Page 89 of Taking the Heat

I felt very small and petty. ‘I thought I loved someone. But I seem to be fighting against him, rather than for him.’

‘Then, maybe,’ said Nik, sounding like an oracle, ‘you need to cross to the other side of the battlefield, ay?’

***

In a fitted black jersey dress, I navigated the stairs up to the bungalow. Chris sat by the entrance, and he jumped up when he saw me.

‘Where’ve you been?’ we both asked simultaneously.

Chris laughed. ‘You first.’

‘I’ve been looking for you all afternoon! I went by your room, here, the beach, the cliff.’

‘I was sitting outside your room, waiting for you.’

I had to giggle. ‘Chris, I need to say—’

‘Contestants!’ boomed Miles. ‘Roll up, roll up! It’s the final everWhat You Don’t Know!’

‘Goddammit, Miles!’ I wished I was a dragon so I could toast him to a cinder with my breath, or snap up his jiggly body in one big bite. Failing that, I could grab Chris in my claws and fly him away to another island where we could finally be together.Although the sex might be a little weird …

Chris sighed. ‘It’s fine. Hey, why don’t you meet me on the beach after this is over? We can go for a walk and chat.’

‘I’d like that.’

Miles was practically wetting himself with excitement. ‘Oh, kiddies! We’ve saved the best until the very last! For those who’ve been keeping count, we have dished secrets on all but one of our competitors. And this one is my personal favourite!’

Because I’d missed a few days in the hospital, I had no idea who had been ‘dished’ and who hadn’t.Who’s left? Jen? Henry? Who?

‘Ladies, I must ask the question … do we think Dante is attractive? I mean, if you can move past the fact that he’s a narcissistic sociopath? How does he rate?’

This is getting weird …Most of us looked to Dante, sitting at the front of the room. With his manicured hair, straight nose and fit body, he was a reasonably good-looking guy. The girls made ‘meh’ noises.

Miles continued. ‘So, you might be interested to know that Dante hasn’t always been such a svelte chunk of Italian sausage.’

Dante rose slowly, shaking with homicidal fury. ‘Frocio!Do not do this!’

‘Oh, my poor, sweet Dante,’ Miles taunted. ‘I’m afraid I must! Behold! The real Dante!’

A picture appeared on the screen so revolting, people actually spat their drinks out. I thought that only happened in cartoons. Those who weren’t spitting, yelled in disgust.

The shirtless man on the screen was morbidly obese, helping himself to a massive plate of food—while still in bed. His face was like a hideous caricature: buckteeth below a squishy nose. Bushy clumps of hair sprouted from between his voluminous fat folds, each one deep enough to hide a small cat inside. The grainy picture wasn’t very clear, but he appeared to be shiny with sweat and clots of food clung to him in places where food had no right to be. He was absolutely nauseating.

‘Yes, girls, this was Dante only a few years ago! He conned a sweet rich Senorita some fifty years his senior into marrying him. When she died, Dante used her fortune for a full makeover. Teeth, hair, lipo, body sculpting, laser, nose, the whole shebang! The only original parts left on him are his genitals. Oh, wait …’

Oh, surely not.I glanced down to Dante’s groin, where his trademark bulge pressed against his beige pants. He clapped his hands to his junk and looked around nervously.

‘I’m afraid even Dante’s delicates have gone under the knife more times than Joan Rivers! Lengthening, widening, implants. Dante, old boy, I hear the numbness never goes away and full use is almost impossible, is that right? But at least it looks pretty!’

By now, people were laughing. Chase guffawed so hard that he fell from his seat to the floor, while the French girls had tears of hilarity running down their faces. Dante stood like an Italian statue, apparently unable to move.

‘And now, for the last piece of our juicy secret puzzle for the evening. Dante, I’m so very pleased to announce—you are out of the competition!’

The room exploded into cheers. I leaped up and hugged Megs and Clara in a big group cuddle, the three of us dancing around in a circle.

Dante finally retaliated. ‘What? What do you mean, youfaccia di culo? Dante has one strike left! You can’t do this!’

‘Actually, you have zero strikes left.’ Miles smirked. ‘While you were sleeping beside the pool this afternoon, one of our lovely ladies snuck up and touched you on the arm. You are officially disqualified from the million-dollar prize and must pack your bags immediately for departure first thing tomorrow morning. The Fijian police will be waiting for you at the airport, to speak with you about allegations of attempted rape and grievous bodily harm. Plus, I hear the Italian authorities have questions of their own about the fate of your late wife—do I hear the words “life sentence” on the wind?’

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