Stuck in Paradise with You

Chapter 6

6

CARRIE

Seeing Luke in the flesh after all the years is the way I imagine a small nut would feel if it were to be cracked by a sledgehammer. My shell feels broken, my insides bared and smashed to pieces.

The last time I saw him, he was rushing into a meeting, faltering in his stride momentarily when he saw me in the corridor. Though we were a secret at work because he was about to be made a partner and I was his junior associate, we shared a knowing smile. An expression that held a heated promise.

Yet, hours later, as I lay dressed in red lingerie that I’d bought for Luke’s birthday, waiting for him on the bed of our hotel room, he was plotting a return to his pregnant wife.

I need to hold it together.

No matter that the half-moon creases at the sides of his mouth when he smiles seem deeper, sweeter now. That the stubble lining his strong jaw is the same length I used to feel when I held his face in my palms, though flecked with grey that makes him appear knowledgeable, more experienced. That the lines at the edges of his eyes make him seem softer, more welcoming. Or that the body I used to know so well seems unchanged where his shirt hugs his torso. Broader perhaps but still firm, still desirable.

Despite all of that. Setting aside the way he has instantly turned my insides to mush. Ignoring the voice in my head screaming that I detest him for what he did to me. I need to remember that I’m here in my capacity as a professional. An advisor to his business.

I straighten my now damp and cocktail-stained clothes and clear my throat. ‘Thank you for the dinner invitation,’ I tell him, hating myself for being civilized as much as I hate him for using me and casting me aside when the novelty and excitement of us had worn off.

‘That always was your problem,’ he says, his voice low and ill-tempered, for my ears only, as Joe and Alisha talk amongst themselves.

‘My problem?’ I snipe, unintentionally exposing my emotions.

‘Putting two and two together and jumping to the wrong conclusions. Not sitting back in the problem for long enough to wait for the solution to come along. I didn’t invite you; Hettich did.’

‘Ah, a metaphor. What are you, a lyricist now? Ever the chameleon.’

‘Take it as you will.’

A waitress appears, wearing a crisp white shirt with Charithonia embroidered onto the pocket in gold thread, holding a tray of nibbles. Luke takes an olive on a stick, sucking it into his mouth with a pop and a smirk.

I do the same.

He wants to play nasty? I’ll play.

‘Well, I’m lucky I had an excellent mentor as a junior associate, Luke. You taught me an awful lot about the kind of advisor I need to be, and the kind of person I absolutely don’t.’

With that burn, I turn my back on him and step toward Hettich, but as I do, I’m almost bowled off my feet by a running child, surging toward Luke with outstretched airplane arms and dressed as Buzz Lightyear.

‘To infinity and beyond!’

The boy, maybe seven or eight, crashes into Luke, who sweeps him up into the air like he weighs the same as a feather and raises him above his head, spinning on the spot so that Buzz is flying. Then he drops him seamlessly onto his hip, as if he’s held this boy countless times before.

‘How you doing, buddy?’ Luke asks. Any trace of hostility is gone, replaced by something much warmer, fatherly.

‘Is dinner ready yet?’ the boy asks Luke. And to me, he says, ‘Hi, I’m Noah. I’m seven. Who are you?’

He’s adorable, if a tad brusque. ‘I’m Carrie. Nice to meet you, Noah.’

‘Is dinner ready?’

Luke chuckles in a way that catches me off-guard. The sound of it, the sight of it, makes something low in my abdomen vibrate like jelly on a moving train. I always liked his laugh. Before I discovered he’s a total lying dickhead.

‘Dinner isn’t ready yet but let’s find you a snack, huh?’ Luke says, keeping hold of the boy. ‘Just don’t tell your mom or I’ll be in trouble.’

Noah holds a finger to Luke’s lips and says, ‘Our secret.’

Only as they walk away in search of the snacks that have been set out on two tall bar tables nearby do I calculate. Noah is seven. Seven .

He doesn’t look especially like Luke but he doesn’t not look like him either. They clearly have a strong bond.

Noah is the baby. The baby.

Don’t tell your mom.

Please tell me Mom isn’t here.

I’m thrown so completely, heart palpitating-ly, sweat glands leaking-ly, that I hardly register the other three children, all dressed up, who come to join us for dinner. Nor the arrival of Ella, Joe’s wife, or the two crew who picked me up from Tortola earlier and who will be taking us sailing apparently on Wednesday.

