Pretenders (Firsts and Forever 3)

A solid minute elapsed before he returned. Now he seemed defeated. His shoulders were slumped, and he tossed what was probably his key card onto the dresser. Then he climbed into bed and turned off the light. I had no idea what that had been about.

But I should try to rest too, so I headed back to my room. Given how nervous I was about the next day, I could only imagine how Wes felt.

Chapter 8

The next morning, I awoke to a text message from Wes, telling me he’d be by to collect me in twenty minutes. I muttered, “Oh shit,” and tumbled out of bed. I’d managed to sleep through my alarm, probably because I hadn’t been able to fall asleep until close to dawn.

I got ready in a hurry, but I hesitated when it was time to select my outfit. First up today was brunch with Wes’s immediate family, which would also involve meeting Jack and Warren. I didn’t think it was time to bust out either of the two suits I’d brought, because I’d need one for the wedding and the other for the fancy dinner party tonight to celebrate his parents’ anniversary. Sunday brunch back home was usually comfy-casual, but I was in totally uncharted territory when it came to what rich people considered appropriate.

Eventually, I put together an outfit from my shopping trip with Jasper—a short-sleeved button-down shirt in a modern floral print, which I wore untucked with mid-thigh-length pink shorts. I finished off the look with light blue canvas espadrilles. Once again, the look screamed Easter egg, especially when you factored in my hair color, but it couldn’t be helped.

When someone knocked on my door exactly twenty minutes later, I assumed it was Wes, but it turned out to be a bellman collecting my luggage. I wheeled my bag out into the hall for him, grabbed my backpack, and took a quick look around to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything.

Then I knocked on Wes’s door, and when he answered my first question was, “Did I totally blow it with this outfit?” The next words out of my mouth were, “Wow, you look great.”

He was dressed in a short-sleeved, white button-down shirt, which was tucked into navy blue shorts that were about the same length as mine. His belt matched his brown deck shoes, and he wasn’t wearing his glasses. Instead, an expensive pair of sunglasses sat on top of his head.

The overall effect was very yacht club, but it suited him. It also didn’t hurt that the outfit showed off his arms and legs, which were tanned and toned from swimming every day.

“Thanks. You look terrific, too,” he said, “and I guess we’re dressed appropriately. Normally, I’d dress up more for Sunday brunch, but it’s going to be hot and humid today so I made some concessions for the tropical climate.”

He stepped aside so the bellman could retrieve his luggage, and then we followed him to the elevator. Wes told the man we’d be taking a cab to some sort of dock, so the man and our luggage went one way and we went the other when we reached the lobby.

After Wes checked out and we headed for the exit, I asked, “Why are we going to a dock?”

“The house my parents rented is on a motu and only accessible by boat.”

“What’s a motu?”

“A small island.”

“And how many houses are on that particular motu?”

“Just the one.”

I couldn’t keep the incredulity out of my voice when I said, “So, you’re telling me your parents up and rented themselves a private island.”

“Yes. A small one.”

“Does that seem normal to you?”

“It seems indulgent and overprivileged, but they obviously didn’t consult me before making that decision.” He had a point.

It only took a few minutes to travel from the hotel to the dock. When I stepped out of the cab, I murmured, “Sweet baby Jesus, will you look at that?”

This was my first good look at Bora Bora in daylight, and it was jaw-dropping. The blue sky seemed endless, the water was an impossible shade of turquoise, and the main island in the center of the lagoon was a wonderous composition of jagged, volcanic cliffs and green, lush vegetation.

I wandered to the end of the dock in a daze, and when Wes caught up to me, he asked, “Are you crying?”

I gestured at our surroundings. “Look at that, Wes. Have you ever seen anything so beautiful? I dreamt of coming here ever since I learned about the South Pacific in the third grade, but I never believed it’d really happen. I was always too broke, just trying to make rent and survive. Stuff like this doesn’t happen to me. It doesn’t even seem real. It’s like I’m having the most wonderful dream, and I’m afraid I’ll wake up and it’ll all be gone.”