Once Upon an Island

21

Kate doesn’t answerher phone. Or any of the five thousand texts we send.

I start with sending “call me” and “what’s happening” and “where are you” and “can we see you,” and then when she doesn’t respond to my texts I descend to, “answer your freaking phone or I will hunt you down and commit friendicide.”

When that doesn’t get a response I finally text, “Kate. Are you okay?”

There’s no response and no read notification.

It looks like Kate’s initial long-winded text to Arya sharing the happy news of her whirlwind romance with Michael, her impending elopement, and her soon-to-be triumphant return to her family’s bosom is the only message we’ll receive.

“Try calling Renee. Maybe she knows something,” Arya suggests. She’s at the kettle, heating water for another pot of tea.

“Good idea.”

It’s eleven at night on Mariposa and I’m sure Renee’s still at the office. She is.

“What’s up? I’m balls deep in research—”

“Michael Sherman is a womanizing sham who is known to scam connected and moneyed women for his own advantage. Kate’s run off to elope with him. Do you know where she’s getting married? Did she tell you anything about this? We have to stop her.”

Renee blows out a long breath. “Hold on. You’re telling me, while Kate was busy being an immoral gold digger chasing her white whale, she was caught by an immoral male gold digger with her as his white whale?”

Well, if you put it that way, “Errrm. Yes?”

“She has terrible taste in men. This is the perfect example of karma. If only the legal system worked this way, my job would be so much easier. This is why it’s better to love your job, not men.”

“So, you don’t know anything?”

She doesn’t. But she does find a sort of twisted humor in the situation that I fail to grasp.

I hang up and scrub at my eyes. Since I had zero sleep last night they feel like they’re being rubbed with gritty sand full of spiky coral and broken glass.

“No luck?” asks Arya.

I shake my head. I’ve had a few minutes to replay all the interactions I had with Michael and I’ve come to an unfortunate conclusion.

“I think Michael came to Mariposa specifically for Kate.”

Arya frowns at me. “What are you talking about?” She pours steaming black tea into both of our cups. What I wouldn’t give for a strong cup of full-bodied, rich, super-caffeinated coffee.

Arya sits across from me and takes a sip of the tea.

“The first time I met Michael, he was watching Kate dance with Declan at the turtle gala.”

“So?” Arya says. “Lots of people were watching them. You yourself were staring at Declan.”

I wave that aside.

“When I asked how long he’d be staying, he looked at Kate and said that it depended on how his venture panned out.”

“I don’t know,” Arya says. I watch as she dumps three spoons full of sugar into her mug. The spoon clinks against the ceramic as she stirs.

“On the sailboat, he said he’d come to Mariposa after he’d heard about an opportunity that he knew would be profitable. When I asked his business he said mergers and acquisitions. And then he looked at where Kate had been standing.”

I remember the moment exactly. I thought he was looking at Declan, but he wasn’t. Then I remember him at the beach cleanup. How he and Kate were strolling arm in arm down the beach. After that, Kate stopped coming around for girls’ night, she said she’d given up bagging a billionaire, and she’d been busy almost every night.

“He must’ve heard about Kate. About the heiress in exile.” I finger quote “heiress.” Kate comes from a top-tier family, they have connections to the cream of society, they’re wealthy, connected…honestly, she’s actually the type of woman Declan claimed he usually dated.

Maybe her mom or dad made it known in their circles that if Kate married the right sort she’d be welcomed back into the fold. Which meant she’d be in line to inherit property, money, status. All the things that Declan said Michael chased after.

Arya decides to give up all pretension of sipping her tea. She tips it back and chugs it. Then she sets down the mug and wipes her mouth. I can tell she’s come to a conclusion.

“What is it?” I ask. “Do we keep texting, calling? Rent a car? Try to find her? Stop her?”

I remember how Declan said he’d do everything in his power to stop a friend from making a disastrous match. Now I know how he feels.

“In the whole of England?” Arya shakes her head. “I think, knowing Kate, she’s probably head over heels in love with Michael.”

Oh. Ohhh.

I nod sadly. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

“And maybe, in spite of his rat nature, Michael loves her back?”

I stare at Arya in disbelief.

“Or not.”

I shake my head. “I need coffee. I really, really need coffee.”