Page 7 of Harper's Holiday Romance
“Like what?” Sarah asked.
“Being kidnapped.” I made sure to keep my voice extremely low. Fernando spoke English, but the sound of the AC blasting through the car had me covered.
“God, I hope not because you’d get us killed,” Billie said with a straight face.
“It’s true, you would,” Sarah sided.
“Gee, thanks guys.”
“Oh, come on, you would 1000 per cent start crying uncontrollably, and they’d shoot you first for some peace and quiet,” Billie insisted.
“Okay, wow.” I didn’t disagree. I liked to think I was good in a crisis—as long as the crisis didn’t involve me. If Billie or Sarah called me in direct need of assistance, I was confident I could channel my inner Liam Neeson. If it was just me, I’d accept my untimely fate.
“It’s true though. You have a nervous breakdown if the dish washer doesn’t get filled up correctly,” Sarah verified.
“There is a specific place for everything in the dishwasher; if you put the bowls where the plates go, it ruins the whole flow.”
They looked back at me with the same arched eyebrow expression I was used to; it basically said,I told you so.
“Nobody’s perfect, at least I can pluck my eyebrows without needing assistance.” I stuck my tongue out.
Sarah laughed. “Is that the best you’ve got?”
“No, I’m being polite.”
Billie chuckled.
“I don’t know why you’re laughing; you asked me to pluck your nipple hairs last week,” I taunted.
“Sorry, what?” Sarah coughed. “I know we’re all close, but really? You can’t pluck your own nipple hairs?”
Billie cupped her breasts. “It hurts!”
“It doesn’t hurt any less when Harper does it,” Sarah mocked.
“I always nip my skin!” Billie countered.
I left the two of them bickering and turned back towards the window to envision the next disaster. Thankfully, the nausea had stopped. The nervous trembling halted for all of sixty seconds before the air-conditioning became so powerful I had to double check we’d landed in a tropical Caribbean country and not somewhere in the Southern Ocean.
“Is this our hotel?” I gasped.
The driver turned onto a wide access road. The sun had set in the distance, but large bamboo torches every few metres lit up the space around us. There was a vast stone wall at either side of the entrance with water running down the face into solid marble baths below.
“Wow,” I marvelled.
We passed through the first entrance to the hotel with ease; on the flip side of the wooden barriers was a large winding road housing a collection of hotels. It felt reminiscent of entering some kind of palace.
“Wow! Wow!”
The road turned to a cobbled stone drive for the final stretch. The pictures online looked incredible, but they didn’t do it justice. The hotel was bordered by a tropical jungle which gave it a peaceful aura.
“Wow! Wow! Wow!”
If I could’ve split my head open, those vowels and consonants would be the only letters available. It was like the easiest game of Countdown. I couldn’t seem to form any other words.
The taxi driver dropped us directly outside the entrance. One gentleman opened our doors. Another gentleman offered us a cool damp towel whilst another unloaded our luggage from the rear of the vehicle. I’d been there five seconds, and I already felt like royalty. It was a surreal experience. Royalty wouldn’t have flown ten hours in economy with a rowdy group of southerners, but I could pretend.
“It’s safe to say I have never had someone hand me a cool face towel on arrival. It’s a luxury I never knew I needed,” Billie whispered.
