If I thought six days and some hours were long, that’s nothing compared to the twelve hours and thirty-seven minutes it took from L.A. to St. Cecilia. And the flight is nothing compared to the forty-some minutes it takes from the airport to the resort. Normally it takes about twenty-five minutes, but the weather’s horrible with storms and torrential rain that also caused takeoff to be delayed.
“Relax. She isn’t going anywhere,” says Antoine.
“I know.” That’s why I can’t relax.
My right heel keeps bobbing up and down, betraying my tension. I don’t know what I’m supposed to tell Elizabeth when I finally see her. I practiced a speech all those days I waited for information about her whereabouts and during the flight, but the words seem to have vanished now that I’m about to face her.
Maybe it’s a good thing the drive’s taking longer. It might give me the time to come up with something perfect to say—or do—to fix all this.
“I reserved a villa next to hers. Unless she hides in her room for the rest of her stay, there’s no way she won’t run into you,” Antoine says.
“Thanks.”
“What are friends for?” He shoots me a serious look. “I know you think that she must not like you anymore, but I say she still must have some feelings if she gave you the portrait.”
“It was a token farewell, nothing more.” But I recognize the significance of her gifting me the portrait now.
“Then give it back. Reject her farewell.”
I choke back a laugh. If only it were that simple. “It might not be enough.”
The portrait rightfully belongs to her, and she might not think my giving it back would be sufficient to make anything right. She might always look at me and see the man who should’ve believed her
from the beginning but failed. Telling her about seeing Yu-Jin would likely upset her more—it required another person to make me listen.
How could I listen to a stranger, but not the person who’s dearest to me? That question would surely cross her mind, too.
Our driver finally pulls into a modern seven-story building that spreads out before us like a lazy giant. Located on a pristine strip of white beach, Aylster Resort is stunningly luxurious, with tall columns of marble and crystal set off by palm trees and the sea beyond. The water was a sparkling jade expanse on the website and brochure, but the horrendous weather has turned it dark and churning. Red flags have gone up on the beach, warning both tourists and locals to stay away.
The check-in is efficient, with a serving of ice-cold sweetened fruit tea for us to sip while a clerk clicks around on her computer. She never once fails to smile or keep her voice sweet. Maybe being around people like her—and beautiful natural surroundings—will make Elizabeth more amenable to seeing me.
After handing Antoine and I key cards, she takes us to our villa through beautiful paths winding through the huge resort grounds in a covered car. “We would normally walk, but with the weather like this, I thought it’d be more comfortable this way,” she says.
Unlike what I imagined, all the villas are spaced fairly far apart to give maximum privacy to their guests. The woman explains all the amenities and features of the resort as we drive slowly past them, then sighs regretfully. “Weather’s usually very pleasant around this time of the year, so I’m not sure why we’re having this storm. But the news says it’s going to clear by tomorrow morning. If you’d like, we have an extensive menu of in-room spa treatments. We’re running a stormy-day special, so they’re all twenty percent off.”
“Thanks,” I say, doing my best to appear relaxed and not at all torn between impatience and dread. Impatience because this is taking so long. Dread because I’m still blanking on the speeches I’ve prepared.
When we arrive at the villa, there’s already someone in a uniform—a short-sleeve top in turquoise and matching slacks—waiting for us by the door with a huge umbrella.
“That’s Manuel, your butler,” the front desk clerk explains.
“Welcome to Aylster Resort,” Manuel says with a wide smile, placing the umbrella over us. He’s nothing like the clichéd butlers you see on TV shows, his manners fluid and friendly, his sun-browned face open and warm.
He takes over from the woman and leads us into the two-bedroom villa. Our bags are already waiting. “I’m here to take care of whatever you need, starting from unpacking to arranging for tours and dinner plans to…well, the sky’s the limit.” His grin widens.
As affable as the man is, I’m not really in the mood to listen to him or use his service. I’m not here to relax and laze around on the beach.
“Thank you,” I say. “My friend and I are exhausted from our trip, so if you don’t mind, we’ll like to just chill for a couple of hours.”
“Certainly, sir. If you need anything, just pick up the phone and dial zero.”
Nodding, I hand the man a hundred-dollar bill—a prepayment not just for excellence, but discretion as well.
Antoine flicks an index finger left and right and speaks before Manuel can leave. “I noticed that there are villas on both sides of ours.”
“Yes. But only one is occupied at the moment. A very sweet American lady.” Manuel smiles. “I saw her a couple of times on the beach.”
“Neat. It’s always nice to run into someone from your own country when you’re traveling.”