Page 99 of Whirlwind

This was new.

This was everything.

“Thank you for the upgrade.”

“My pleasure.” He released me and adjusted the guitar case on his arm, the backpack he wore. “I thought for a minute you’d refuse and sit in economy the whole way to make a point.”

“Oh no. I’m going the gracious and grateful route here. I would love to be in first class with you all the way to the ends of the Mediterranean, Mr. Lanier.”

“Glad to hear it, Miss Hildebrand.” Chuckling, he opened his arm. “The First Class lounge awaits. Ready?”

I slid my arm through his. “So ready.”

38

Violet

Sun,so much sun.

Light bathed us, bathed the impossibly white boxlike buildings planted on the slopes of rock on this island. Everywhere I turned the sun showered over all.

And the water. An infinite stunning blue sea the likes of which I’d never seen before.

The Aegean Sea.

We’d landed on the Greek island of Mykonos twenty minutes ago. The driver of the plush SUV swept the curvy driveway of the resort hotel where Beck and I would have a small villa all to ourselves courtesy of Tag.

Holy crap, I was going to meet Tag Sorenson.

A team of staff greeted us at the front doors. A gorgeous, tall, model-type spoke in exotically accented English, welcoming, explaining as we were offered two warm hand towels to refresh ourselves, and two ice cold drinks. Heaven.

The air smelled different. Salty, sharp. And the wind felt different. So hot and thick and dry. The whitewashed buildings on the cliffs of layered rock contrasted sharply with the rich blue of the sea and the sky. Maybe that was the point. After hours in the dull confines of airplanes and airports, this was positively astonishing. Dazzling. Breathtaking. This was postcard stuff. Movie stuff.

And I was here.

“What are you thinking, Violet?”

I was here with Beck.

“Spectacular. Made that airplane odyssey worth it.”

He grinned at me behind his sunglasses. We’d had fun, talking non-stop on every flight, sharing food, watching movies together. He shared his current playlist with me, and I showed him the photos I’d taken at Bike Night.

Beck’s guitar and our bags were loaded onto a fancy golf cart and sped off without us. Elena, the exotic model resort rep ushered us onto another cart and we headed for our villa.

OUR villa.

We pulled up, the door opened, and my breath cut.

“Whoa,” murmured Beck at my side.

Flowing, long, white, diaphanous curtains swept the space in the strong breeze. A wide archway revealed a private swimming pool that started in a small cave structure and reached outside to infinity, meeting the rich blues of sky and sea. Two thick, wide cushions secured on platforms in the water beckoned for us to languish on them, fool around on them.

Large curvy glass vases filled with smooth round white stones dotted the veranda which seemed to be soaring over the sea. Iron lanterns large and small were scattered along the edge of the patio. On a table, a bottle of champagne stood out of a bowl filled with ice and pink flowers along with two fluted glasses and a dish of sliced watermelon.

“It is a great pleasure and honor to have you with us. Please contact me if you need anything that has not already been provided. We offer full concierge services. We can arrange for anything.”

I believed her.

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