Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Callum knew two things about the man in the seat beside him.

He was one of the fakest, most insincere tossers Callum had been in the company of in a while.

. . . and Lydia is completely enamored with him.

Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Callum attempted to tune Sergio out and dug his knife and fork into the quiche he'd been served moments before. He needed a fucking Bloody Mary rather than the coffee he'd asked for—his head was still pounding with a headache from his decisions the night before. Getting that drunk had not been the best idea when he had an early morning flight.

Then again, arriving at the airport still half-drunk made this flight more tolerable.

". . . merengue is the most exquisite form of dance. And you have the perfect body for it," Sergio was saying. "There's a bar in Samara that I'd love to take you to."

What was that? The fourth thing Sergio had invited Lydia to do in Costa Rica?

Callum's eyes narrowed. Why is this man flirting so hard with her?

"That would be amazing," she said with a smile, sipping on her mimosa. A pink blush lit her cheeks.

Of course, from the way she was glowing, if Sergio invited her to join the mile-high club with him, she'd probably take him up on the opportunity.

He swallowed the dry quiche, then took a swig of his coffee.

Quinn owed him—big time—for this destination wedding.

The timing couldn't be worse, to begin with. Work was full-on right now, and the last place he needed to be was on holiday.

But that wasn't the worst of it.

Not only had Quinn ignored Callum's protests and booked out La Hacienda Tropical but now Callum would also be around two of the women in this world whose company made him want to join a monastery that offered perpetual silence—his mother and his ex-fiancée, Sophia. The Camdens had invited his father and stepmother to the wedding, too, but fortunately they had declined the invite.

If Isla hadn't been coming later in the week, he might have called Quinn and begged out of groomsman duties. But his sister's presence could only do so much. Even Isla's presence wouldn't help him avoid his mother's disappointment in Callum.

He hadn't married Sophia. Yet...Mum had practically adopted her anyway. Even after five years, Mum was relentless about what a wonderful wife Sophia would have been. Could be. How beautiful she was. How helpful. How intelligent. The "kindness of her gaze."

Which meant Callum kept his contact with Mum to a minimum.

To make matters worse, Quinn let the damn travel agent book Callum's trip with Lydia Winnick—a woman who drove him nuts in a completely different way.

It had bothered Callum, at first, that things had gone so awry with her two years ago. Because his anger at her appointment had never been about her. Aiden had made him a promise and then broken it—and Lydia had fallen into the crosshairs of their disagreement.

Callum's pushback on Lydia had worked, and Aiden had also gotten the clue. Apologized even. Told him it wouldn't happen again. More importantly, the rumors that Aiden would transfer Luca to Callum's department had all vanished.

Not that he could complain about Lydia. Everything she did was excellent.

She could have made a brilliant manager for the department, too.

But she was content to fade into the banal camaraderie of her workmates, which was her biggest flaw.

The upside was that it kept her as his staff, rather than a colleague with whom he might work with more closely on a project—and that made things easier for him. From the moment they'd met, his attraction to her had been visceral, almost a reflex. Keeping her at arm's length was helpful.

A beam of sunlight pierced through the window, and Callum pulled down the shade once again. The arsehole next to him kept opening it, and the sunrise had been chasing them the entire trip over. Prick. Callum would have let it go if it wasn't for the sun right in his eyes. He wasn't about to pull out his sunglasses and be even more uncomfortable on this infernal flight.

"I would say . . . the thermal hot springs at Arenal, hiking at Rio Celeste, and Tortuguero, if you can manage it. The night sky in Tortuguero es increíble. The turtles come up from the sea and lay their eggs there. A beautiful experience. And Rio Celeste—" Sergio kissed his fingertips and pulled his hand away in a passionate gesture. He winked at Lydia. "The only blue I've ever seen that's as beautiful might be your eyes."

Callum nearly choked on his quiche.

Is she really buying this?

He'd hoped Lydia had a good head on her shoulders with men—not that he really cared. Or had a clue about her love life. They discussed business only. And since he'd been so badly burned by Luca, he'd made it the habit never to mistake work friends with real friends.

"Those sound like an amazing top three. I would love to go," Lydia said.

"I would love to take you there. I'm a tour operator. Maybe we can spend more time together."

Callum couldn't help but choke back a laugh.

