Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Sienna spent the entirety of dinner wearing down my resistance so I’d spill all the details about my past with Phillip. She wouldn’t accept god’s honest truth: nothing all that interesting.
“The tension! I swear it’s like you personally offended him and his entire family.”
“It’s nothing like that.”
“Then what is it?”
“Later,” I said, aware that the other guests near us were trying to eavesdrop on our conversation.
We ended up back in Sienna’s suite after dinner, sipping our way through a bottle of champagne we’d ordered up, and once we’d drained that dry, we moved on to cocktails. She taught me some TikTok dance, and we filmed it together. We watched it back a dozen times, laughing harder every time until, eventually, I had to wipe tears out of my eyes. I did finally fill her in on my silly situation with Phillip—all of it. It’s hilarious that out of everyone in my life, she’s the first person to hear the whole sordid truth. That I’m a wanted woman. A criminal on the loose! Hah.
“He’s holding a grudge from when you were children?”
She couldn’t believe that was all.
“Exactly!”
She laughed. “No. No. There has to be more to it. Things you’re leaving off.”
“There’s not. That’s the whole thing. My grandmother drove me home after the competition. We didn’t even make it to regionals. End of story. I never saw Phillip again until yesterday.”
“He acts really torn up about you.”
I scrunched my nose, not really seeing it. I mean, sure, I rankled him; that much was obvious.
Beyond that . . . who knew? With all the champagne in my system, I couldn’t really think too hard on the subject.
Now, still, I’m not exactly all here. I have a pounding headache to show for last night, and I feel guilty for not setting my alarm for earlier. I should have been up and at ’em, early birding the hell out of this assignment. With a deep let’s-get-this-over-with sigh, I thrust myself out of bed, moan through the first few steps to the bathroom, and—not bothering with a cup—I stick my head right under the faucet and drink. Once I’ve felt around the counter for some Advil, I toss two back, drink more water, and dare a quick glance in the mirror.
Good, not great.
We’ll take it.
My next item on the agenda is to shoot off a quick email to Gwen and the team.
All good on board Aurelia! First day was jam-packed with activities. No chance for one-on-one with Phillip, but I can send a summary of the day and my tour of the boat.
Gwen’s reply comes while I’m still sitting at the suite’s desk: No need for trivial updates. Just send over bits of your interview with Phillip when you have it so we know what we’re working with. Also, Mark is going to send a few articles for you to fact-check.
I groan and let my head fall forward into my hands. It feels good to dig the heels of my hands into my tired eyes, waking them up.
I want to crawl back into bed and doze for another few hours, but I can’t. I can’t. I CAN’T.
I leap up from my chair and head into the bathroom to wash my face and get ready for the day. I’ve missed yoga, but there’s still a lot on my agenda. Starting at 11:00 a.m., small groups can disembark and link up with local tour guides to explore the beaches and Old Town, and I will absolutely be among them. I have big plans to soak in as much vitamin D as possible. Gobs of it. I want to come back on board the ship nicely bronzed. I dress in a bikini layered beneath a sundress. I hide the hint of dark circles under my eyes with some concealer and dab on a bit of blush and a few swipes of mascara, and by the time I leave my suite, I look fresh as a daisy.
I have a bag with my phone, ID, a small camera, notebook, tennis shoes—anything I might need when I’m off the boat for the day.
When I’m out in the hall, I consider knocking on Sienna’s door, but if I were her, I’d want to be left alone. She isn’t in the same position as I am. We talked about her job last night, the freedom it affords her. Sure, she has to produce content and post it. She has a schedule she adheres to for brand deadlines, and there’s the occasional conference call with her manager—but her day-to-day is mostly dictated by her own whims. She doesn’t have a boss in the same way I do. She can sleep in for as long as she wants.
She has the dream setup, as far as I’m concerned, and it’s not so much about the fact that she doesn’t need an alarm clock, it’s the fact that the world is her oyster. Last night, I was more than a little envious listening to her travel schedule of all the places she’s seen. I probably didn’t do a great job of hiding it (thanks, Mr. Champagne).