15. Fifteen

Iwake up with the diary stuck to my face, and the vague feeling that something bad happened last night.

Then I hear the door of Alex’s room slam shut and I remember how I croaked on stage, with him watching me and smirking.

Oh yeah. That.

I take my time in the shower, hoping he’ll have finished eating by the time I get downstairs, then wander just as slowly around the breakfast buffet, which is even better than the dinner one from my first night — not that I got to try much of it, mind you. To make up for it, I pile my plate high with bacon, eggs, and a couple of pink iced donuts, then carry it carefully to my designated table on the terrace… where, of course, I find Alexander Fox finishing up a healthy-looking bowl of cereal, which he’s washing down with an orange juice.

“Good morning,” I say breezily, determined to shake off the lingering embarrassment of last night, and not let Alex’s glowering presence spoil the beautiful morning. “Sleep well, did you?”

Alex looks up, as if he’s surprised to see me.

“You’re in a good mood,” he says suspiciously. “What happened? Did Mr. Wonderful call?”

I glare at him over the top of my first donut.

“I was in a good mood,” I tell him. “But it’s rapidly starting to disappear for some reason.”

Alex shrugs slightly and goes back to his cereal. I sip my coffee, enjoying the feeling of the warm sun on my shoulders. This terraced area was pretty in the evening, with the fairy lights twinkling above our heads, but it’s equally picturesque in the daylight. Our table is close to the edge of the patio, and looks out over the infinity pool, then out to sea. I watch contentedly as a little white sailboat comes into view and starts making its way towards the harbor at Los Cristianos, just along the coast.

It’s perfect. And I’m determined not to let Alex Fox spoil my enjoyment of it with his stupid sarcastic comments.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he says, almost as if he’s determined to prove me wrong. “Does that smile on your face mean you have another date planned with Whatshisface?”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” I tell him through a mouthful of donut. “But no. He did say we should do it again, though, so I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other soon.”

I’m not sure about this at all, as it happens. In fact, I’m not even sure I want to see Jamie again. But that’s not something I’m ready to admit even to myself, let alone to Alex, so I leave it at that.

“Right,” says Alex, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. “And are you planning to tell him he’s number one on your list of New Year’s resolutions?”

“No,” I say shortly, feeling my good mood dissipate even further. “No, I’m not. I don’t think it’s relevant.”

“You don’t? I’d say it’s pretty relevant, if you ask me. Most guys would probably appreciate a heads-up about the fact that the girl they’re seeing has flown thousands of miles just to check them off a list she made when she was a teenager.”

“Well, I didn’t ask you,” I snap. “And we’re not ‘seeing’ each other. We’re just two old friends catching up, that’s all.”

And kissing.

Well, sort-of kissing.

“Anyway,” I go on, finishing the donut and making a start on the eggs. “I didn’t come out here just for Jamie. I’ve told you that before. Sure, seeing him was one of the things I wanted to do, but it wasn’t the only reason I came here. There are plenty of others, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” Alex says wryly. “I’ve seen the list.”

He pulls off his sunglasses to polish the lenses. His eye is looking much better today, and as he glances up at me, I’m struck again by how good-looking he is, even when he’s being annoying. Which is most of the time.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” I ask, to move the focus away from me and Jamie.

He sighs.

“I’m eating breakfast, Summer. It’s a restaurant, remember? We’ve been here before? You threw steak at people? Is this ringing any bells?”

I shake my head impatiently.

“No, I mean here. In Tenerife. It’s just… you don’t seem like an all-inclusive, package-holiday-by-the-beach kind of guy, if you don’t mind my saying. You’re more of a ‘Tasteful Villa in Tuscany’ sort. Or maybe a g?te in the South of France. And you’d pronounce it properly, too, with a French accent. And you’d have a —”

“Do you always make up entire backstories and personalities for the people you meet, or am I special?”

“You wish.”

I smile at him to show I’m joking, but he doesn’t laugh.

“Who does that, though?” I persist, pouring myself some more coffee. “Who books a package holiday to the Canary Islands on their own?”

He looks at me pointedly, not bothering to answer this.

“Other than me, obviously. And anyway, you know why I’m here. And unless you also came out here in search of the love of your life, it doesn’t explain your motivation. Oh, my God. You didn’t, did you?”

