Page 9 of Last Ticket to Paradise

She fell back against the bed and stared at the ceiling, tears seeping out of the corners of her eyes. Must be tired. She hadn’t cried over Brice in months. Her limbs felt heavy, as if weighted down by sand. Rolling onto her side, she drifted into sleep.

Georgette awoke to a darkened room, her mouth feeling stuffed with cotton. She opened the blinds and peered at a blurry orange line on the horizon. Missed her first sunset in Palumba.

She flicked on the light and snatched a bottle of water from the well- stocked minibar. All covered by the resort fee for your pleasure from Mr. Jake Kincaid.

She peeled off her shorts and tank top and stepped into the shower. She’d used the soap and shampoo only once before, but fresh bottles lined the shelves. The fruity smell reminded her of Jake, but his scent was less sweet, more citrusy.

She scrubbed her scalp. That man’s larger-than-life presence kept intruding on her thoughts. Of course, it only made sense. He owned the place. Acted like he owned the whole island.

She pulled a red floral dress with thin spaghetti straps over her head and slipped her feet into a pair of red high-heeled strappy sandals. The three-inch heels put her over six feet tall. She’d never worn high heels with Brice. He hated looking up to her.

Scrunching up her curls, she left them loose across her shoulders. She outlined her brown eyes with black liner, tilting the line up at the corner like Linda taught her, and then brushed on some black mascara.

She stared at the stranger in the mirror with the flashing exotic eyes. She never wore much makeup at home. Never wanted to compete with Jamie. Compete and lose.

She edged into the restaurant, already bustling with diners. Did a place like this even have a table for one? She clung to the hostess stand, waiting for the hostess to return. She needed another one of those island punches.

A jovial group in the corner erupted in laughter as a portly man swept a bow after his joke. His gaze met Georgette’s, and his eyes widened. He smiled and waved. “Come, join us at our table.”

Georgette looked over her shoulder and then pointed to herself.

The man nodded and laughed. “Yes, you. We have room.”

Gripping her black clutch, Georgette joined the table. The man swept out a chair. “Sit here. I’mGunther.”

He made the introductions around the table, and Georgette found herself dining with a foreign crowd—some couples, some singles, and some friends traveling together—all wealthy, or pretending to be.

Georgette perused the extensive wine list, but Gunther ordered her an island punch. He winked. “Just one. It’s a great icebreaker.”

Gunther was right. Georgette sipped her drink and bantered with the best of them, exchanging witty repartee with international bankers, socialites, and a Yugoslavian prince without a country.

A beautiful woman who’d introduced herself asNicoleleaned over. “Are you a model, darling?”

A model? Was she joking? Georgette choked on her drink. “Me? No.”

Nicole shrugged her elegant shoulders. “You should be, darling, so tall and svelte.”

Tall and svelte. Georgette never felt tall and svelte in North Dakota. Tall and gawky. Tall and skinny. Tall and clumsy. The compliment created a warm glow around her heart. She liked these people. They were her new best friends.

The scrumptious food tamed the buzz in her head from the island punch, and she vetoed an offer of another of the potent drinks. The convivial group invited her along for a poolside nightcap even though she vowed to stick to water. How did these people manage to walk straight?

Jake didn’t make an appearance at the restaurant. Probably got sick of the food, as delicious as it was. He’d surprised her this afternoon. She’d had him pegged as the resort gofer, and all the time he was the resort owner. Not a beach bum but a hardworking businessman.

She’d been here only for a day, but she could tell the hotel ran like a well-oiled machine. Jake seemed to care about the island, too, even if that concern was fueled by guilt. Who was she to judge?

Flaming torches lit the pool area, casting a shimmering glow on the water. People still splashed in the pool and gathered in the hot tub. Her newfound friends pulled some chaise lounges into a circle, and the conversation from dinner continued.

A tall figure sauntered onto the patio. Georgette caught her breath as the light from the torches touched Jake’s hair and outlined his broad shoulders and tapered waist. He stood like a god above his creation. People called out greetings to him, and he waved and smiled back.

A voluptuous woman in a tiny bikini pulled him toward the steps of the pool.

“Georgette, darling, how long are you staying on Palumba?” Nicole leaned in while Gunther lit her long cigarette, the holder pinched between her fingers, which were topped with long, red fingernails like claws.

Georgette waved her hand in front of her face. The tobacco smell reminded her of Brice’s pipe. “Just a few weeks.”

Nicole took a long drag on her cigarette. “That’s plenty of time for Palumba, although it’s Gunther’s second home.”

From the corner of her eye, Georgette saw Jake dip his head toward the woman in the pool, his lips brushing her hair. Georgette shifted her gaze to Gunther. “Oh, really? How long have you been here?”

---