Chapter 13
That evening, Sadie found herself seated at a small table in the spa's nourishment and reflection room. She swallowed a snort, earning a few strange looks from others nearby.
Military dining halls with crowded tables bore no resemblance to the opulent space surrounding her.
Crystal chandeliers cast warm, golden light across tables draped in crisp white linens, while floor-to-ceiling windows offered breathtaking views of the desert landscape painted in dusky purples and golds by the setting sun.
Fresh lavender adorned each table, the delicate fragrance mingling with the subtle scent of sage drifting through strategically placed diffusers.
And for another rule, each small table only held one guest. The spa wanted guests to spend time reflecting while they ate, rather than conversing with one another. Sadie had noticed the subtle ways to keep guests focused on themselves and prevent them from getting to know anyone else.
The same ethereal music floated through hidden speakers, offering a continuous stream of wind chimes, soft flutes, and synthesized nature sounds that she suspected played throughout the entire facility twenty-four hours a day.
While she didn’t mind relaxing melodies, after just one day at Serenity Dunes, the monotonous tones were already beginning to grate against her nerves like a gentle but persistent itch.
She found herself craving the raw energy of rock music, the kind that made her pulse quicken and her blood sing during intense workouts.
But observing the hushed reverence with which other guests ate and the way staff members glided between tables like wraiths bearing perfectly arranged plates, she doubted this sanctuary of serenity could even produce music with a livelier beat.
Her gaze swept the room, cataloging faces and behaviors with the automatic assessment ingrained by years of training.
Just as she’d suspected, nearly everyone here radiated the unmistakable aura of serious wealth.
While no one wore evening gowns dripping with diamonds, she spotted women in designer athleisure wear.
Cashmere hoodies, silk blouses, yoga pants cut from expensive material with designer labels, and pristine white sneakers that had clearly never touched actual pavement, much less seen the inside of a real gymnasium.
Sadie was comfortable in her jeans and long-sleeved blouse and had thought pulling her freshly washed and air-dried hair into a ponytail would be good for dinner. But looking around, she definitely didn’t look like the other guests.
These women had obviously showered and primped after their day of treatments, their hair styled with professional precision and makeup applied with the kind of expertise that came from regular visits to high-end salons.
They moved with the practiced grace of those accustomed to being pampered, their manicured fingers handling crystal water glasses as if they did so every day.
The clientele was all female, and she wondered why the spa wouldn’t want to capitalize on men’s desire to participate in anti-aging experiences. Her suspicious mind told her that, for some reason, the spa must have determined they could work with women more easily.
Conversations remained muted, with most guests eating in contemplative silence.
During orientation, they’d been informed that forming new friendships was discouraged at Serenity Dunes.
Their philosophy centered on the idea that social interactions could interfere with the deep introspection and self-care that were supposedly the cornerstones of the spa experience.
A calm mind and calm body, they’d been told, required minimal external stimulation.
This was not a place to gather on the weekend. Another way to isolate the guests.
Since no one had bothered with formal introductions, Sadie had taken to assigning mental nicknames to the faces she recognized from her airport shuttle and various treatments.
There was Blond Bob, the woman whose precision-cut hair probably required weekly maintenance at an exclusive salon.
Dark Curls wore a velvet tracksuit that cost more than most people’s rent, her lustrous hair cascading to her waist in waves that caught the chandelier light like spun silk.
Grouchy Grandma, an elderly woman who’d spent most of the day complaining about everything from the thread count of her sheets to the temperature of her cucumber water, sat alone at a corner table, scowling at her organically sourced quinoa salad.
Desert Barbie, whose over-bronzed skin and rhinestone-studded sandals made her look like she’d stepped off a reality TV show, had shared the mineral bath facility with Sadie earlier, chattering endlessly to the bath assistant about her cosmetic surgeon’s latest recommendations.
From her shuttle ride, she also recognized Basketball—a statuesque woman whose height made even the spa’s flowing robes look like tunics —and Zen Girl, a perpetually drowsy-looking woman whose hair was secured in a neat topknot that somehow looked both trendy and effortless.