Alex snorts.

“Hardly.”

“Yeah, okay. What would be the odds, right? But fairytales aside, you could still be here in search of love, couldn’t you? Oh no, wait: you don’t believe in that. Which is a shame, really, when you’re so—”

I manage to stop speaking just before the words “you’re so good looking” come tripping off my tongue to embarrass me.

“So…? Well, go on; you can’t just leave me hanging like that. I’m so—?”

“You’re so … well, you’re not exactly ugly, are you?”

I’m assuming it’s okay for me to say that, seeing as he said the same thing about me yesterday. We can find each other Not Ugly but still low key hate each other, right?

Alex’s mouth twitches.

“You think I’m Un-Ugly?”

“Well, she certainly seems to think so.”

I jerk my head in the direction of a table a few meters to the left, where an attractive blonde has been busy making eyes at Alex ever since she sat down. I can’t really blame her, either; he is looking particularly delicious this morning, in a crisp white t-shirt, which is just fitted enough to show off his biceps. His hair is damp from the shower again, and as he glances over at the blonde, she blushes right to the roots of her hair, and almost spills her drink down her top.

“See?” I say teasingly. “That’s the effect you have on women.”

“Is that why you threw the entire dinner table over me the other night?” he asks, the twitch turning into the unmistakable start of a smile. “Were you just so overcome by my rugged charm that you couldn’t control yourself?”

“Okay, okay, don’t get carried away,” I tell him. “I said you weren’t ugly, not that you were irresistible. And I’m not speaking for myself, either: I just meant that there must be someone out there who’d be able to see past your prickly personality to … well, whatever lies beneath. But even if there was, you’ve already made it clear you don’t believe in love, so I guess we’ll never know. You’re doomed to spend the rest of your life staying in luxury hotels on your own, I’m afraid. There’s no hope for you now.”

I raise my coffee mug in a toast, which Alex doesn’t bother to return.

“Yeah, well. I suppose there are worse ways I could end up,” he says tightly. “I could still be mooning around over someone who hasn’t given me a second thought since high school, but who I’ve decided is the love of my life. That would be a real tragedy.”

“Is that right?” I say, flushing. “For your information, I’m not ‘mooning’ over anyone. And I don’t think Jamie’s going to turn out to be the love of my life. Not necessarily. But someone will be. And I’ll never know unless I give it a chance, will I?”

Alex stares at me unflinchingly. He’s one of the most composed people I’ve ever met. Most people tend to fiddle with something, or move around a bit during a conversation like this, but when you speak to Alex, you get the full force of his attention — which is vaguely unsettling, even when he’s watching you from behind dark glasses.

“Do you really believe that?” he says. “All that ‘soulmates’ stuff? Do you really think the love of your life is out there waiting for you? ‘There’s someone for everyone’, and all that?”

I hesitate, my coffee mug halfway to my lips.

“Well, I don’t think there’s someone out there for you, obviously,” I say lightly. “But for me, yes, I do believe it. Or I’m trying to, anyway. Because if I don’t believe it, then what else is there, really? I’m not saying it’s Jamie, but there must be someone out there for me.”

“But not for me?”

He’s kind of half-smiling, so he’s obviously not taking any of this remotely seriously.

“Not when you go around talking about how you don’t believe in love, and think weddings are just a giant waste of money,” I reply teasingly. “Any woman in her right mind would run a mile from you with that attitude. They might want to sleep with you, but they’re not going to want to marry you, are they?”

I say it without really thinking about it. It seems pretty obvious to me that I’m just shamelessly winding him up, to get him back for making fun of me earlier, but either he can’t take a joke, or I’ve somehow managed to hit a nerve I didn’t know he had, because he’s not playing along.

“I better go and get on with my lonely existence, then,” he says, folding his napkin into a neat little triangle and dropping it on the table as he stands up. “I’ll leave you to it. I hope you manage to catch up with Whatshisface. I won’t wait for you at dinner.”

“I… Alex, I didn’t mean—” I start, but before I can quite figure out exactly what it is I didn’t mean to do to upset him, he’s gone, turning on his heel and striding purposefully off across the terrace, not even noticing the way the blonde woman flutters her eyelashes at him as he passes her table. I glare at her indignantly, then look quickly away again, realizing how ridiculous I’m being. It’s not like I have any claim on Alex, after all. We’re not together. As we agreed on that first night, we just happen to be sharing a table — somewhat against our will.