Both Sergio and Lydia looked at him expectantly.

He cleared his throat, then lifted his coffee cup, giving them a tight-lipped smile. "Quiche is a bit dry."

Lydia stared at him. "Don't mind him, Sergio. He wouldn't know anything about beautiful vacation spots," she said. "I'm not even sure he leaves his office. Or has seen the sun in the past two years."

Clearly, the mimosa was having an effect. She wasn't usually so bold. Then she gave an awkward shift as though she'd realized she might be crossing the line. "He's my boss," she added sheepishly.

"Ah, a vampiro ," Sergio said with a chuckle.

Callum set his cutlery down and held Lydia's gaze, then raised a brow. "Werewolf. But our community prefers the term ‘Lycan,' thanks." His tone was flat and Liddy shrank back, clearly unsure of his mood, which was fine. No reason to pretend, even on this trip, that they wanted to be around each other.

Sergio looked between them with uncertainty. "I didn't know you were friends. Would you like to sit next to each other?"

Friends?

"No." Their answer was in unison.

Sergio excused himself a few minutes later to go to the bathroom. Thank God for that . The tense silence that always seemed to hang between him and Lydia quickly replaced that relief.

As the silence mounted, he felt word vomit burning his throat. She was glaring at him. They were rarely in any social setting. Work he knew how to navigate, as she knew her place there, but this was far more difficult.

He uncovered a blueberry scone on his tray. "Having fun with Sergio?"

Lydia swiveled her gaze at him, her expression growing even more frosty. "Excuse me?"

Don't provoke her. The corner of his mouth twitched back with a grimace. "You know he's full of shite, right?"

"You would be an expert on that." Then she wrinkled her nose. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that out loud."

Callum sipped his coffee. Disgusting. He'd read more than one article about how coffee was the last thing anyone should order on an airplane, but he needed to sober up. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm full of it, too. But I just thought I'd give you a friendly warning."

"I don't need your warnings, but thanks." Lydia flipped her long hair over her shoulder, settling back into her seat with a cringe.

"What reason do I have to lie?"

"I don't know." She frowned. "I know it's impossible for you to believe, but I'm pretty likable."

Yes, I know that, actually. Before he could think of a worthy retort, she shifted in her seat again, and a flash of pain crossed her features. She straightened fully in her seat, stretching.

"You okay?" He scanned her face.

"Fine. Sitting for this long is always uncomfortable."

I know that, too. He tried not to think about the cramp in his right thigh. Of course, she was nearly a foot shorter than him and in the aisle seat, so she was faring far better than he was. But he hated to point out anything else that would irritate her.

He cleared his throat. "Look, I know . . ." What do I want to say, really ? " It's none of my business but this fellow is just playing you. Trust me." But again, why should he care?

"You don't know, though, do you, Callum? You don't know me, and you sure as hell don't know Sergio. And you know what? Since we're not at work, I don't have to pretend to care about your opinion. I'd really appreciate it if you could keep your snide remarks—and chuckles—to yourself."

Wow, she speaks up for herself occasionally.

Maybe I should make mimosas a part of the workday.

"Right." He pushed his food tray away, then pulled out his headphones again. If she wanted to be ignored, then he would do that. Easy enough.

He turned on the screen for the selection of in-flight movies and found a thriller he'd never heard of to watch. He needed something loud if he was going to drown out Sergio's voice beside him.

Two hours later, as the movie was hitting the action sequence of the climax, the screen clicked off, and the captain's voice took over the sound on his headphones, announcing their impending arrival in Costa Rica and the need to move all seats to a full and upright position.

Callum pushed the window shade open himself this time and glanced out over the lush green vegetation below. Wavy tin and occasional terra cotta rooftops populated most of the buildings. Every time he'd arrived here, he'd thought about how different Costa Rica looked from the air. He rarely noticed the wealth disparity of structures from the other places he'd lived when he was on the ground.

But now, the familiar sight of those tin roofs brought a wave of nostalgia, of lying awake in bed at night in his grandparents' home, listening to the falling rain. A singular rhythm. He didn't notice rain in England when he was inside. To begin with, there was too much of it throughout the year to be bothered by it—but also the walls and the roofs absorbed the sound.

He hadn't thought he missed coming here.

He'd stayed away for six years, after all.

