nostalgia, and it wasn’t gratefulness for Harper saving her from nearly being pancaked by a jasmine arch. It was anger.
“Can we talk, please?” Harper asked, but her voice was fighting the wind, and by the look on Elise’s face the answer would be a solid no.
Still, she had to try. “I know you’re busy, and I know it’s probably quite a shock to see me here of all places.
” She gave a nervous sort of chuckle, hoping it would disband the tension between them.
But it didn’t. Elise didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.
Probably hadn’t even heard her over the wind.
“I have to go,” Elise said finally, sweeping her hand backward to where Megan and Monica were huddled in the doorway of the villa. The limos sat idling at the end of the driveway, holding the remaining contestants, and the video crew wrestled with the reflectors that also threatened to take flight.
And she did. She walked away, leaving Harper more confused than she’d ever been in her life. Which, frankly, was saying something. She waited a few more seconds until she was sure she didn’t want to run from the villa and ducked against the wind.
She wasn’t going to give up. Elise needed to hear her side of the story.