Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 59304 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59304 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
“You’re allowed to laugh,” I tell her.
“I wasn’t laughing.”
“I must’ve hallucinated it then.”
“Yep–oxygen deprivation from the snorkeling. You should be. More… careful. Ah!”
She gasps when the boat spins almost entirely over. I go flying overboard. But so does she. We splash into the water together. The oars float away. I quickly swim after them, return them to the boat, then swim up behind Siena as she attempts to clamber back onto it.
“Need a hand?” I say.
“No,” she snaps, but she clearly does.
“Don’t be so proud.”
“Fine, but hurry.”
I climb onto the boat, then reach down and grip her under the armpits, lifting her and placing her inside. For a moment, we stay like that, my hands on her dripping wet body. Hunger stirs in me.
She takes a step back, water sliding down her form, her pink bra visible through her shirt now. My fantasy has come to life.
“Okay, Dario, that was fun and all, but I seriously need to get back to work.”
“Say no more.” I lower my goggles, then jump back into the water, treading and keeping my head up. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
“I sincerely hope so.”
“That sounded like sarcasm.”
“You’re a very perceptive man, aren’t you?”
“I can perceive how drop-dead gorgeous you are, if that’s what you mean.”
“Barf, Dario,” she says, grabbing the oars and paddling away.
“Say that like you mean it,” I call after her.
I watch her go, then swim in the opposite direction, my head filled with Siena Walsh.
This trip just got way more interesting.
CHAPTER 3
SIENA
As I row the boat back toward the shore, I think about the strange interaction with Dario, Mr. Whoever He Is. He made me laugh far easier than any man ever has, and there was something interesting about his pushy, but not too pushy attitude.
Mostly, I think about what he said right at the end. He called me drop-dead gorgeous. I’m not sure what he thinks is going to happen between us–most likely nothing–but the compliment was welcome. And we had fun.
But that means nothing. Having a sun-filled romance is not on my to-do list.
Back at shore, I drag the boat up the beach and stow it behind the hut. The island is coming to life now, with people walking hand-in-hand down the bone-white sand, snorkelers in the crystal blue, and a few people playing volleyball further down the beach.
My cellphone rings from my waterproof fanny pack. It’s Veronica.
“Hey,” I say.
“How did it go?” she asks.
“They gave me the runaround about the pre-tour, so I did that myself. I think it will be fine. There’s not much in the way of landmarks, but just rowing around the island is an experience in itself. It’s beautiful.”
“Yes, great,” Veronica says, sounding distracted. “Could you come to my room? I have something I’d like to discuss.”
“Sure. Is everything okay?”
“It will be better if you come here.”
“I’ll be there soon.”
I hang up the phone and walk down the beach, scanning the snorkelers, the volleyball players, and the beachgoers. I take a moment to realize what I’m doing: searching for Dario. Annoyed, I quit it.
When I knock on Veronica’s door, she snaps, “Yes, come in.”
I push the door open to her lavish suite; a section of the floor is glass and shows the ocean below. She lies in the bed on the other side of the open-plan room, swaddled in blankets despite the heat, her hair stuck to her head.
Veronica is normally a classy older lady, with her dark red hair always styled, her makeup immaculate. She looks completely different right now.
“Is something wrong?” I say.
She blows loudly into a hankie. “What does it look like?”
My hands curl into fists. She’s not normally this rude either. “Are you sick?”
“Yes, God knows what it is. Some blasted plague, that’s what it feels like. But I didn’t call you here to complain. Take a seat, Siena.”
I grab a chair from the dining area and carry it to her bed.
“Not so close,” she chides. “We can’t afford for you to be struck down too.”
She says this in typical Veronica melodramatic fashion.
I sit, waiting for her to go on.
“This is going to be a lot to take in,” she says. “But you’re going to have to lead the charge for Evermore Events on this one.”
The news slams into me like a Mac truck. “You mean handle everything myself.”
“Precisely.”
“But I’ve never been the lead on an event.” In the two years I’ve worked with Veronica, I’ve gone from an assistant to her right-hand woman, but I’ve never been the playmaker. “This is an enormous job. I don’t think it’s a good idea for something this big to be my first.”
“Look at me. We don’t have a choice,” she says, exasperated.
“The Bianchis expect the best.”
“I’m aware of that,” she snaps.
“Old money, you said, their wealth going back generations, the sort of people who own horses, play polo, and read The Great Gatsby like it’s a biography of their ancestors’ lives. I’m not from their world.”