20. Drakar

The resort is more than I had anticipated. A minor paradise among the sandbars, a haven that offers distraction and delights in a non-intrusive package. It is tailored to be as accommodating as it is private. The amenities speak to a kind of elegant, understated luxury, while the investors have clearly taken advantage of the island’s many attractions in order to highlight the whole experience.

“Oh my, this place is marvelous,” Sally gasps in delight. She gives a small twirl as she steps through our hotel room, the sunlight streaming through the french doors making her skin glow. “Take a look at this view!”

“It’s fantastic,” I agree amenably without looking out the windows. Sally glances over her shoulder and blushes when she catches me staring at her but remains smiling. In fact, she hasn’t stopped smiling since our plane flew over international waters, and it makes my chest puff with a small amount of pride that I helped put that smile there.

There is no one I can think of who deserves a vacation more, considering how tirelessly she has worked since learning of her father’s condition. It fulfills a dormant yet powerful instinct of mine – to know that I can provide for a woman who is completely graceful and selfless in her compassion. Her smile is pure inspiration, and it stirs me to do better.

It also causes me to feel no small measure of guilt. I brought Sally here under false pretenses. Not because I potentially want to give her a real honeymoon, a thought that sets off another round of distracting thoughts, but because I need a cover in order to further my covert investigation. Our marriage may only be a business arrangement, but it’s never felt like a simple contract with Sally.

I want her, and the scant moments we’ve shared only reinforce that want. This desire that has been simmering inside me since I first laid eyes on her feels stronger here under the sun. It is an active thing now to keep my lust in check and keep it from boiling over and consuming us both.

If this were a real honeymoon, or even a real vacation, I would ensure that this woman never left my bed. She can twirl around this island all she wants, as long as everyone here knows whose sheets she’ll end up tangled in. Then I remember why I’m here, and I have to clench my fists to regain control.

Leave it to that prick Shields to ruin a good time,I think darkly. Then I almost laugh at the ironic turn of my thoughts. After all, it was the nagging of Director Shields and his ilk that put me onto the idea of a shotgun bride. Which inevitably brought me to Sally, the very woman I’m looking for an excuse to play hooky with.

Why not?A sudden tendril of chaos weaves through my thoughts. A wealthy, honeymooning couple does provide a great cover, as well as an excuse to explore the island resort.

With the way her linen outfit hangs loose in the most delectable places, it makes playing the role of a happily married husband no struggle, I realize belatedly. Of course, it’s resisting her that has been the problem for the past several weeks. With her long hair and salivating curves, Sally is naturally irresistible.

“So tell me, wife,” I murmur. Walking up, I gently clasp my large hands on her shoulders. “What would you like to do first?”

Hours later, I discover that the answer to that question offers several unique tests to my character. Mainly it involves several activities, including a dolphin boat tour and a three-hour nature hike across the island. Another hour of conversation follows with the concierge that involves recommendations and bookings before we finally take what becomes our only dinner at the hotel restaurant.

“I have to say that up until today, I thought I was a healthy, active specimen. But Sally, you put me to shame. Where do you get all this energy?”

She leans forward to answer across the dinner table, her blouse revealing that dip in her cleavage that has been teasing me all afternoon. “Confession?” I’m treated to a wonderful sight as she leans forward even more at my eager nod.

“I’m completely wired off an absolutely dangerous amount of caffeine. It’s my travel ritual. I match an energy drink to every cup of coffee I have, and I had three espressos this morning.”

I process this with a pause, then I snort in laughter. She joins in, and when a couple of patrons glare at us judgmentally, we only laugh harder. “Three espressos? I think I’ve turned you into a monster.”

“That is entirely your fault for showing me how that silly machine even works,” she returns evenly. “You’ve doomed me. I’ll never be satisfied with Starbucks again.”

