Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Now—even at my very adult age of twenty-six—if my parents knew I was here, if they knew what I was doing right this minute, they’d have me hauled back to California before I could say, “¡Una sangría más, por favor!” They were strict before everything happened with my sister; now they’re nearly unbearable. It’s my mom, mainly. The day before I left for this secret trip, I arrived at my parents’ house for dinner only a few minutes late, and my mom still cocked her eyebrow and watched me take my seat like she’d been sitting there waiting for me so long her bones had turned brittle from disuse.
“Where were you? Why were you late? And must you wear that hat to the dinner table?”
The thrifted trucker hat was the only thing keeping my damp hair out of my face. Even still, I took it off and slung it onto the head of the ornate golden goose that has, for some reason, sat in the center of our colossal dinner table since I was a child.
My dad winked at me over the edge of his wineglass. He’s not one to audibly side against my mom. The man has to live with her, after all, but he likes to let me know quietly—off the record—that he’s on my side.
“Never mind all of that. Let’s move on… I hope you wore sunscreen today.”
I tried to ignore my mother, but when she’s in a mood, there’s no stopping her.
“Positively lathered,” I lied while accepting the seared scallops she was trying to pass my way.
I had been out on the water most of the afternoon, and though I took the time to replace my wet suit with a sundress before sitting down at the De Vere dinner table, I’m sure I still smelled like a washed-up sea animal.
“Any good ones come your way?” my dad asked.
I scrunched my nose. “Yeah, a few nice swells. Crowded, though. Some ass—”
“Language, Isabel,” my mom cut in sharply.
“Some guy nearly took me out.”
“I’ll go out with you Saturday,” my dad promised.
My heart lurched in my chest. “My flight leaves early…”
I was referring to the flight that was sanctioned by them, not the flight I secretly took to Ibiza.
He looked crushed. “Right. I forgot.”
“What about tomorrow?” I asked with hopeful arched brows.
His mouth formed a grim flat line. “I’m in meetings all day.”
I chewed on my bottom lip and nodded, trying to play off my disappointment. I love surfing with my dad—it’s our thing—and it was a little heartbreaking to realize it’d be a while before we could take to the water together.
Just before I picked up my fork to eat, my dad spoke up with a conspiratorial smile. “I’ll shift my schedule around. We’ll go tomorrow.”
“Really?” I grinned. “You’re on.”
That moment feels a million miles away now. I don’t have the security of knowing my parents are right around the corner. It’s just me here.
Judging by the pulsing music and the dense crowd gathering on the sidewalk up ahead, I’m nearing my final destination. Aura is Ibiza’s most famous nightclub. The legendary line I’ve heard about is indeed wrapped around the side of the building. Opportunistic street vendors have set up shop to feed the masses while they wait anxiously for their turn to try to shimmy their way past the bouncers stationed at the entrance of the club.
I first heard about Aura from my roommates at the hostel. The morning after I arrived, I listened to them strategizing inventive ways to cut the line. None of them had managed to make it inside yet, which seemed wild considering they’d already been here for a few weeks. Is it really that hard?
“Is it really better than all the other nightclubs on the island?” I asked, curious.
I was new to Ibiza, but even I knew nightlife sprawled in every direction and you were never more than a few feet away from a cold beer and a lively crowd. Why bother waiting in line?
The girls in the hostel looked at me like I was the most naive person they’d ever come across, just completely devoid of brain cells.
“It’s Aura—yes, of course it’s better than any other place. Celebrities, popular DJs, hot guys…” The blond rolled her eyes at her friends like, Can you believe her?
“It’s the place to see and be seen on the island. It’s really exclusive.”
It was hard to keep a straight face; the way they were going on about it made the place seem just a tad too overhyped. I’ve been in elite circles my whole life—Soho House and Surf Lodge were my sister’s favorite places to meet up for a casual weeknight dinner—but even still, my roommates’ excitement about Aura piqued my interest. Now, as I stand across the street from the club, taking in the entire scene, I begin to understand.