Zan: It wasn’t pretend. At least, not at first.
Lizzy: Right. You were in denial. But now you’re not, and that’s good. So, I assume you two are having fun?
Zan: Um…yes. We are.
Lizzy: Lovely. Then I hope you have a great rest of your vacation.
Zan: That’s it? You’re not mad that I lied? Or worried that Nick and I having a fling will make things awkward for the family down the road?
Lizzy: No, of course not. You’re not going to have a fling. You’re going to fall deeply in love because you’re perfect for each other, even if the two of you haven’t realized it yet. But if you don’t end up together the way I’m certain you should, you’re both adults. You can handle any awkwardness that might arise with maturity and grace.
Zan: I’m not going to fall in love with him. I don’t do that anymore.
Lizzy: Right. And I’m not about to vomit in this potted plant.
Zan: Ew. Can’t you make it to the bathroom?
*Two Minutes Later*
Lizzy: Ugh. No, too late. And no, I can’t. That’s why I had potted plants put at regular intervals in the hallways. This way, I can take them outside and do the clean-up myself before any of the maids come running with a bucket of water and the carpet cleaner, and I have to feel awful about someone else dealing with me being sick. Speaking of, I’m off to sneak my plant out the back door. Have a lovely trip, and be sure to make time to get in the ocean. Bang in it if you have to, but I need to know exactly what the water feels like. I love collecting good memories, even if they’re not mine.
Zan: I love you. Take care of yourself. Go see a doctor if you need to.
Lizzy: I will. But I’m fine, I promise. Love you, too, and sending all the happily-ever-after vibes your way.
Chapter Seventeen
Alexandra
I’m not going to fall in love with Nick.
That’s not even in the realm of possibility.
Lizzy’s absolutely going to be disappointed.
I recite these truths to myself over and over as Nick and I enjoy a delicious breakfast with Beatrice, followed by a half hour of shopping, during which Nick makes me giggle so many times I should be ashamed of myself.
But I’m not.
I’m having too much fun.
And I’m undercover as international playboy arm candy. I’m supposed to be flirting and giggling with my fake boyfriend and sneaking kisses around the dressing room curtain, then more than kisses when he comes in to check out the slinky black one-piece I’ve tried on and finds me too fetching in Lycra to resist putting his hands all over me.
Beatrice went back to her room for a nap, but people are still milling in and out of the shop. We have a valid excuse to put on a show.
At least, valid enough…
Finally, we agree on a suit that’s sexy but still covers the majority of my allegedly irresistible parts, and we go our separate ways—Nick to track down Stefano and see if he’s in the mood to talk about selling a sex slave, and me to my spa appointment.
I feel a little scandalous getting a facial, but I do need to check out the ladies’ lounge. I doubt I’ll find a back door there, but it’s worth a look, and I agree that Nick should approach Stefano alone. He knows the man better, and human trafficking is a male-dominated field, like the majority of organized crime.
“Be careful,” I murmur as we kiss goodbye outside the shop.
“Always,” he says, sneaking a squeeze of my ass before he pulls away. “You, too.”
I nod, but I’m not worried about myself. I’m not the one bound for a sketchy conversation, and I’m always careful.
Even crossing the resort’s peaceful lobby, I’m on alert.
I’m always on alert.
Always.
When I overhear two maids speaking in hushed, hurried Indonesian by the trash receptacles near the spa, I immediately tune in. My Indonesian is limited, but I did work a case there early in my career, a month-long support op where I picked up handy things like how to order food, ask for directions to the bathroom, and say please and thank you.
I also learned a few “bad guy” words. So when I catch “senjata” whispered several times, I know the women are talking about guns.
Big, scary guns, judging by the shorter maid’s wide eyes and the way she holds her hands several feet apart to illustrate.
The taller woman makes a doubtful sound, but the other woman nods emphatically and stretches her arms wide again. Then she points a jabby finger toward the mountains before glancing nervously over her friend’s shoulder.
I look away in time to avoid eye contact, pretending great interest in the flower arrangement on the table beside me. But my presence alone is enough to shut them up.