Stuck in Paradise with You

Chapter 18

18

LUKE

Give me strength.

She’s basically in underwear under the head of the shower, her long hair flowing down her back, to the neat arch where her body nips in and subtly curves out again.

I’m not watching her, I’m just… noticing, that’s all. Noticing how that body I used to be so familiar with could bring another man to his knees. If I’m honest with myself, irrationally resentful that it could.

One of the interior staff opens the doors to the salon and the dogs come outside, providing a well-timed switch of focus.

‘Good dogs,’ I say, fussing them as I, discreetly I hope, take one last look at Carrie over the rim of my shades.

She was different out there, in the water. Swimming, diving, like she didn’t have the weight of the world on her shoulders. As if she forgot that Joe was her client. She was smiling and joking, pretending to be a crocodile with Toby attached to her back as she swam, playing along with being a shark out to get Noah’s flippers.

I found myself wanting to be part of their fun.

‘Are you checking me out?’ Carrie gripes, pulling a towel across her front.

Oops.

‘What?’ I ask, as if I’m incensed, rather than caught in the act. ‘Got a pretty big opinion of yourself there, Carrie.’

Even from behind closed lips, it’s obvious she grits her teeth. ‘Me? Please . Why don’t you go perform an Olympic dive off the top of the boat again, Greg Louganis?’

I snort. Full-blown snort. And right before she remembers that she cancelled me entirely from her life and hides her face behind her towel, I catch her grin too.

Playful mockery was part of our repartee once. Feisty, charged fun. Like two old friends in a bar. I used to want to come to work in the mornings just to find out what smartass remark she’d throw at me. That was long before either of us made so much as a move on the other physically.

But once Carrie has wrapped herself in her towel, she heads to one of the tables on the aft deck, which has been laid out with infused waters and fresh-cut watermelon, and that resting bitch face she wears these days is back in situ.

And why in the good Lord’s name is Henry here, again?

‘Do you want to change out of your wet stuff in one of the bedrooms?’ he asks her.

Oh wouldn’t you like to get her in a bedroom , I internally quip, for my own benefit. But they do, in fact, head inside together to a bedroom and I almost snap my spine leaning backward to get a view of the pair of them, counting the seconds that they’re behind the door together. One, two, three?—

‘Luke, we’re going for a family siesta,’ Ella says, leading the kids and Joe into the salon.

Alisha appears at my side, a book in her hand. ‘I’m going to get out of the heat for an hour too.’ Then she pats my cheek and tells me, ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’

‘Is there anything you wouldn’t do?’ I tease.

‘Wouldn’t you love to know, Chalmers?’ she counters, chortling her way to a bedroom, extra pizazz in her swaying hips as she goes.

Why am I still watching the bedroom door where Carrie is getting changed? Did Henry come back out?

I slip on a t-shirt and surreptitiously switch my wet shorts for a dry pair, then help myself to a bottle of beer and head up to the lounge area on the top of the boat. I tell myself I’m going up to lay out in the shade and relax but there’s an insanely annoying devil on my shoulder telling me I’m actually going in search of Henry, to make sure he’s not with Carrie.

I don’t care , I yell at the devil, though I feel like I exhale some tension when I see Henry in conversation with the Bosun at the bow of the boat.

Irrationally appeased, I lie back on the soft cushions under the canopy of the top deck and take out my phone. I check the latest sports news on ESPN and fall down a rabbit hole with some mindless videos on YouTube – the ten worst shark attacks, the deadliest jellyfish stings, and a video about twin panda bear cubs being born in South Korea.

For the first time since Monday, I feel myself slipping into relaxation mode. I should probably check some emails, do some more work, but the cub thing is kind of sweet. I switch to my news app and see a depiction of the merging storms that have grown into Hurricane Isabel. Sources are predicting Charithonia will be hit by the outer edges of the storm. That’s still going to be huge and damaging but it’s better than a direct hit.

It suddenly seems absurd that I’m lounging on a boat when, in forty-eight hours, the surrounding islands could be struck by devastation.

It’s thinking about the storm that makes me tune in to a voice below, on the trampolines at the front of the yacht.

