Chapter 8

The sun begins to feel too hot on my skin, so I get up to grab some sunscreen out of my bag inside the villa. I wonder what's taking him so long. Or maybe it hasn't been that long since I've been out here enjoying the sound of the waves.

I'd call out his name to see where he is, but I don't know it. That's one of the downsides of this anonymity I demanded. Yelling John seems strange too, though.

As I pass by the pool area, I say, "Hey, what happened to you? Did you crash from the snorkeling?"

If he did, I'd certainly understand. That was the hardest my legs have worked in a long time. Snorkeling is definitely tougher than it looks.

He doesn't answer, so I walk into the villa and look around for him. I don't see him anywhere. It's like he disappeared.

For a moment, I stand in the middle of the living room thinking about that show I saw one night on alien abductions. People just left the planet when beings from outer space beamed them up to their spaceships.

At least that's what they all claimed.

I highly doubt that's what's happened here, so I walk into the bedroom expecting to find him fast asleep. But he's not there either.

"Okay, whatever this is, I'm getting a little freaked out," I say loud enough for him to hear wherever he is in the villa.

Still, he doesn't answer.

God, I hope nothing happened to him. Almost as soon as I think that, I remind myself that it's actually quite rare that people suddenly fall ill. It happens more than alien abduction, but not that frequently that anyone should instantly worry something terrible has happened to someone who isn't where they should be.

I open every door in the villa and find no one, so I go back to the bedroom where we slept last night. Opening the dresser drawers, I see they're empty.

"Maybe he's not the type of person who puts his clothes in dressers and closets. Many people don't, even if they're spending a week at a resort."

I do, but that's because I hate wearing wrinkled clothes but hate ironing even more.

As I walk back to the living room, all I can think is this makes no sense. This is his villa. Where could he have gone to? I get that we aren't technically a couple, but it would have been nice if he gave me a shout to let me know he was heading down to speak to the people at the concierge desk.

Or maybe he ran to the restaurant to get us food. That would be nice. I don't remember him saying he was hungry, but after snorkeling, I know I am.

I stand in the middle of the all-white living room and see the bucket with the bottle of champagne he said he was running up here to get for us. Now I'm completely confused. Did he get hurt and had to get help?

Again, that's highly unlikely.

Maybe I should call the concierge desk.

As I dial the number, I wonder if it's going to make a difference that this isn't my villa. I doubt it will.

"Hello, how may I help you?" a man's voice asks.

"Hi, I'm in Villa Seven. Can you tell me if…"

My sentence drifts off to nothingness when I remember I don't have any idea what his name is. I can't exactly refer to him as the man who's been sexually pleasing me like no man has ever done in my entire life for the past twenty-four hours.

Thankfully, the man says, "Ms. Roberts, you're welcome to stay in the villa until checkout on Monday. Mr. King instructed the resort to give you whatever you desire and there will be no expense for you. Please enjoy the villa, along with meals from room service or at one of our world-class restaurants courtesy of Mr. King."

My mouth falls open as shock courses through me. Mr. King, as I now have to call him, left and didn't bother to tell me? Does he actually believe paying for all my meals and letting me stay in his villa for the next two days is fine after ghosting me?

"Oh, oh—okay. Tha—thank you," I stammer out before hanging up the phone.

He left and didn't even say goodbye. We spent last night and this morning all over one another, and now he's gone without a trace like he's been abducted by aliens.

That I could understand. This simply disappearing I can't.

And I can't forgive it, although who the hell would I forgive? All I have is the name Mr. King. Oh, yeah. He's a prince of a guy.

Deflated and disgusted, I sit down on the sofa and wonder why men do things like this. There has to be a better explanation other than they suck.

Tears well in my eyes, but I refuse to let myself cry. I have only myself to blame this time. My gut told me he was rude and obnoxious, and I let my guard down because he was charming and gorgeous.

Stupid Salem. Will I never learn?

After sitting with my self-loathing thoughts for a few minutes, I walk over to my bags and fish out my phone. At times like this, a woman needs her best friend to lean on. My best friend is my older sister Ever, and she'll know what to say to pull me out of this funk.

At least I hope she does. Nothing like being abandoned in paradise. That's a new one for me.

Before I can get a word out, my sister says, "Salem, I need you on the first flight to JFK. I don't have all the details right now, but I got a call about an hour ago, and this new client wants the best in the business, so that means you."

I can't deny getting lost in work right now would be good for me. It's not like I have anything going on in my personal life to make me not want to throw myself into helping a new client.

"Okay. I guess since I have nothing to stay here for I can come back today."

"Good! But wait, this morning you said you were staying until Monday. What happened?"

I hang my head as I struggle to get the words out. "He ghosted me."

"What does that mean? You said you were staying in his villa. How does a man ghost a woman when they're staying in the same room?"

Good question.

"I don't know, Ever. He just left without even telling me anything. I was out on the beach and came up to put some sunscreen on and found out he was gone. God, what is wrong with me? Why would someone just disappear like that?"

"Oh, honey. Nothing's wrong with you. You're a beautiful, smart, successful woman. You just have the worst luck with men I've ever seen. Don't let this get you down. Come back to work and fix someone's life. You're the best at what we do. Whatever this guy's problem was, fuck him."

"Yeah, fuck him," I quietly say, wishing I meant it the way she does.

"It'll be okay. I promise, Salem. Come back home and we'll eat a ton of ice cream, drink ourselves stupid, and then fix someone's life. I'll make sure to have your favorite flavor, mint chocolate chip, and I'll get champagne so we can toast to this asshole's demise likely at the hands of a woman he's scorned."

The very thought of that drink now makes me want to cry. "No, not champagne. Vodka."

"You must be miserable. I haven't seen you drink vodka since your twenty-first birthday."

"I just don't want champagne. I can toast his demise with vodka just as well. I guess I better go. I have to see if I can get a flight back today. Will you be able to pick me up at the airport? I really don't want to have to deal with getting a cab or an Uber."

"Sure, honey. I'll be there the moment you land. Just text me the details of your flight. And hey, Salem, don't let this get you down. He wasn't the one. It's that simple. You'll know when you meet the man who'll appreciate you like you deserve."

"Thanks, Ever. I'll let you know when I'll be landing. See you later."

I throw my phone onto the sofa next to me and let out a heavy sigh. I didn't think he was Mr. Right. I was okay with him being Mr. Right Now. I just can't believe after having such a good time together that he could ghost me like this.

Whoever Mr. King is, I hope I get the chance to make him as miserable as I feel right now.