Then there was Vanilla Ice, a pale, lanky woman who’d worn head-to-toe white linen during their arrival and was sporting the same monochromatic ensemble tonight.
She wondered if her entire wardrobe consisted of white linen, then caught herself.
God, I must be seriously bored if I’m analyzing someone else’s fashion choices.
Her attention was drawn to the table beside her and the woman seated there.
Unlike the other guests, this woman didn’t carry herself with the languid confidence of someone accustomed to luxury.
There was something refreshingly genuine about her as she looked around the opulent dining room with the same subtle bewilderment that Sadie felt.
It seemed she was also trying to decode the resort's rules.
When their eyes met, Sadie caught a flash of sharp intelligence in the woman’s gaze, the kind of assessing look that suggested she was cataloging details just as Sadie was.
But the intensity softened quickly, replaced by a warm, conspiratorial smile that felt like finding an oasis in a desert of pretension.
Leaning slightly closer, the woman whispered, “This is my first evening here. I feel underdressed even in my most comfortable clothes.”
Relief flooded through Sadie as she nodded emphatically. “I was thinking exactly the same thing.”
Their quiet exchange was interrupted by the arrival of Sadie’s dinner, a beautifully arranged plate of sushi that looked more like edible art than actual food.
She’d pre-ordered from the day’s limited menu, which had surprised her with its narrow selection of what could only be described as “clean eating” options.
Everything was organic and designed to promote wellness and spiritual cleansing, according to the lengthy descriptions that accompanied each dish.
Glancing at her neighbor’s plate, Sadie saw delicately broiled fish accompanied by steamed vegetables arranged in a rainbow of colors.
While the presentations were undeniably elegant, there wasn’t a single indulgent item to be found.
There were no rich sauces, no decadent desserts, or anything that might interfere with the spa’s philosophy of purification through deprivation.
The sight of the pristine, virtuous meal triggered an unexpected memory that hit her like a physical blow.
She could suddenly taste the greasy perfection of that hamburger she’d shared with Todd, remembering the way the cheese had melted over the perfectly seasoned beef, the crispy satisfaction of those beer-battered onion rings, the cold bite of beer washing down the rich, fried apple turnover they’d demolished together.
She had been so hungry that day, it had been the best meal of her life.
No, she corrected herself, her chest tightening with familiar pain. It was the best meal because of the man I shared it with.
The gentle clink of silverware against fine china brought her back to the present moment. Around the dining room, soft murmurs of appreciation drifted above the ever-present ambient music as guests consumed their carefully portioned, nutritionally optimized dinners.
“I’m Melinda.”
The introduction came just as Sadie had stuffed an entire piece of sushi into her mouth. Feeling foolish, she chewed frantically, one hand covering the lower half of her face in mortification, before managing to swallow and offer a rueful grin.
“Sorry about that,” she managed, feeling heat creep up her neck. “It’s nice to meet you, Melinda. I’m Sadie.”
Before they could continue their conversation, one of the spa managers materialized beside their tables like a disapproving specter.
Yelena Mirov, a severe woman whose platinum hair was pulled back in a chignon so tight it looked painful, fixed them with a glacial stare that could have frozen champagne.
“As you eat,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper but carrying the authority of a drill sergeant, “feel your body detoxing. Listen to the music. Allow the silence to cleanse your spirit.”
The reprimand was delivered with the subtle menace of a teacher catching students cheating on an exam. Yelena glided away with silent efficiency, leaving Sadie pissed.
Sadie couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the woman’s retreating form, then nearly choked on her rice when she noticed Melinda making the same exasperated expression.
The shared moment of rebellion against the spa’s oppressive serenity created an instant bond between them, a recognition of kindred spirits trapped in paradise.
So far, Serenity Dunes was unlike anything she’d ever experienced, and after just one day, Sadie was increasingly certain that when she completed her ten-day sentence, she’d never desire a repeat performance.