The only thing I do manage to process is that I need to come up with some kind of lie to get out of being trapped on a boat in the middle of the ocean with Luke and his family .

I cackle at the me of a few hours ago who thought this nightmare couldn’t get any worse. It just got a hell of a lot worse.

Surely, there’s a point in this terrifying dream that’s equivalent to me tripping over a curb or falling from a cliff and I get to wake up with a start and realize this was all in my imagination.

I should be so lucky.

I’m somehow forced to sit opposite Luke at the long table. On one side of him is Noah and on the other, Alisha.

Alisha. Alisha. The pair of them flirt and touch openly, clearly a couple. But neither one of them is wearing a wedding ring – not that I’ve been focusing too much on finding this out – and I can’t remember Luke’s wife’s name but I don’t think it was Alisha.

I was an A , though. Alisha. Alicia. Alice. Anna.

Anya! I’m sure it was Anya.

So Noah is Luke’s son but Alisha isn’t his wife. Or, at least, the estranged wife I thought Luke had separated from but was actually just taking a break from. A break he used to screw me, make me fall disastrously head-over-heels for him, then run away from me to another state, where his wife was waiting to take him back. Could Noah even be Luke and Alisha’s son?

If so, Luke dumped me to go back to his wife, then traded her in for another model too. And almost immediately, if my calculations are correct. Who knows, maybe I wasn’t his only play toy?

Sounds like Luke.

Now who’s sleeping their way to the top?

After seven years of unravelling that narrative about me in the office because of him, I can’t believe I’m seeing Luke do it now.

Why am I here?

Why didn’t Luke cancel when he knew Eric was sick? Why did he bring me here to flaunt his family in front of me?

To show me what I’ve missed out on?

Except I didn’t give it up by choice.

I never had any say in how things ended between us.

I look out to sea, feigning admiring the view through blurred vision, until the pressure behind my eyes subsides and I start to think more clearly.

It’s a few days; I just have to get through it.

Besides Callum and our pug, my career is my life. I won’t let Luke kibosh it. Not again.

‘Have you seen the news about the storm, Joe?’

The question comes from Jenny, the woman who zipped me over here by speed boat and who’s sitting to my far left. She’s throwing the question to the opposite end of the table, my far right, where Hettich is sitting, being served first a plate of food fresh off the grill.

I’m grateful for the diversions of both the heavenly aromas of butter and garlic and Jenny’s question.

‘If you believe the news, Jenny, I’ll be the first man to land on Venus,’ Hettich replies.

‘Mars, honey,’ Ella says, strapping their youngest child – the minion – whose highchair is between me and Ella, into a full cloak-style bib and handing her a corn on the cob. ‘Women are from Venus.’

Miraculously, I laugh along with the rest of the table.

I don’t know why but my eyes flick to Luke and before he darts his focus away, I see that his attention is trained on me, which brings any good humor I was feeling to an abrupt halt.

‘What does the news say, Jenny?’ Hettich asks.

‘They’ve upgraded the storm to a category one hurricane. They’re calling it Isabel. They think she’ll be a category four by the time she reaches the Leeward Islands on Thursday evening or the early hours of Friday.’

Hettich shakes his head. ‘She’ll never hit. They never do.’

‘I wouldn’t be so sure, boss.’ Henry, the other guy who picked me up with Jenny, chips in.

They’re both wearing matching Charithonia uniforms – now smart black shirts, also with Charithonia in gold thread on the pockets, and black slacks. Where Jenny has clearly washed and blow-dried her long flowing locks, Henry looks much the same as earlier today – sun-kissed skin and hair stiffened by saltwater and wind – though now his polarized shades are sitting in his hair. He’s handsome, very. They’d make an especially attractive couple, actually.

Maybe I should warn them that workplace romances are an utter catastrophe.

‘They think she could be a direct hit,’ Henry adds.

Jenny hums in agreement, clearing her mouth of bread before speaking. ‘There are two more storms brewing and you know what the weather guys are like, excited at the prospect of apocalypse, but they say if the three collide, this could be the largest hurricane to ever make landfall from the Atlantic.’

What? I’m listening. Should I be worried? I glance around the table but with the exception of Luke, no one else seems perturbed. I let my shoulders fall the ten inches they just rose. Or maybe they’ve been up there since I arrived on this island.

‘Those guys need ratings,’ Hettich says, waving his empty fork dismissively. ‘There’ll be hundreds of YouTube and TikTok videos simulating a superstorm online already. When I feel Isabel’s wind in my hair, that’s when I’ll believe it. You watch, it’ll miss the Caribbean altogether and hit somewhere like Florida.’

