That done, we turned our attention to Hendrix, our tour guide.
“—acres of orange groves. On a hot day, it’s the perfect place for a picnic,” he said. “Everything you see around you is Desai land. You can roam to your heart’s content.”
One of the girls up front raised her hand. “Will we have time for that? The schedule we were given is packed. Are all of these events mandatory?”
“Mandatory is a strong word. There aren’t penalties if you miss activities, but these are designed to help you get to know each other better and aid in the decision most of you will make at the end of this summer. Tonight’s mixer for example is an opportunity to get reacquainted with old faces and meet the new. After the mixer, your time is yours.
“Everyone at the cove is over eighteen. You don’t have curfews or such things. Spend your free time how you will.”
The bus was abuzz following that announcement. Lives stuffed into uniforms, pinchy shoes, and bow ties to be paraded through academies and formal events, did not prepare us to hear “your time is yours.”
Ivy’s hand shot in the air. “Will you separate those who are serious about this summer from the guys just looking to get some? It’s not fair to us to wade through jokers spouting whatever we want to hear to get in our pants.”
“I agree with you,” said Hendrix, “but we can’t shield you from insincerity here any more than we can off the island. You’ll have to weigh a potential partner’s suitability on your own. That said, if it does become clear someone is lying and deceiving to gain sex or other favors, they will be asked to leave and will not receive another invitation to the cove.”
I peeked at the folder sticking out of my bag. Zion marked half the guys he knew for sure were looking for a relationship out of this. Who knew what the other half wanted.
The questions and answers kept up for the rest of the weaving drive past the groves and sand. Two hours in, the shuttle crested and a sprawling mansion laid out before us. Stones the color of the sand surrounding us stacked on top of each other to form three floors of windows, balconies, blue shutters, and sloping roofs.
The villa was magnificent.
And I seriously wondered if reducing it to a pile of rubble would get me out of this early.
It’ll work as well as burning the info packet. Mrs. Desai will unearth another one and keep on trucking.
“You’re the first to arrive, everyone,” Hendrix called. “You’ll find your stuff has already been taken to your room and put away. We’ve got nothing on the docket until the mixer tonight, so grab something to eat, explore the villa, get settled, or you could sneak in some beach time. If you need anything, my number is in your packet.”
Our group got up, filing off the bus.
“Want to hit the beach?” Zion asked.
“No, thanks. I’ve been up since five a.m. I’m finding my room and hitting the sheets running.”
“All right.” We climbed off the bus, parting ways on the ground. “See you tonight.”
“Later.”
Hendrix set on the path toward the house. I trailed him at a slower pace.
Flowers lined the walkway, lending color to the long stretch of green lawn. In the driveway, two cars and half a dozen golf carts gleamed in the sun. Transport for the rest of us to get around. Mrs. Desai truly thought of everything.
Hendrix paused to hold the door open for me. I thanked him as I stepped into the island paradise. Light, weathered tile led out from the entry, around columns, and under arched ceilings. Bamboo ceiling fans lazily turned the air, lending to the relaxed vibe induced by the white couches, blue pillows, and warm brown furniture.
A glance in my packet told me my room was on the second floor. I waved bye to Hendrix, spotting the staircase on the other side of the room. My phone buzzed on my way up.
I fished it out, glanced at the screen, and froze.
Unknown number shone back at me. Two seemingly innocent words on their own.
Maybe it’s Preston, my mind supplied. He could’ve gotten my number from his mom and wants to spout more trash about there being an explanation for why he forgot to mention his fiancée when he was asking me out and offering up his body.
My finger hovered over the phone.
If you really believe it’s Preston, why are you hesitating?
I tapped open.
555-8735: Where are you?
That was it. Three simple words and my heart leaped out of my throat and made a run for it.
Me: Who is this?
One minute.
Two.
Three.
Five minutes passed with no reply.
I picked up my feet to keep going when my cell went off, startling me into dropping it. Clutching my chest, I bent to grab it and flashing up from the carpeted step was the unknown number.
I didn’t hesitate. I ended the call and blocked them, silencing whoever was on the other end.
Taking a deep breath, I let it out slow, and kept walking.
Mrs. Desai was kind enough to number the rooms. A bright, shiny twelve hung over my door. I pushed in, dreaming of the warm sheets that awaited me.
“Belle.”
“Holy fuck!” My bag and poor phone crashed to the floor.
The guy swung his legs off the bed, pushing off. I goggled at Preston, eyes huge and heart racing, as he used my surprise to draw me the rest of the way in and shut the door.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. The bastard sounded like he was holding in a laugh. “You didn’t give me much of a choice.”
I shrugged him off. “I’m going to bet you had plenty of choices other than lying in wait like a serial killer!”
He chuckled. “You’re not in danger from me, Belle. If you ask me”—he pointed to his bandaged nose—“it’s the other way around.”
“Get out, Preston.” I snatched my things up and threw them on my bed. He could never know what I truly thought walking in here and finding someone waiting for me, but I held him responsible for that heart-stopping spike of terror. “We have nothing else to say to each other.”
“We haven’t said anything to each other,” he shot back. “You won’t listen to me.”
“I’ve had a lifetime of lies, Desai. Go pour them into another girl’s ear.”
“I didn’t lie to you about a single thing.”
“Want to tell that to your imaginary cousin?”
“I do have a cousin.” He stuffed his hand in his pocket. “Look.”
“Not interested.”
I sidestepped him, making for the door on the opposite side. All of a sudden, I was spun and sent shrieking onto the bed. Preston climbed on top of me, pinning me down.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”
“You’ve got to be the most difficult, stubborn person I’ve ever met.” Preston secured my flailing arms with one hand and held the other before my face. My vision cleared on the photo. “This is my cousin, Darren Desai. Want to tell me you don’t see the resemblance?”
Two boys filled the screen. One smaller, smiling, and stuffed in a bow tie and suspenders. An older boy leaned against a tree next to him, glaring at something—or nothing—off-camera and dressed in simple jeans and a nice shirt. There was no doubt the younger boy was Preston. Just as there was no doubt he was related to the other kid. They had the same hair, nose, and heart-shaped face.