“Both.”
Her eyes light up.
I walk over to the bag she has been packing for the beach and pick it up, throwing it over my shoulder before I take her hand.
She gives me a disappointed look. But I don’t let it stop me. I lead her out until I find a private spot on the beach with two lounge chairs and an umbrella. I dig her towel out of the bag and put it on one of the chairs.
“I’ll go get you a drink. What do you want?”
She frowns. “You don’t need to get me a drink. A bartender will be around in a few minutes.”
“No need to wait. I’ll get you something now. Do you just want whatever the drink of the day is or a piña colada or what?”
“Drink of the day is fine,” she says.
I expect her to smile or give me some indication that she is happy that I’m doing something nice for her. Instead, I get a blank expression. I walk away up the beach and toward the bar that sits on the edge of the property.
I pull out my phone as I walk and type in everything that I know about her, which isn’t much. Her first name and that she’s a veterinarian. And then I hope that something comes up.
I take a seat on one of the small circular barstools attached to the bar.
“Can I get two drinks of the day?” I ask while I wait for my Wi-Fi connection to kick in and pull up the results.
The bartender nods and begins making our drinks.
Slowly, the search results start coming up. I click on the first article and watch as her big eyes and sly lips come up on the screen. The only difference between her now and in this picture is that her hair was red then and, now, it’s blue. I didn’t expect to find out much about her so quickly without even a last name to go off of. I glance to the two other people in the image next to her and read the caption. But I guess, when you are friends with a princess and prince, Google assumes you are searching for that famous Skye and not someone else.
I continue reading through the article but don’t find out much more about her. I search through other articles, but all I can find out about Skye is her connection to her princess best friend. I don’t find anything about a rich father or that she sold a company that made her millions. She has a rich friend. That must be why she is treated like royalty when she comes here even though she isn’t a princess herself; she knows a princess.
I close my phone as the bartender hands me our drinks.
“Thanks,” I say, taking the drinks and walking back to Skye.
My ego feels less crushed, knowing that she doesn’t make outrageous amounts of money; she just has a rich friend who takes care of her.
“Here you go,” I say, holding her drink out to her.
“Thanks,” she says, forcing a fake smile onto her lips.
She sits on her lounge chair, half in and half out of the sun.
“Do you want me to move the umbrella, so you are out of the sun? Or do you want to work on your tan?” I ask.
“I’m fine as is.”
I take a seat in the lounge chair next to her, and we both stare out at the ocean while drinking our drinks. I’ll give her a few minutes just to enjoy the beach before I make my move. It’s a quarter till eleven. I’ll start my plan on the hour. It will make it easier for me to execute.
She eyes me out of the corner of her eye as she drinks, but she doesn’t say anything. She just drinks, like I’m not even here, obviously lost in thought.
I take her hand and gently kiss it.
“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice exploding with her anger toward me, which she has obviously been hiding all morning.
“Kissing your hand,” I say, confused as to why she is so upset.
She pulls her hand away and sits up, straddling the lounge chair. “No, what are you doing, being so nice to me? The opening doors for me and carrying my bag and fetching me drinks and, now, kissing my hand. It has to stop!”
I wrinkle my forehead because I think she has absolutely lost it. “I can’t do nice things for you? Why?”