So why am I giving Blondie over there the evil eye, as if she’s just tried to move in on my man?

I push my plate away, annoyed with myself. Sure, Alex is good looking; I just told him as much myself. But I’ve only noticed his looks in a detached, purely observational way; the way you notice scenery, say, or the weather. It’s hard not to notice, really. It doesn’t mean I like him, though. It just means I have eyes.

There isn’t much point in sitting here on my own now that he’s disappeared, though, so I gather my things and prepare to leave. As I walk past her table, I catch Blondie watching me enviously, and allow myself to briefly imagine Alex and I as the couple this woman obviously thinks we are.

To her, I’m the kind of woman who can easily get a guy like Alex. And that makes me feel kind of cool, really, so I allow myself to bask in the idea of myself as this completely different person all the way back to my room, where I change into a bikini and throw a cover-up over my shoulders.

Might as well make use of one of those five swimming pools while I’m here. I am on holiday after all.

I go back downstairs in the lift, and emerge at the pool deck, which is filled with people and noise. Music plays loudly from the pool bar, one of the members of the ‘animation team’ is leading some people through an aqua aerobics session in the shallow end, and small children go cannon-balling into the water, squealing with delight and soaking everyone in the vicinity.

I pick my way carefully through the crowds, scanning the sun loungers for an empty space, and finding one at last, in a quiet spot next to a little round spa pool, which bubbles invitingly to life as I pass it. A quick dip of the toe confirms that it’s far too cold for me to even contemplate — I’m going to have to spend a good half an hour roasting myself in the sun before I can convince myself to get in — so I spread out my towel on the sun-lounger, peel off my cover-up, and settle down to read my book.

I haven’t got more than a chapter or so in before a shadow falls across the page, and I look up to see Alex standing by my sun lounger in a pair of swim shorts. He’s obviously just been for a dip, and as I shade my eyes to look up at him, a few droplets of icy cold water fall from his hair onto my book.

“Oi! Watch what you’re doing,” I yelp, shifting out of the way while determinedly keeping my eyes focused on his face rather than his shorts. Or his chest. Or his arms.

I really wish he would stop turning up half-naked and soaking wet. It’s really distracting.

“You’re soaking me.” “Well, if you’re going to use my sun lounger, what do you expect?” Alex says, shaking his head and sending more droplets flying in my direction. “You’re in my space.”

“I am not,” I protest, uncomfortably aware of how small my bikini is all of a sudden. “This seat was free. There’s literally nothing on it to show it’s… oh.”

I stop, noticing the corner of one of the hotel towels peeking out from underneath my lounger. It must have slipped off the seat before I arrived.

Uh-oh.

“I swear I didn’t notice that,” I say, as Alex bends down to pick it up, and starts toweling himself dry. Underneath the towel there’s a pair of slides and a bottle of sunscreen, along with a paperback book, the title of which is hidden from view.

It’s definitely his sun lounger, then.

“I’ll get out of your way,” I mutter, turning and starting to gather my various belongings so I don’t have to watch the way he’s caressing that chest of his with the towel. “Sorry again.”

“It’s fine,” he sighs, holding up a hand to stop me. “Keep the seat. There’s another one over there I can use.”

He points at a now-empty lounger on the other side of the spa, and I sink back against my seat as he walks over to it, the muscles in his shoulders rippling underneath the smooth skin as he spends a few seconds putting up the umbrella next to it for shade, before lying down and pulling his sunglasses down over his eyes.

I peer at him covertly from behind my own glasses. After that moment at breakfast when I found myself feeling briefly territorial over him, I’m feeling weirdly unsettled around him; almost as if he could conceivably know what I’ve been thinking.

Alex’s lounger is opposite mine, which puts me right in his line of sight, with the bubbling waters of the spa between us. He doesn’t seem to be paying any attention to me at all, but, even so, I can’t help but feel stupidly self-conscious in my little black bikini, which looked perfectly respectable in the bathroom mirror, but which feels borderline indecent under the (completely imaginary) gaze of Alex Fox.

