Page 19 of One Week in Paradise
‘Is there a dress code for tonight?’ Bea asks.
‘It’s a Michelin-starred restaurant,’ Lacey says. ‘Dress to impress.’
‘Exactly,’ says Penelope. ‘Now, off you go. I’ll see you this evening.’
I’m on autopilot as we follow the helpful porter to our suites. The resort is so big we have to take a golf cart to get to the south end. The check-in staff inform us that ours is close to Bea and Marcus’s, so the four of us hop in the same golf cart. Cash and Marcus sit up front with the porter, peppering him with questions about the cart. I hear Cash asking if he can drive, but the porter shakes his head and mumbles something about insurance and liability.
It’s hard to focus on them. Not only because I’m so tired but because Bea is staring me down. She’s not subtle about it either. I don’t know whether to be annoyed or impressed at how ballsy she is.
‘I think I’m already starting to tan,’ I say in an effort to be polite. ‘Feels so good to be under the sun, right?’
‘Sure,’ says Bea, like she doesn’t care at all. ‘How long have you two been together?’ She nods at Cash.
‘Not long,’ I say lightly, hoping I don’t sound as nervous as I feel. I decide to bite the bullet. ‘Obviously, you’ve heard about me and Ethan.’
‘I thinkeveryone’sheard.’
‘Not Lacey,’ I say, as if that means anything.
Bea snorts. ‘She’s in her own one-million-follower world. She doesn’t notice anything if she’s not involved somehow.’ She pauses and clears her throat. For the first time, she seems a little unsure of herself. ‘You know, The Video was—’
Our golf cart grinds to a halt, and I’m spared from whatever it is she wants to say about The Video. I take advantage of the opportunity and hop out of the cart before she can say another word.
I have no doubt that The Video will likely become a topic of discussion at some point during the week; that is, if the girls haven’t already gossiped about it together on the flight. But not yet. Let me enjoy some of the Jamaican sun before I’m forced to revisit my greatest shame.
We wave goodbye to Bea and Marcus as the golf cart continues on to their suite and then make our way inside. Cash grabs my big suitcase, leaving me with just my carry-on.
‘I can get that,’ I say, following him up the pathway. ‘Seriously, you don’t have to.’
‘You’re tired,’ Cash says with a shrug. ‘I’ve got it.’
I absolutely don’t marvel at the way his muscles flex slightly as he pulls both mine and his suitcase up the pathway.
I clear my throat and rush ahead of him to open the door for him.
Penelope wasn’t kidding when she called the standalone suites the height of luxury. The front door opens into a spacious foyer that’s probably bigger than my bedroom back at my parents’ house. I step further in, my mouth falling open in shock as I enter anenormousroom with floor-to-ceiling windows and a sliding door that lines the entire back wall. Beyond the confines of our resort, I can see the expansive and beautifully blue Caribbean Sea and a colourful barrier reef. Just off the terrace, I can spy a large infinity pool that all the suites along this row must share.
Cash whistles as he enters the main room. He drops our suitcases to the floor and looks around. ‘Damn.’
Damn isright. There’s a giant canopy bed against one wall that’s at least king-sized, a flat-screen TV on the other wall, and a comfortable-looking living area with a six-person couch in it. We peer into the bathroom. It’s impeccably clean and shiny, and I marvel at the large walk-in shower, imagining how good it’s going to feel washing off ten hours of travel in there.
‘Hang on,’ Cash says suddenly. ‘There’s just the one bed.’
I run back into the main room. I don’t know why I bother to check because he’s obviously right. There’s only the one giant bed.
Cash laughs, but it’s not his usual laugh. It sounds weird and almost a little choked. ‘You’d think they’d be able to fit another bed in here.’
‘We’re supposed to be a couple,’ I remind him, and I sound just as choked as he does. ‘It makes sense that they’d give us a suite with only one bed.’
‘I guess you’re right.’
I glance at him, but he refuses to meet my gaze.
‘I’ll sleep on the couch,’ he says. He walks over to it and plops down on it. ‘It’s big enough, and it’s really comfy.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ I say. I pad over to him and drop down next to him. He’s right. Itisridiculously comfy. Like sitting on a cloud. ‘You’re doing me a favour by coming here. I’ll take the couch. You take the bed.’
‘What kind of gentleman would I be if I did that?’