‘Dad, it’ll be okay. Mom shouldn’t have told you where I am, not if you’re going to worry like this. I know that. I love you too. I don’t mean to be sharp, I just don’t want you to worry. Plus, I’ve asked my client if I can leave tonight. With any luck, I’ll be home in New York well before the hurricane arrives.’

Tonight? She’s leaving tonight ?

I know she asked to leave but Joe blew it off with a massage, didn’t he?

The catamaran is on the move again but that’s not the reason I feel unsteady on my feet as I overlook the bow, watching Carrie end her call and move off the trampoline to place her phone in her beach bag. Then she’s back in the middle of the springy floor, earphones plugged into her ears.

I wonder if she’s still obsessed with country music.

It doesn’t matter. She’s leaving, again.

Just like that. She was in my life, then she was gone and uncontactable. Now, she’s back again, and she’s going, without anything being resolved, again .

I don’t know what needs to be resolved or how but there’s a tightness in my chest, like something has been reignited since seeing her here and I think maybe if I just knew why . Why did she ghost me, completely cut me out of her life, ruin any chance for us ever ? Maybe, if I know, this feeling that’s gripping me can rescind.

I’m going to head down there; I just need to take some big-boy deep breaths first and finish my beer.

Carrie has switched out her hot-pink bikini for a backless and front-plunging (if that’s the right word) green bathing suit. It sets her hair on fire and I watch as she tilts her head back, then draws her red locks to the top of her head and twists them into a knot.

As I’m doing so – fretting, I mean, rather than gawping – I notice Carrie’s back is turning pink in the sun.

Passing through the salon first to grab some SPF 50, I head out to where she’s now reclined, eyes closed behind her tortoiseshell shades, legs bent, hands out from her sides and tapping out a beat to what I know will be the voice of a man with a husky southern twang, or some poppy group like Old Dominion.

Despite feeling the enormity of trying to have a real conversation with her, I find myself remembering a Sunday afternoon at my place, me picking Carrie up by her waist as she tried to change the track on my music player to something country. Sugarland, I think it was that day. Her squealing as I brought her down to the sofa in my lounge and sobering once I was hovering over her…

My hand moves reflexively to my chin, where she gently nipped me between her teeth, mischief making her irises sparkle.

‘Garghhh! Jesus, Luke!’ she screams now, startled when she opens her eyes on the trampoline to see that I’m the reason the structure is flexing. ‘What are you doing? Why aren’t you having a siesta like the others?’

I shrug. ‘I’m not tired.’

I’m pretty sure she rolls her eyes behind her large lenses, and I’m fairly certain that over the sound of the boat moving across the ocean I hear her mutter, ‘Smartass.’

‘Here,’ I say, tossing her the bottle of sunscreen. ‘Your back is pink.’

She picks up the cream, considers it, then hands it back to me. ‘Thanks but there’s a reason my back is pink and there’s a reason I’m lying on it to shield it from the sun.’

She can’t reach.

‘For an intelligent woman, I’d have thought you’d know that’s not how sun rays work.’ I shake the bottle and squeeze the lotion into my hands. ‘Turn around,’ I instruct. She stares at me stubbornly. ‘Turn. Around.’

Eventually, she concedes, shuffling her back toward me. I come to sit behind her and she lifts the fastening of her bathing suit higher on her neck. Her neck that looks long and smooth. I blink back a memory of my lips against her skin – the taste of cocoa butter, salt and home.

‘Most of the UV rays we get are indirect,’ I say, channeling a dermatologist to distract myself. I place my hands on her shoulders and draw the cream down to her upper arms. She stiffens under my touch and goosebumps form on her skin. ‘They reflect off surfaces, which means…’ My words catch in my throat as my fingertips reach that enticing curve of her back. Her body feels like silk. As soft, as magnetizing, as it ever was. ‘Even if you’re trying to shield your back, the sun is bouncing off the sea and the boat to reach you.’

I sweep the cream just lower than the hem of her clothing and hear her sharp intake of breath.

She feels this too. No matter what’s gone between us, it’s as if there’s a spark, a flame, undeniable physical chemistry between us.