Florida? My dad and stepmom live in Florida.

I reach for a glass of water from the table to soothe my tight throat.

Then a voice I could pick out of a rowdy room says quietly, ‘That won’t happen, don’t worry.’

When I look up, Luke has turned his attention to Noah, asking him if he needs help cutting up his burger, but I know his words were aimed at me. He remembers.

Not that one memory of where my dad lives undoes his many failures, but it was a kind thing for him to say.

I’m thankful when my mixed grill of lobster, huge prawns and steak is placed in front of me. I can get lost in this, pretend that I’m not watching the way Luke flirts with Alisha and takes care of Noah through my third eye as I eat.

The child who is dressed as Peppa Pig and sitting next to Alisha, without any cause, it seems, flicks a forkful of mac-pie – which Henry assures everyone at the table is the best in the Caribbean – at the minion sandwiched between Ella and me.

‘Moooooooooom!’ the minion yells as Alisha takes the offending fork from Peppa and chastises her the way moms do.

Huh . I think I might be sussing out who belongs to whom around the table now. Buzz Lightyear and Peppa Pig, AKA Noah and Char, belong to Alisha and Luke. The minion, Sanza, and, I think, Rusty from Cars , Toby, who’s sitting opposite Jenny and next to Henry, are Ella and Joe’s two children.

We’ve got ourselves a little am-dram kindergarten.

‘Say sorry to Sanza,’ Alisha tells Char, who scowls at Sanza the minion, then, for her mom’s benefit, grins sickly-sweetly and chirps, ‘Sooooooory.’

‘Do you accept her apology, Sanza?’ Ella asks.

Sanza giggles in response.

Bizarrely, it reminds me how much I pined for a sibling or cousins when I was younger. When my parents separated, I was eighteen and conflicted. They needed to separate, they made each other miserable, but I wanted my family to stay as a unit even if it was a dysfunctional one because it was all I’d known. It was a lonely time. I always thought a sister, a brother, a cousin to share in the misery else help me ignore it, would have been nice.

‘Your kids are cute,’ I say, looking at Alisha but side-eying Luke, not wanting to pay him any compliment, even if it is in reference to his children.

Alisha looks startled, pointing at Peppa Pig. ‘Char?’

‘And Noah,’ I say, narrowly escaping meeting Luke’s eyes as I glance to Noah next to him.

Alisha laughs. ‘Oh, they aren’t mine, honey.’

Everyone chuckles, so I go along with it, all the while feeling like someone has lit a fire in my cheeks.

‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I guess I thought.’

I’m mindlessly gesturing between Alisha and Luke, and, oh God, I bet he’s thinking that I care .

I don’t. I don’t care whether he has kids or not. I just… thought he did.

‘Not his either,’ Alisha says. ‘Neither of us have our own kids. They’re both my sister’s. She and Joe will have themselves a football team soon. Char is short for Charithonia, after the island.’

‘Ohhhhhh,’ I say, feeling like such an idiot.

‘Luke is a good father figure, though,’ Alisha adds, thankfully taking the focus off me. ‘He’s godfather to all these mites.’

‘We are absolutely four and done,’ Ella says. ‘There’ll be no football team.’

I smile, as if I don’t feel the height of awkwardness. I’ve even managed to make Luke look embarrassed for me, if his twiddling with the base of his wine glass is anything to go by. Luke never used to embarrass. Not when people complimented him, not when he made an error, not when he made an incorrect assumption, and not when he whispered dirty talk against my neck.

My next inhale is unsteady. I don’t know Luke at all. Not anymore.

While Ella and Alisha animatedly discuss the merits and harsh realities of children, I’m drawn like a magnet to the last face on earth I want to be sitting opposite.

I find Luke staring back at me. Smug. ‘Problems and solutions, Carrie.’

Solution this . It may be immature flipping someone the bird under the dinner table but it really does feel good. So good, I’m able to plant a grin the size of a Cheshire cat’s on my face as I do it.

‘So you aren’t sleeping your way to the top, then? You’re just sleeping around at the top.’

His eyes narrow, his jaw stiffens, then he shakes his head, unspeaking, like I’m being too petulant to indulge me with a response. That’s possibly true but I pick up my glass of wine and sip it with a supercilious smirk that could rival the one he was wearing just moments ago.

‘What about you, Carrie? Do you have any kids?’ Ella asks.

