Page 7 of Beautifully Wild

Ignoring Yasmine calling my name, I wade out of the shallow water only to stop on the sand, finding myself caught in a group of people repeating a mantra over and over. Did I imagine him? Am I that desperate to find happiness that I’m now hallucinating? Suddenly, I’m shuffled forward, and I am feeling out of sorts with the constant singing messing with my head. I am more of a silent worshipper, usually concentrating on a prayer for longer than a few minutes makes me fidget. In the moment, overcome with emotion and in a strange country, I’m struck with uneasiness being out of my comfort zone. Seriously, and what’s with the humidity here? Coming from a city that feels closer to the rim of sea ice in the Southern Ocean than the tropics, extreme humidity is a quiet hell, heating from the inside out.

A man standing before me flops to the sand. His eyes roll to the back of his head, and the rest of his body shakes. A hand lands on my shoulder, and I jump. Yasmine gives a subtle head shake.

She knows me well, as my first instinct is to drop to my knees to assist him. I glance around. Other followers keep chanting and praying.

My gaze shoots back to the man who has collapsed near my feet. I’m scared he’ll choke right beside me, and the crowd is overlooking him. Bree appears on the other side of Yasmine, and Yasmine presses her hand on Bree’s stomach to stop her from going to him. Bree is a medical student. If something goes wrong, at least she’ll be able to help.

The imposing sound of a hundred people chanting out of sequence clouds my thoughts. Drums echo from the street. What the hell is happening?

The guy stands, brushes sand from his clothes, and smiles as though nothing happened, or something has, and he now feels the better for it. To my surprise, he raises his arms toward the sea with gratitude in his expression.

Amy is now standing on the other side of Bree, and by their expressions, they have the same concerns as me.

Yasmine whispers, “He believes the queen of the ocean has freed him from whatever demon kept him captive.”

I nod and take a step back. In a bid to stay out of the way, I take another step back when other followers hug him and pat his back affectionately. Questions sit on my tongue. I itch to ask Yasmine, only the look she gives me yearns for understanding. I respect her belief and so remain quiet and attempt to push out my own insecurities.

I’m not denying I am completely out of my depth. It makes me nervous, and I’m attempting to embrace it. My father taught me being uncomfortable is the first step in learning something new. Funny, on this occasion, his advice echoes Yasmine’s words. Immersing ourselves in different cultural experiences is all part of why we came to Brazil. This ceremony is the beginning of us encompassing it.

Still, I need to down a few caipirinhas, regardless of the time.

Eden

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

Two Days Later…

Baregoldenshouldersshinewith a film of sweat, a combination of one’s own perspiration and that of strangers from pushing through the crowd on Copacabana Beach. At twilight, the heat is somewhat more bearable. Yet, the air remains thick and makes it difficult to breathe among the hundreds of thousands of partygoers along the shoreline.

Despite the heat, happiness is contagious. Yesterday my heart settled into a quicker beat from the time the plane descended, and the Christ the Redeemer statue came into view. The memory is etched into my brain—a false sense of security, maybe with the protector overlooking the city, arms open wide embracing every living soul.

The drums.

The singing and dancing.

The vibrant colors.

Rio de Janeiro has met our expectations and more. Salvador prepared my mind and body for the deluge of excitement buzzing inside of me.

Swallowed up by the crowd, my reticence dissolves. My hips sway to the beat—the drums demanding it—and I hum to an unfamiliar song in a foreign language.

Yasmine returns with caipirinhas to pep up our mood. We down the cold liquid in minutes. Amy and Yasmine return to the bar for refills.

Bree wipes her face. “Argh, I don’t know why I bothered with bronzer.”

I snort a laugh. “You’re tanned. Your skin’s flawless. And in this heat, why bother?”

Seriously, every guy would want her to be his doctor. She’s tall and slim, long dark hair, and the most caring brown eyes framed with long lashes—the ones where you don’t need mascara.

She shrugs. “Part of the getting-ready-to-go-out process.”

I rub the skin along her jaw to blend powder where she rubbed off the color. Over her shoulder, my gaze locks with a guy with dreamy dark eyes. Not the same eyes that captured my attention in Salvador, the blue-eyed hottie who stole my breath. Instead, this guy’s eyes hold a familiar look and one I recognize from the men looking for a hook-up back home. Here, it feels soul-boosting.

Tanned. Sculpted shoulders. Dark hair shaved close to his crown. His lips curve, and I swear Rio is under a spell. Apart from the flattery of him checking me out, I still find it uncomfortable. I inhale a breath.

You don’t know him, and it’s absolutely fine. It’s acceptable, so chill.

When I glance up at Bree, there’s a flirtatious twinkle in her eyes. A tall, athletic-looking guy is smiling at her. He has the same olive skin, dark eyes and hair, and a heartbreaker smile like most of the guys in Rio.

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