I want to talk to her about what happened. I need some closure. But my legs slide further down the sides of hers and I think she nudges back into me. It’s a move that’s barely there but I don’t think I imagine it.

I’m staring at her neck, wondering what she’d do if I just brought my mouth down to touch her, to nibble the lobe of her ear, in the way that used to make her squirm.

‘What are you doing?’ she shouts, springing up to stand.

Shit . What was I doing? I come to stand too and hold up my hands in submission. ‘I was just putting your lotion on. No funny business.’

‘No funny business? You were shuffling and nudging.’ She pokes the air with her fingers. ‘Right into me! And I know what you were thinking, Luke Chalmers.’

She starts prodding my chest with her finger.

‘I was thinking your pasty skin will fry in this heat, Carrie. And, oh yeah, you’re welcome.’

‘I’m welcome? For your horny little groan and roaming fingers?’

Did I groan? No, she did. God, did I? Was it me I heard?

She’s forcing me backward, fierce in her prodding until I grab hold of her finger to stop her.

‘You know something, Carrie? You need to get over yourself.’

My words bring thunder to her eyes. I’ve never seen her, or any woman for that matter, as mad as she is in this moment.

‘And you need to cool the hell off!’

I’m too busy staring at her to respond quickly when she pushes my shoulders and sends me stumbling off the trampoline, onto the sleek, white deck.

My calves hit the catamaran’s safety rail – ironic – and next thing I know, I’m flying from the vessel, crashing into the water as the boat continues to slowly sail past me.

‘What the hell did you do that for?’ I yell to Carrie after I kick and thrash my way to the surface. ‘You could have killed me pushing me off a moving boat!’

‘We’re crawling,’ she says, eyes casting up to the sky. ‘Regardless, you were making a move!’ She’s walking along the deck to keep level with me. ‘And you have a girlfriend!’

‘What do you think I am, a glutton for rejection?’ I slap the water with my palms. ‘Christ, Carrie, I wasn’t making a move, I was trying to save you from a disgustingly expensive healthcare system.’

She stops moving now that’s she’s reached the back of the boat and keeps her eyes on me. I’m getting further away from her but I’d love to be able to read the expression on her face as she asks, ‘You really weren’t?’

‘No, for God’s sake. Now can you get them to stop the fucking boat?’

‘ Oh crap , yes. Hold on.’ She seems to faff on the spot, turning right, then left, not actually doing anything productive.

‘It’s not like I’ve got anywhere to go!’ I shout, watching the boat move further and further…

Then Henry appears next to Carrie – of course he does – and calls, ‘We’re turning around. Stay calm. It’s best to float on your back. Enjoy the water.’

Enjoy the water. I’ll give him enjoy the fucking water.

Nevertheless, I roll onto my back and float while the catamaran makes sluggish work of coming about.

It gives me time to think… Was I making a move? If I had been making a move, would she have been receptive? If she didn’t think I was dating Alisha, would she have been open to it?

I’ve had a lucky break. Carrie was right; I did need to cool off.

I do not need to go there again with her, ever.

This has been a good, though death-defying and unwanted, time out.

A perspective-getting near-drowning.

At last, the boat is moving alongside me. Henry tosses me a life ring and, though I feel like a total ass, I hook my arms over it and let him drag?—

‘Arghhhhhh! What the hell was that?’ I let go of the ring as a burning sensation like fire blazes across my thigh, up my shorts and around my waist where my T-shirt has come up in the water.

I’m thrashing around, frantically trying to work out why I feel like I’ve fallen into a raging inferno, when I see tentacles. Hundreds. No, thousands , of tentacles and the balloon-esque body of a?—

‘Shit, shit, shit. It’s a jellyfish!’ I scream. ‘It’s a fucking jellyfish!’

Jesus. Jesus. I literally just watched the ten deadliest jellyfish stings in the world on YouTube. ‘Henry! Carrie! Help me! Help! I’ve been stung!’

Carrie starts yelling something incomprehensible. Even she, ice-queen, Managing Director of Ghost Your Ex LLC, is afraid for me.

