Page 72 of Caribbean Crush

“Casey—”

“I’ll see you later, okay?” I scurry to set my tray back with the others and then take the quickest route toward the dining room exit.

I don’t mind really that I won’t get to eat. Whatever tiny appetite I had was snuffed out by Tyson’s mention of Vivienne. Now all I want to do is get off this boat as quickly as possible. Never mind that we aren’t meant to meet for snorkeling for another hour. I walk off the ship and continue out onto Crown Bay pier, squinting beneath the blazing sun.

Beyond the gates of the port, there’s a small shopping mall and a welcome center. But when I inquire, I’m told walking from Crown Bay to downtown is very difficult.

Just great.

I don’t want to dish out the money it’ll cost me to take a taxi, so I just start walking through the parking lot with no real objective. I have hopes that the people in the welcome center were lying about the distance to downtown just to give the taxi drivers business or something, but no, it’s ... actually very far. I make it to Waterfront Highway and then decide that walking forty minutes on a sidewalk while inhaling exhaust fumes doesn’t sound all that appealing. So I turn back and aimlessly walk around the pier until I find a little concrete ledge right on the water. It’s nice with the breeze.

Eventually, I reach for my trail mix, glad now more than ever that I thought to pack it considering it will be serving as my breakfast and lunch.

I’m proud of myself for keeping it together on the pier.

Given the gravity of the situation, I would have assumed that Tyson’s news about Vivienne would rock my world, but it’s had the exact opposite effect, actually. I feel totally numb. Like my emotions took one look at the pit of despair awaiting me and thought, Hell, nah, packed it up, and called it quits for the day.

I think, too, there’s the benefit of not having seen Vivienne with my own two eyes, to confirm everything Tyson told me. It’s not that I don’t trust his word, but maybe he has it twisted or maybe Vivienne is only here to, I don’t know, give Phillip his old sweatshirt that she accidentally kept after their breakup. That seems like as good an excuse as any to make a quick trip to a tropical island.

“You know, he bought a ring. Back in January” replays through my mind like a song I can’t get out of my head.

A ring.

He bought Vivienne a ring.

Was it like ... a little gemstone thing from James Avery? Or are we talking about a ring? The ring? Some whopping eight-carat diamond from Tiffany & Co. that requires a full-time bodyguard.

I had sexual relations with this man last night, and then sometime between my leaving his suite and my trying to get a measly little crepe for breakfast, his ex-girlfriend showed up!

I mean ... can’t a girl have one relaxing day on board this ship?

I think this just as a cruise ship blares its horn so loudly that I jump a mile in the air while emitting a high-pitched scream.

Jesus!

Eventually, it’s time for me to go snorkeling, because, yay, let’s go have a fun adventure as if my life isn’t crumbling around me!

I’m zero percent surprised to find that Sienna is not in the group departing from the cruise ship. I don’t even mind; it’s better, actually, because then I don’t have to explain myself to her. I can just be the quiet, weird one in the group, and no one questions it.

Our snorkel guide is hot. I notice him, eventually, when we’re out on the boat and he comes to sit down next to me.

“Do you need any help getting your wet suit on?”

“Oh.”

I must have zoned out for a second. Everyone else is wiggling and jiggling their bodies into some kind of moisture-wicking spandex material, and I’m meant to be doing the same, but instead, I was just staring off into the distance, comatose.

“I think I can manage it,” I say, really looking at him for the first time since I boarded the little snorkeling boat.

He has longish, floppy blond hair, stormy-gray eyes, a jagged scar near his left eyebrow. His smile is nice and straight and white, and the way he’s looking at me proves that, on the outside at least, I’m still whole. None of the sadness has eked out of me to pool on the surface and turn my skin a pallid, sickly gray.

He looks at me with a sort of funny expression. “Are you okay?” he asks, likely now wondering just how far gone I really am. He’s probably worried he’ll have to call the coast guard on me.

“Totally fine.” I stand and pick up my wetsuit. “Now, what’s your advice for getting this thing on?”

I have a tiny bit of fun, at least while I’m out in the water, swimming above a coral reef. I spot a giant sea turtle and all sorts of tropical fish. Way off in the distance, there’s a reef shark, but he leaves us alone, wanting nothing to do with a bunch of annoying tourists. Smart shark.

We get to go out twice, and when it’s time to wrap it up, I’m the last one to get back on board. I don’t want to leave the water, even though my biceps and calves burn from all the swimming I’ve done. It’s a good ache—a physical reminder that I am alive and well, even if it doesn’t feel like it at the moment.

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