Chapter 3 #2
She hated all of it.
"I feel like I'm in the Barbie movie," she muttered to Max as they followed the porter along the path to their bungalow.
"Everything feels like it's made of plastic.
" She spotted a tiny gecko, clinging to the trunk of a palm.
"Do you think it's somebody's job to go out and tastefully arrange the lizards so they're at their most photogenic before the guests wake?
I bet there's a resort designer on staff.
Somebody who supervises the placement of lizards and monitors the grass height.
Wouldn't want the guests' experience to be ruined by an out-of-place lizard or grass that was five millimeters too high, would we? "
His eyes sparkled with amusement. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a very cynical person?"
"Just about everybody I meet," she mumbled. "But seriously, look at that palm. It could have come in a Lego set labelled Caribbean Dream Town. Where are the weirdly shaped trees? The ugly geckos? The grass threaded with weeds?"
"Do you have something against perfection?"
"Yeah, it generally hides something nasty."
He shook his head. "Please tell me you have a therapist?"
"I'll have you know that in Scotland, I'm considered a well-balanced human being."
His grin was blinding, and it came with those damn distracting dimples. She tried to look away from it, but it was impossible.
"Does your team know you're funny?" he asked.
"I'm not even sure they know I can make small talk," she said. "And I like it that way, so keep this revelation to yourself."
He was quiet for a moment before saying, "Do you think we should worry about the Romanian guy?"
"Why?" Violet looked up at him. "We knew Damien was dealing with bad guys, makes sense that some of them would be on the island. Unless he's the guy you're looking for, I don't see the point in being concerned about him. You're sure he isn't the partner?"
"Yeah, I'm sure." He seemed to be thinking again.
As far as Violet could see, the man had two modes: worrying about stuff and talking about what was worrying him. She waited for his next concern to pop out of his mouth.
She didn't have to wait long. "Do you think we should work on our back story a little more before we head out for dinner? Maybe we should figure out how we met and how long we've been together, stuff like that."
The poor naive fool. "Nobody is going to ask us any of that. Look around you. This place is all about rushing you through your wedding package, so they can move on to the next couple. Nobody cares about our meet cute. We're in a sausage factory for weddings."
"That's lovely," Max said. "They should put it on the brochure."
They came to a stop behind the porter, who opened the door to their bungalow with a great fanfare, making Violet wonder if they handed out regulation staff smiles along with their uniforms.
Maybe she was a tad too cynical.
By the time their porter had finished extolling the virtues of their accommodation, Violet decided she'd had her fill of hotel staff. She accompanied him to the door, rushed him through it, and locked it tight behind him—after ensuring the 'Do Not Disturb' sign was in place.
"You know," Max said. "He would probably have appreciated a tip."
Damn, that hadn't even occurred to her. "Do we tip in the Caribbean?
I thought that was only an American thing because they don't pay their servers a decent wage, which is ridiculous.
If your business can't function without staff, then you should bloody well pay them properly.
None of this token or minimum payment garbage either.
It's indecent to expect people to have to live off tips.
That wouldn't happen in Scotland. There would be a riot. "
He held up his hands in surrender. "Don't look at me, I'm Canadian. We pay our waitstaff."
"Okay, but do we tip here?"
"I think so, yeah."
"How much?"
Max shrugged. "I don't know. We can do an internet search and figure it out."
She relaxed. "Good idea."
Violet had to wonder what people did before the internet. How did they know how to behave in different social situations without looking it up first? Did they just wing it and hope they didn't offend? She made a mental note to ask an old person about it sometime.
In the meantime, she had some rules to drum into her charge's head. "Do not open the door to anyone," she told Max, keeping her tone severe. "Even if you think it's Rodrigo or Katrina. They can wait until I get there to do it. Do not go outside. Do not open the windows or the curtains. Got it?"
"We're shutting the curtains?" he said. "What about the view?"
"I've seen the sea before," Violet said as she went around closing the curtains and checking the windows and doors were locked.
He followed after her. "People are going to be suspicious if the drapes are closed. They're going to wonder why we've come all this way not to admire the Caribbean."
"People will think we're jet lagged and need sleep. Or we're horny and want to bonk in privacy."
Max had been drinking a bottle of water he'd found in the mini fridge. He spat it over the wooden floor.
"You might want to wipe that before someone slips," Violet told him as she went on to the next window.