Page 34 of The Prince's Castaway Baby

Eventually, I get bored of being inside and decide to take a walk on the beach. As I get up, I notice Billie’s laptop lying on the table, and it calls to me. I stare at it for a long moment, almost tempted to open it up and see if I can guess her password. I just want to look at some more of her pictures.

But she already hates me enough right now. The last thing I need is for her to come home and catch me hacking into her computer. If she saw me doing that, there’s no chance she would ever forgive me.

So I resist temptation and head out into the open.

It’s another gorgeous summer’s day on Mostaza. The sky is slightly hazy from the heat, but it’s a brilliant blue, washed through with clouds that look like little strands of cotton candy. To my left and my right is a beautiful, pale beach with the softest sand I’ve ever felt, and behind me is the loud, thick forest that holds so many creatures that I could never have imagined seeing.

And then, before me, is the great expanse of the ocean.

As far as I can see is water, the clear waves breaking on the shore, the constant white noise of the tide causing something to settle inside me, to grow calm.

If only I could stay like this forever.

I walk down the beach until I lose sight of the cabin. Like this, I could easily pretend I was the only person left on the planet. Like it was just me and the sea and the insects screaming in the forest. Oh, and the turtles of course.

The thing is, I don’t want it to be just me. I want Billie to be here too.Why did I have to screw things up so much?

When I get back, my skin is hot from the sun and I feel itchy and uncomfortable. Much as I might like the idea, I don’t think I’m designed for this kind of life full-time. I miss my phone too much.

I swing into the kitchen and see that the clock reads four thirty. Billie’s not back yet, and she’ll be hungry from her long day, so I decide to take my opportunity to make her one last dinner, just as I promised I would.

I’m pretty much a pro when it comes to operating a stove now, and I’ve been paying attention to her for the last two weeks. I’ve noticed that her favorite is the chicken casserole, so I rummage through the cupboards looking for a can.

I really want to make her smile again.

“Aha!” I exclaim as I spot a can of casserole right at the back of the cupboard. Grinning, I hook my finger under the pull tab, rip off the lid, and dump it into a saucepan.

I stir the pot, humming to myself as it begins to bubble. I don’t dare to leave the kitchen while it’s cooking, afraid that it might set fire or explode or something. It would be typical of me — can’t start a fire when I want to, but when I don’t… It’s not worth thinking about.

I’m going to make Billie dinner, and that’s going to make her smile.

I guess I mistimed it, though, because she’s nowhere to be seen when the casserole is ready. I’m tempted to wait for her to get back to eat, thinking it might be nice to share a meal for our last day together.

But I don’t want to put her in an awkward position, so I scoop my portion out into a bowl and eat slowly, staring off into the horizon as I do. I can only drag it out for so long, though. It looks like she won’t be back anytime soon.

I get up to put my bowl in the sink, and that’s when I hear her footsteps outside.

I freeze.

Does she want to see me? Of course not. I want to see her, more than anything. But she wants space. I have to respect that.

Quickly, I rinse out my bowl and scurry away to my room. We miss each other by a hair, because the second I cross the threshold to my room, I see her in the crack of my door as I shut it, entering the kitchen.

And it’s probably my imagination, but I could swear I hear her say “Thank you.”

CHAPTER 18

BILLIE

Idecide to take us back first thing in the morning on the day my permit runs out. If we set off early and make good time, we should hit port early tomorrow. Quick is good. That means I can minimize the amount of time I have to spend with Jensen.

The worst thing about all this is the way I almost want to forgive him. The more I’ve thought about it, the harder it is to stay angry. Sure, it’s been awkward the last few days, but he’s been as polite and kind as ever. God, he’s even cooking without being prompted. Not so long ago, that was something I never thought I would see.

It’s like he’s been trying to get me to forgive him. And though all his efforts aren’t the reason I keep wanting to, I can’t pretend they’re not helping. But no — the real reason I want to forgive him is because I can’t quite reconcile that image of Jensen that everyone’s told me about with the one who’s been sitting right in front of my face for the last two weeks.

That Jensen is a party maniac, the kind of guy you hear a dumb story about and roll your eyes at. That Jensen is an idiot, aspoiled brat, a kid from a rich family who thinks he owns the world.

But the Jens I know? How can he be the same man?

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