And now that he'd been dragged here . . . he wasn't sure how to feel.

Callum clenched his jaw, then pushed away all memories. He didn't want to feel. Didn't need it. The painful past could stay buried for another ten days. Then life would go back to normal anyway and he could go right back to forgetting.

He ignored Sergio and Lydia's continued flirtation as the plane touched down and quickly passed them both when they disembarked.

Off the plane, it took him a moment to orient himself. He'd never flown directly to Liberia before. He always flew to the capital city of San Jose, which was in the Central Valley and farther from the coast.

His leg felt stiff and painful, and, combined with his headache, it meant he should take some pain medication before hopping in a rental car for La Hacienda.

After stopping at the restroom, he made his way toward immigration, bypassing the long line for foreign nationals and getting into the citizens' line. He'd only brought his Costa Rican passport so he could skip the line here, but the immigration area seemed to have triple the number of officers for foreign nationals than for citizens.

A couple of feet in front of him in line, a regrettably familiar voice caught his attention. "Aló," Sergio spoke into his mobile phone.

Callum narrowed his eyes at the back of Sergio's head.

"Mae, suave. Acabo de llegar." Dude, hold up. I just got here.

Digging his passport out of his laptop case, he searched for the customs paperwork he'd been given on the plane, trying to ignore Sergio's conversation.

"?Cuándo? No, no me dijeron. ?No ves que tuve que comprar tiquete por Liberia? Ojalá llegue a tiempo!" When? No, no one told me. Believe it or not, I had to fly through Liberia—hopefully, I'll get there on time!

Despite his best efforts, Callum couldn't help translating in his head. The Spanish he'd grown up listening to—spoken the way a true Tico would—oddly comforted him.

"?Ma?ana?" Tomorrow? "?En Tibás centro o Cuatro Reinas? ?A qué hora? . . . mae, qué tarde. Bueno, vamos a ver si puedo llegarle." In central Tibás or Four Queens? What time? Dude, that's late. I'll see if I can make it.

Sergio moved out of earshot as he was called up to the immigration officer.

Callum followed a few minutes later.

The officer frowned at Callum's photograph, which was from when he had been nineteen—ten years ago now. He'd clearly changed a lot since then. No teenage acne. And he'd grown several inches in university—filled out a lot, too. Thank goodness his passport hadn't expired, though it was about to later in the year.

"Scott Reyes?" The officer raised an eyebrow at Callum's last name. Costa Ricans always used both the maternal and paternal last names together—though typically they flowed together better than Callum's did.

He gave one curt nod.

"Tenés mucho tiempo de no venir." You haven't been here in a while.

Callum nodded again. "Estaba estudiando." I was studying. At least, that was how it had started. Not that Costa Rica had ever been home either.

Home felt as foreign as it sounded in his mind.

Not Costa Rica, not Connecticut, not England. None of them were home.

The officer gave him a wary look, then stood with his passport and paperwork and went to a booth a few feet away.

As the officer consulted with a colleague, Callum felt a cold slick of sweat break out on the back of his neck. He had no reason to be nervous, but the irony that they might question whether he belonged here—or was who he said—wasn't lost on him.

A few minutes passed before the officer returned, a leisurely swagger to his step. He clearly wasn't in any sort of rush. By now, the airline might have already unloaded his luggage into the baggage claim area, right before customs. Callum's chest tightened at the thought of it sitting there unattended. Maybe he could text Lydia and ask her to keep an eye out for it?

"Entonces . . . bienvenido," the officer said, stamping his passport. Welcome back. He slid the passport back to Callum, then waved him off.

Yeah, what a welcome. Costa Ricans, known as Ticos, were known for their friendliness. This bloke had been anything but.

Callum stashed his passport in his bag, then hurried toward baggage claim.

He expected to find his bag still on the conveyor belt, probably the lone bag still left unclaimed.

What he didn't expect? Lydia, standing by the baggage claim, crying.

A sick feeling crested in his stomach at the sight of her tearstained cheeks, and he pushed aside any of their history, striding up to her instead of looking for his bag.

"What happened? You okay?"

"No," Lydia answered, shaking her head. "It's gone. He?—"

Dark thoughts entered his mind as the image of who she was talking about swam in his memory. "What's gone?"

"Elle's wedding dress. Sergio stole it."