Phssssst. My wine sprays from my mouth.

‘Sorry.’ Then I choke, making an even bigger scene. ‘Went down the wrong way,’ I croak. In the process, obliterating my one-upmanship.

I hate Luke. Hate him.

When I’m composed, I tell Ella, ‘I do, actually.’ And I relish every split second of realization dawning on Luke.

You’re not the only person who moved on, asswipe.

I let my words hang in the densely humid air just long enough to ensure they’ve registered, but I would never, could never, use children as pawns in a game. I spent my teenage years being exactly that between my parents.

So I tell them, ‘He’s about eight inches tall and weighs nine pounds. He has a feisty bark and a squishy nose. His name is Eddie.’

‘You’re a puppy momma?’ Jenny asks giddily.

I nod. ‘I co-doggy-parent an adorable pug.’

If I’m not mistaken, two peculiar things happen simultaneously. First, Luke’s body seems to deflate with my words, as if he cares. That, I’m sure, is a figment of my imagination – not that I care. I don’t.

Secondly, Ella and Joe share a most peculiar and unreadable look, but if I were wearing it, it would feel like… relief?

The upshot is, the table falls into silence. What have I said?

Thank goodness for Henry, Jenny and the random musings of the four children, who seem to provide the only safe and untargeted conversation of the long and tedious hour at the table.

It’s only 9p.m. and I’m exhausted by the back and forth between schmoozing my client and revisiting one of the bleakest periods of my life.

So when Ella declares she’s going to put the kids to bed and Alisha offers to help, I consider my options.

A: more drinks with Joe, Henry, Jenny and, for my greatest sins, Luke, where we’re now sitting on patio furniture at the pool bar and I’m hyper-aware of bugs landing on me, despite the citronella burning around us.

Or B: I feign a yawn.

‘Gosh, I’m sorry. I think I should probably turn in too.’

‘Won’t you have a nightcap?’ Joe asks.

I ought to. For any other client, I would dig deep and find the energy. But when 50 per cent of my client is Luke Chalmers…

‘I would but I don’t think I’ll be much company,’ I say, which is true. I don’t want to be on this island, let alone sitting under the scrutiny of a man I got so, so wrong once upon a time. ‘Jet lag is the worst,’ I add, standing to make clear I won’t backtrack.

‘There’s one hour’s time difference between eastern time and Atlantic standard time,’ Luke says, one eyebrow raised.

Dick .

I feel my nostrils flare as I glower at him, then turn to Joe and switch on my tax advisor smile. ‘Oh, you know what I mean. Travel weariness.’

Everyone stands to give me an overly familiar hug goodnight – a Caribbean thing? A private island thing? Certainly an invasion of personal space thing.

Luke stays in his seat, looking out to a black sea, twinkling as it rocks back and forth under the light of the waxing moon. Only when Joe unsubtly jerks his head in my direction does Luke stand.

He comes close to me and I feel my entire body stiffen at the scent of him I used to know. Fresh cologne and… masculinity. My mouth suddenly feels like I’m stranded in the desert without water.

He leans into me and in any other circumstances, if this wasn’t work, I’d pull back.

In any other circumstances, this wouldn’t be happening.

I don’t know what to do.

We end up shoulder grazing and clumsily patting each other on the back.

‘Are you going to Facetime your pug?’ he mutters in my ear.

Scowling, I step back. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know what I get up to at night?’

Ha .

There’s something like fire between us as we stare each other out, neither one of us willing to break first.

Then Alisha reappears and we both turn to her together. ‘Joe, they want Dad.’

‘Duty calls,’ Joe says as he stands. ‘Rum and Coke for me.’

I use the distraction to slip out into the night.

On my way back to my pod, I shoot a message to Callum:

That may have been the most miserable dinner I have ever been to x

Slipping my phone back into my purse, it hits me. Whatever it is. My chest is tightening, my eyes are stinging, and I’m biting my lip in a bid not to cry.

As if my best friend has read my mind, I get a reply:

No tears, pretty lady. He doesn’t deserve them. I love you Cx

His words snap me out of whatever it was I was caught in for a moment.

Tears. Paha. I’m a tough gal x

From Callum:

To everyone who doesn’t know you as well as I do. Sleep well, princess. Call me if you need me Cx

It’s not until I’m lying on my bed staring at the ceiling fan that Alisha’s words over dinner hit me – Neither of us have our own kids .

Luke doesn’t have a child? But he left me for his pregnant ex. Didn’t he?