I close my eyes to remove the temptation to keep watching him, and allow the hot sun to wash over me. When I open them again, it’s over an hour later; the sun’s at its height now, and the majority of the sun loungers around me are empty, most people presumably having escaped into the shade, or gone to get ready for lunch. I glance around furtively, hoping I haven’t been drooling while I slept, but someone’s pulled one of the huge sunshades that are dotted around the place over my lounger, with another one opposite, so I’m mostly hidden from view, as well as being protected from the sun.

I pick up my sunscreen and start to reapply it, wondering if it could have been Alex. He’s the only one around who vaguely knows me, after all, but he’s immersed in the pages of his book, and doesn’t look up, even when the slippery bottle goes shooting out of my hand and almost hits a passing child on the head.

Whoops.

“Need some help with that?” Alex says immediately. “I’d offer to come over and do your back for you, but I wouldn’t want you getting the wrong idea. You know, seeing as I’m the kind of guy you want to sleep with?”

I pause in the act of rubbing lotion into my shoulders.

Is he flirting with me? Is that what he’s doing? Or is he just being mean again? Because it’s hard to tell with him…

“I said you were the kind of guy women want to sleep with,” I point out, glancing around to make sure there’s no one sitting close enough to hear this conversation. “Not that you’re the kind of guy I personally want to sleep with.”

“No?”

He swings his legs off his sun lounger, then gets up and strolls over to me, looking like exactly the kind of guy I’d like to…

… on second thoughts, it’s probably best if I don’t continue that thought.

“Give it to me,” he says, standing in front of me and holding out his hand. I look up at him, eyes wide.

“The sunscreen?” he says. “So I can do your back for you?”

“Oh. Er, no need,” I say hurriedly, turning away from his crotch, which is currently at my eye level. “I can manage. I’ll just… I’ll just make sure I lie on my back.”

“Summer,” Alex says firmly. “Give me the bottle. Look at your feet. You’re already burning.”

I glance down at my feet, which are propped up in front of me. Sure enough, the tips of my toes are bright red from where they’ve obviously been peeking out from underneath the umbrella. This is what happens when you have skin the approximate color of milk.

“Give me it,” says Alex again.

I reluctantly hand over the bottle of sunscreen, then turn around so my back is facing him, letting out a little yelp of surprise when the cold liquid hits my shoulders without warning. I feel the sun-lounger sag beneath me as he sits behind me, his bare chest to my back.

This is… normal.

He spreads the sunscreen over my back, then starts to gently rub it in, his hands moving in slow circles over my shoulder blades in a way that makes me want to whimper with pleasure.

This is absolutely not ‘normal’.

Not even close.

“That feel okay?” asks Alex in a low voice. His hands are working their way down my lower back now, the fingers brushing the edge of my bikini bottoms as he massages the sunscreen into my skin.

“Um, yeah, that’s… that’s fine,” I tell him, swallowing hard. “You can just leave it there, thanks. I can do the rest myself.”

“You sure?” His voice comes from somewhere just above my left ear, and sounds slightly strange, although it might just be the blood pounding in my head that’s making me think that. “You don’t want me to do your legs, too?”

“I can manage, thanks,” I reply, the words coming out much more sharply than I meant them to.

“Just give me a second,” he says, going back to my shoulders again. “Just need to rub this bit in properly.”

His soft palm lazily circles my back, and my eyelids flutter closed. The sounds of the pool fade into the background as Alex’s fingers find their way under the straps of my bikini, making the hairs on my arms stand up despite the heat of the day. I can hear his breath close to my ear, and the warmth of his body close to mine. I’m certain the lotion on my skin must be well and truly gone by now, but his hands are still on my body, and I’m just thinking how good they feel when I hear the rumble of wheels approaching on the concrete of the pool deck.

“Well, well, well,” says a familiar voice from just behind me. “Looks like I’ve got a fair bit of gossip to catch up on. Why don’t you introduce me to your friend, Summer?”

I open my eyes, feeling like I’m surfacing from a particularly delicious dream, and look over my shoulder, a feeling of doom settling over me like a cloak.

Standing by my sun-lounger, her hair piled up on top of her head and a bright pink wheeled suitcase by her side, is the very last person I’d expected to see out here.

It’s Chloe.