Page 9 of Love, Morgan

Iona was right. She’d built a really lovely community—not always easy on the internet, but she’d done it. Probably because she was so lovely herself. What were people going to be angry or mean about when someone was so sweet and happy?

I watched the rest of the video, finally feeling fully awake and starting to relax now that I knew she wasn’t leaving completely. And, when it ended, I hovered over the on-screen keyboard.

It wasn’t like I’d never commented on one of her videos, but it wasn’t something I did too frequently either. I didn’t want her to think I was a stalker. But, this time, when she was finally looking after herself and doing whatsheneeded. I understood that entirely, and I also understood the need for reassurance.

I took a deep breath, typed, promised to still be there when she returned, posted, and half threw my phone in my bag, somehow embarrassed that I might be seen being soft to my internet crush.

So long as Ripley, Alicia, and Harlow weren’t watching her videos without me, I figured I’d be fine. And, while I was a tiny bit sad that there wouldn’t be any new videos while I was away, I was more than happy to rewatch the old ones over and over again, sitting on my deck, and looking out over the ocean. No matter what I’d told Ripley about not doing that.

Chapter 4

Iona

I’d gotten on the right plane. At least, I’d thought I had. My dad had been right, it was fairly impossible to get on the wrong plane these days, so the chances of pulling a Kevin in Home Alone 2 were slim, but this didn’t feel right.

The captain and flight crew had all named the right places, right flight time, right everything, but, now that I was standing in the lobby of the resort, I felt painfully out of place. I didn’t belong here. I didn’t know why I’d thought I did. What had possessed me to book this place? It was for celebrities and honeymooning couples. It was for people with money to burn.

Everything was so fancy and sleek. So many attentive staff members already waiting to help me.

I sat alone in my apartment, making videos on the internet about gift wrapping. I wasn’t supposed to be in places like this.

But they were already looking at me. They knew I was here. My name was, somehow, in their database, just waiting for me to check-in.

I’d asked my dad about being unable to escape a place I hadn’t planned on being, but it hadn’t occurred to me that I might arrive here, exactly where I’d planned, and immediately be struck by the need to leave because I didn’t belong.

A woman with long, black hair behind the counter smiled at me, beckoning me over. Everything about her seemed warm and kind and almost familiar, but everything about the setting did not.

I’d known this place would be luxurious—I could only imagine how many complaints they’d get if guests paid as much as they did only to be met with mediocrity—but I somehow hadn’t picturedthis.Even with the pictures online.

I walked woodenly towards the smiling woman, my attention mentally jumping from the sleek, dark wood countertop, to the perfect, living wall of plants behind her, ‘welcome’ spelled out with deep pink flowers, to the wall of windows to my side, looking out at the perfect beach and pristine turquoise sea. It was perfect and overwhelming.

“Welcome to Anora Island, and to the Pax Resort. We’re delighted to have you with us. Are you checking in today?” She smiled even wider at me. Her voice was so happy, so welcoming. She was speaking to me like I belonged here, like it wasn’t weird that I’d just wandered in and she should be calling security to get rid of me.

I’d never been anywhere this exclusive in my life. I was all recording in my dad’s basement, and being covered in Cerberus’ fur. I was homemade soup and old movies. I was pretending to be confident on the internet while being an anxious mess in person. How could I possibly be this too?

I nodded, not sure where my voice had gone, and watched her with wide, scared eyes.

She breathed a gentle laugh. “Great, and what’s the name?”

I sucked in a deep breath, suddenly feeling like I should have picked an alias for this, something cooler, something suave and sophisticated, but I already had an alias I put on all the time. I hadn’t realized I’d need another one.

“Iona Engle,” I said, and, for the first time, I debated whether my name was good enough. I’d always liked it, never thought to question it, but, in a place like this, it just seemed so short and common. I needed to be called… Aurelia Devereaux Holliston the Third, or something.

“Excellent.” She tapped at the computer set on the ridiculously smooth, sleek counter. “I’ve got your reservation right here. Two weeks…”

She kept talking but my brain was struggling to force her words to make sense. She was checking me in. I was allowed to stay here. She was offering me information on activities I could join, appointments I could make at the spa, yoga sessions I could participate in, restaurants I was going to have dinner in. And none of it made any sense whatsoever.

As she slid my room key towards me—zero resistance from the polished wood—her smile morphed, became amused and knowing. “Deep breath,” she murmured, just for the two of us.

I glanced at her colleagues behind the counter, but they weren’t paying us any attention.

I nodded, doing as she instructed.

“First time here, huh?”

“Is it that obvious?” I asked, my voice shaking.

“Just a little bit,” she said softly, with a sympathetic smile so I felt less pathetic. “It’s not the first time I’ve seen that look. Plenty of people who’ve saved and scrimped for this, or who’ve been gifted it by loved ones. And it’s a lot to take in at first, especially if you’re not used to it.”

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