Page 9 of Stuck in Paradise with You

‘They’re upgraded since your last trip. The guys tell me they’re faster than anything else they’ve ridden.’

By ‘guys’, he means his staff, who really have a pleasant lifestyle out here. True, they make themselves available for Joe’s every whim, but they get free accommodation and a free pass to all the island’s amenities, including use of the main resort when Joe and his family and friends aren’t around.

‘Hey, you two. My sister said I’d find you out here.’ I turn to see Alisha, Ella’s sister, coming our way, a cocktail in hand, her long dress twisting around her ankles. Today’s look is long plaits of hair coiled on top of her head, signature large gold hoops tapping her neck as she moves.

‘Alisha, it’s been a while,’ I tell her, folding her into an embrace. She has on her usual lathering of lemon moisturizer,which smells nice but is mostly to fend off mosquitoes, which are rife this time of year, whether or not the island has been fogged.

‘Certainly too long,’ she says. Though born in the British Virgin Islands, Alisha now lives on St Martin and has a slightly different rhythm to her accent than her sister. ‘Howareyou, Luke-y? Still footloose and fancy free, bedding anyone who’ll have you and buying my nieces and nephews bigger gifts than I’ll ever afford just so they like you best?’

I laugh so hard, my head drops back. It’s a release I’ve needed.

‘It’s not about the price, Alisha, it’s about how cool they are. You know that.’

She shakes her head, pointing a long red fingernail at me. ‘You play fair. Remember blood is thicker than water.’

‘That sounds like a threat,’ I tease.

‘Boy, you know it is. But it’s good to see you.’

‘You, too.’

‘Ella and the kids are nearly ready; they’ll be out in a minute,’ she says. ‘The kids wanted to dress up. Noah is Buzz Lightyear, Toby is Rusty fromCars, Char is Peppa Pig, and my awful sister has dressed the bubba as a minion.’

‘I’m glad I was out here with a Painkiller,’ Joe says. ‘They’ll be high on life and drama.’

‘Oh yes,’ Alisha says, giggling. ‘There have been a few crossed words.’ She gestures toward a table that’s been set for eleven people behind us. ‘Who else is joining us, Joe?’

He finishes his drink and signals in the direction of the bar and Monique for another. ‘Us three, Ella and the entire cast of Disney Plus, Jenny and Henry because they’ll be helping to crewElla IIif we take her out on Wednesday.’

I’ve always liked this about Joe – he involves his staff. He doesn’t treat them like second-rate citizens and that’s how it should be done, in my view. I’ll never be wealthy enough to needround-the-clock help on my own private island, but my fictitious staff would be well looked after too.

Still, his kindness toward his staff is wiped out by the tormenting glint in his eyes as he looks my way and adds… ‘And hopefully, my tax advisor, if she accepts Luke’s invitation.’

If looks could kill, this week would have just become aKnives Outsort of week. Who murdered Joe Hettich?Me. With my mind.

‘Am I missing something?’ Alisha asks, switching her focus between Joe and me.

I subconsciously check my watch, feeling increasingly fidgety.

‘Now’s not the time to catch on,’ Joe says.

‘Because there’s nothing to catch,’ I tell them.

I should have known she’d be perfectly punctual. She always was.

Carrie appears, walking along the pathway etched into the top of the rock face, heading our way.

She’s wearing a lilac pleated skirt that finishes just below her knee, nipped in at her waist by a belt. I remember the feel of her waist in my hands, exactly where her white blouse tucks in.

I watch her every step as she moves closer toward us, reaching the terrace and heading our way. I can’t take my eyes off her, like a bug to fluorescent light.

She’s summer smart – presumably her invitation had the same dress code stated on it as mine – but she’s much smarter, chicer, more girl-out-of-the-city than the rest of us.

Not girl, I amend as she comes closer, her perfume reaching me on the barely there breeze. She’s not the girl I fell for; she’s a woman.

Her long auburn hair falls in waves around her shoulders. My fingers twitch at the thought of how I used to run them through her soft curls. Her white blouse is open enough at the neck forme to see slender collarbones that I’ve kissed before. Her lips are painted a subtle shade of pink – invitingly so. And her features seem to hold more stories; they seem wiser.

I wonder if this version of Carrie would have been smart enough never to have gotten involved with me. Smart enough to have saved me from a whole load of heartache.

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