And Henry is… laughing ?

Correction: doubled-over laughing. ‘It’s just a bog-standard jellyfish, mate, not a killer. Here…’ He tosses me the life ring again and though the pain is searing on my skin, I’m distracted enough by wanting to pinch Henry’s nipples so hard between my fingers and twist until he squeals like a piglet that I’m rendered capable of hanging on to the life ring and I think, maybe I won’t die today.

Henry and Carrie make their way down to the swim platforms at the back of the boat, now stationary, and they both help me out of the water.

Tears are filling my eyes. The pain is worse than being punched full force in the nuts.

Henry leaves to go somewhere, probably to split his sides laughing at me some more, leaving only Carrie and me, and damn it, all I can do is beg her… ‘Carrie, do something. It’s agony. Help me.’

I’m trying my best not to cry. Really. Truly. It’s that excruciating.

Carrie holds out her hands. ‘I don’t know what to do, Luke.’ She looks around but there are no staff coming to my rescue. ‘What can I do?’

That’s when it comes to me. ‘You’re going to have to pee on me,’ I tell her.

She folds her arms across her chest. She’s standing over me, where I’m on my knees on the swim platform. ‘I outright refuse to pee on you.’

‘Carrie, you can go immediately back to hating on me but, please, I’m begging you. Pee on me.’

‘I—’ Her conviction is wavering, thank heavens. ‘If, if I do this, how am I even going to pee on your leg and hip?’

I roll up the leg of my shorts and lift up my T-shirt, coming to lie on my side. ‘You’ll just have to squat. Please .’

‘What, like this, do you think?’ She squats across me, one leg either side of my hip, sincerely trying to figure this out. ‘Luke, I can’t, it’s too disgusting.’

‘No, this pain is disgusting, Carrie. Come on.’

‘Are you sure it’s that bad? You would rather be peed on than just… suck it up.’

I glower at her. ‘ You can’t feel it. And it’s your fault this happened!’

Still squatting over me, she points at my face. ‘Don’t blame me for your idiocy.’

‘My idiocy ?’

‘Yes. Imagine what Alisha would have thought if she’d seen that move you pulled.’

‘Carrie, I’m not with Alisha.’

She stands, her legs still either side of my body.

‘You’re not?’

It seems like so many thoughts and emotions wash over her face. I wonder how she feels – bad, embarrassed, like she should just?—

‘Would you stop gawping and just freaking pee on me?’

The next voice I hear isn’t Carrie’s, though; it’s Alisha’s.

‘What on earth is happening?’ She looks like we just woke her up, a hand across her eyes to shield them from the brightness of the afternoon.

‘Oh fudge,’ Carrie says, practically jumping away from me. ‘It’s not what it looks like,’ she says.

I’d love to know what the hell she thinks this looks like.

‘Coming through,’ Henry says, walking down to us with a plastic bottle of some kind of liquid in his hand. ‘He got stung by a jellyfish,’ he tells Alisha. ‘Near anaphylaxis, he was.’ He’s laughing and Alisha laughs with him.

Then Joe appears and he’s chortling too, clearly having overheard the story.

‘Carrie was about to pee on him,’ Henry calls up to Joe and Alisha.

‘I wasn’t!’ Carrie protests, looking as mortified as I feel about this whole damn experience.

‘Here, mate,’ Henry says, crouching next to me and helping me come up to sit. ‘Vinegar works better than urine, trust me; as someone who’s been stung as many times as I have fingers, it works. Then I’ve got you an ice pack. Should bring you back from the brink.’

He trickles vinegar from his bottle over the affected area, while Alisha and Joe hurl banter-cum-outright abuse at me, and Carrie keeps her back to them, her hands on her hips and her eyes fixed on mine like she’s lasering me.

Once Henry is done, he helps me to my feet, then heads up to the aft deck.

As I make to follow him off the swim platform, Carrie asks through gritted teeth, ‘Will you stop at nothing to make me look like a fool in front of my client?’

I scoff. ‘You know, it’s sad that the only thing you seem to think about is work. And for the record, I have never, nor will I ever, be the type of man who cheats.’