Page 69 of Caribbean Crush

When I’m done, I walk into the living room. “I should have asked you what toppings you want on your piz—”

My sentence dies once I realize Casey isn’t here, changing like I thought. I look around, searching briefly. The hallway bathroom is empty, and the light is off. The balcony is deserted too.

Holding out hope, I search the suite one more time, only to find my T-shirt and pants sitting neatly on the coffee table. Casey is gone.

Back in my bedroom, I go to check my phone—only realizing as I’m picking it up that Casey doesn’t have my number.

There is a text waiting for me, though. From Vivienne.

Chapter Eighteen

CASEY

I’m not going to fall for a man in less than a week. I’m just ... not going to accept that as my fate. How pathetic. How ... wacky! I should be on one of those TLC shows called Overnight Fiancée or something equally cringeworthy. Those people are absolute loony tunes, and now I’m one of them.

It’s why I booked it out of Phillip’s suite just now. There is not going to be some cheesy dinner scene where we argue over the playlist, and he teases me about my love of Weezer and Red Hot Chili Peppers. Where we tuck into some pizza, and he goes “Oops, you have some sauce just there” and points to my lip and then leans in to kiss it off with a laugh and a giggle.

No to all of that.

Can you imagine what would happen if I were to admit to Phillip how I’m starting to feel about him?

Oh my god, he’d think. The poor girl fell in love with me. Not poor as in sad, but poor as in lacking sufficient funds. LOL.

This way is much better. He proved to be the distraction I needed, because now as I lie in bed back in my quiet suite, I’m not wallowing in self-pity about my job and bleak life prospects anymore; I’m laughing at myself for being dumb enough to actually develop feelings for Phillip.

I had literally one one-night stand, and look at me! I want him to propose! I want him to whisk me off and solve all my problems! I want him to be my Prince Charming!

Oh my god. It dawns on me suddenly like an anvil dropping straight onto my noggin. Maybe that’s what this is really about. Maybe I’m a gold digger, and I never even realized it until now. The sex with Phillip is only mind blowing because of how many zeros are in his bank account. That must be it. I don’t want him; I want what he can provide me. I’m after a Birkin. A Bentley. An all-expenses-paid trip to Bora Bora.

This theory makes me feel better for all of ten seconds, at which point I ask myself the obvious question, Would I still want Phillip if he were as destitute as me?

Yes.

The answer comes to me completely unbidden. Relentlessly fast, even.

Like a wimp, I try to scratch a line through it and try again. No! Of course I wouldn’t. But the truth is already there, scaring me.

I pull the bedding over my head and try to hide. Of course it doesn’t work. My breath is too hot, and though I would like a quick end to this evening, I’m not looking to suffocate beneath a down comforter, so I toss it back off my face and perk up as I hear Sienna’s door slam. She’s back from dinner! Muffled voices carry through the wall. Oh shit! She’s not alone. I think that’s Javier’s accent, but I can’t quite be sure. Then I hear a blunt object hit the wall, and I sit up.

What is happening over there?

But of course I already know.

Sienna releases a loud, throaty moan, and for the next thirty minutes, I’m treated to what could be considered free porn. I try shoving my pillow over my ears; then I turn on the TV and crank the volume up full blast. That only makes the people above me stomp on their floor, telling me to knock it off.

I wind up finding some earplugs in the bathroom, and that mostly does the trick. I mean, they can’t go all night ...

Cut to 3:00 a.m., my face is pressed against the wall as I shout “YOU GUYS HAVE TO STOP. LITERALLY, GO TO SLEEP!”

I mean, hello, some of us have had several mental breakdowns today, and we could really use some rest.

Sienna laughs and shouts back “SORRY!” in her singsong British accent, and I mostly forgive her, though I’ve already decided it’s only fair that I rib her about this tomorrow for at least most of the morning. That’s if I see her. She and Javier might be holed up in her bedroom all day. I smile at the thought, happy for her, somehow. I always thought misery loved company, but that’s not how I feel. More like, at least someone’s having a good day, you know?

Saturday is my seventh day on board Aurelia, and it brings with it the potential for a fresh start. When I pry my eyes open at a quarter past eight, I try not to immediately spiral back into the same funk I found myself in yesterday. I’m going to table the work situation for the time being.

Someone from the crew has slipped the day’s itinerary under my door, and there’s a whole slew of fun things lined up, from the looks of it:

Poolside Yoga—9:00 a.m.

---