The whole week becomes one extended conversation, immersed in taking in the sights. Calypso Hills is a complex series of public entertainment venues along the arrival strip, with a series of fully functioning private suites along the outlying main facilities, blending in with the island’s nature. Taking it all in involves something new every day with Sally, and I find myself being drawn in in spite of my reservations.

“I have to be honest, this is not the kind of honeymoon I pictured a woman like you having,” I confess as we hunt for oysters one morning.

“A woman like me?” Her huff would be more challenging if she wasn’t wearing overalls, but if anything, it makes her cuter.

“Overworked and under-appreciated.”

“Ah, yes,” she replies with a telling blush. “Well. Considering the circumstances, I figured I would take an escapade where and when I could get it, so here I am. Sorry you’re stuck being dragged along on an adventurous honeymoon.” She laughs.

Her laughter is a tune that I find humming sweetly in the back of my mind. “Don’t be.”

She blushes and turns away, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

There are waterfall tours and surfing lessons during our week-long sabbatical. Shopping and sightseeing during the day, along with jazz clubs and live bars at night. We indulge in local wares, from clothing to food, never eating at the same place twice, constantly engaging each other.

She is absolutely masterful at blending schedule with spontaneity, with moments of downtime slotted in even though there is never a dull moment. For the first time in my life, it feels like I’m along for the ride, and I am absolutely thrilled about it. Even though I haven’t forgotten my real purpose in being here, I’m drawn into the adventure and fun of it all.

“How did you know this would be perfect for a hangover?” My groan is one of gratitude, although the pitch still reverberates through the grotto’s walls. I rest against a cool, stalagmite bench, while Sally laps in gentle circles.

“As a teacher, I know things. Geography and geology are some of my favorite subjects to teach the kids. Also as a teacher, I might be more familiar with imbibing than I ought to be.”

Here, Sally sheds that reliable, worker-bee shell, and the effect is glorious. She glows, attracting all around her, elite tourists, to workers, to locals alike. We even get roped into an enactment of a local wedding ceremony of all things, much to my chagrin.

The priest says Sally has a touch of magic about her, and I can tell that she’s charmed by the way her eyes twinkle, so I find myself going along. It’s a nonsensical gimmick to attract the tourists. Still, there is a moment, looking at Sally as we hold a wreath of tropical vines, where it’s not silly nonsense.

With flowers blooming everywhere, and the beach hovering in the near horizon, it’s closer to what I should have given Sally, I realize with startling clarity. In her sarong and sandals, with I suspect nothing but a tan underneath, she is the epitome of beauty. Like Aphrodite made flesh. At the very least, she deserves a ceremony like this, not some drab affair inside a courthouse.

At least until they ask us to dance on the line of scorching coals at our feet. I almost abscond right then, but Sally quickly explains we are meant to jump over and around the hot rocks, not on top of.

“If you could have a real honeymoon, where would you go?” I ask her later that evening, after the mock ceremony and a few drinks have settled in my gut. The band at the bar is between sets, and we’ve stepped outside for some fresh air.

Sally arches an eyebrow at the seemingly innocuous topic but answers anyway. Our drinks have already begun to work their magic, and that heat simmers and rises between us once more. “Honestly? I would go island-hopping in Greece.”

“Knowing you from this trip, that doesn’t surprise me in the least.”

“If you’re trying to insult me, you’ve failed miserably.”

“On the contrary, consider it a compliment.”

Discordant melodies start to shape into harmonies as the band warms back up. Sally goes to head back inside, but I pull her back flush to me instead. Waves of lust swirl around us, and we’re back at the lake instead of some island sidewalk, boundaries fallen away.

“Dance with me,” I murmur into her ear, uncertain whether it’s a request or command. The more I am around this woman, the more I crave her.

“Okay,” she whispers back, going pliant in my arms. Together we move as the beat pulses the cobblestones, the thrum and lights of the club a distant background to set the stage for our rhythm.

Our bodies speak, motioning the desires neither one of us want to confront. But the wave between us has been undeniable, crashing through us here and now.