Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
He doesn’t. His eyes are stormy, his brow deeply furrowed.
“Wave.”
Still nothing.
I sigh. “Fine, we’ll skip it. I’m going to kiss you one more time, and then that’s it.”
Without confirmation from him, I step forward, press up onto my toes, and plant a gentle, fleeting kiss on his lips, and when it’s done, I turn for the door, wrench it open, and never look back.
Chapter Twenty-Six
CASEY
The shrill sound of the phone ringing on the nightstand pulls me out of my reverie. When I answer it, a sweet feminine voice tells me deck eight is now disembarking.
I thank her and then set the receiver back on its cradle before slowly turning to survey my suite. It’s as neat and tidy as I found it, as if I didn’t want the cleaning crew to judge me for an errant piece of trash or a throw pillow that has been left slightly askew. My luggage is already gone. An attendant came to retrieve it about an hour ago, and this time, I let the gentleman take it instead of arguing with him, because some things do change. Okay, I’m still slightly nervous that my laptop’s about to get jacked, but oh well, it’s too late to worry about it now.
The cruise is officially over.
We’re back in Fort Lauderdale.
The worst of the goodbyes are over.
Sienna left a little while ago after giving me ten different ways to get in touch with her.
“And if I don’t answer my mobile, which happens because I’m terrible at charging it, just keep trying, okay? You’ll get through eventually. Also my email’s there. You can always use that. I wrote to my manager last night, and he’s supposed to phone you soon to see about bringing you on, only don’t accept his terms right away. You really ought to make him sweat, but we can discuss that later. Oh god, look at me; I’m actually about to cry. This is utterly ridiculous! I’ve only just met you.”
I hugged her, but she resisted, of course. “God, why do you Americans insist on all this touchy-feely nonsense?”
“Hug me back,” I teased with an insistent tone.
Her hand barely touched my shoulder. “There, I’ve done it. Now release me before you accidentally wrinkle my Chloé blouse.”
I stepped back and looked her over. “I think you and I were meant to be friends, Sienna Thompson. That’s why you found me out on my balcony that first day.”
She looked bored at her nails. “Oh, you mean when you were about to heave over the side of the ship?”
“Admit you love me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh lord.”
“Admit it.”
“I’m fond of you. There. Okay? There’s no one I’d rather have sailed around the Caribbean with, and though Javier proved to be a passing fancy, you, my dear, turned out to be the real deal.”
I smile, thinking about the next time I’ll see her. We’ve promised to meet up in a month or two in another exotic location. Sienna said it should work really nicely because if I sign on with her agency, it’ll be easy for them to book us for the same brand trips. If I want to go down that route.
I still haven’t come to grips with the fact that I’m doing this huge, monumental thing. It’s a little scary and a lot exhilarating. I could fall on my face, oh, absolutely. I likely will at least once. There’s no way it’ll work out seamlessly for me, but I have the world spread out before me, and I can practically feel my grandmother at my back, pushing me forward.
Do it, Sunshine.
My first destination is the Fort Lauderdale international airport.
My second destination?
Well . . . it’s up in the air. Literally.
“What’s the next international flight out?”
Slowly, the woman behind the airline counter looks up from her computer, with one eyebrow raised like she hasn’t heard me right.
“Any international flight?”
“Yes,” I say, smiling. “Any flight. I’d like to book the next one out.”
Yeah, she definitely thinks I have a few screws loose. Her mouth flattens with disapproval as her long neon-green nails tip-tap on her keyboard. Then she pauses and looks up at me.
“Serbia. Leaves in fifteen minutes.”
“Oh . . .”
Now listen, would I hypothetically like to visit some lesser-traveled countries? Eventually, yes. Do I want to do it for my very first trip abroad? Eh . . .
It’s probably best to enter at the shallow end.
“What’s the next one after that?”
Her nails clatter some more, and when she speaks again, it’s clear she’s utterly bored by this process. “London, Heathrow, direct. Leaves in thirty minutes.”
“I’ll take it.”
Her brown eyes widen. “You got your passport?” She’s skeptical as I hand it over.
“Thirty minutes won’t give you much time,” she warns.
Well then, you better tip-tap-type those talons a little faster, I want to say. Instead, I smile. “I’ll run.”
Her brow furrows, and I don’t miss the subtle shake of her head as she starts to book my ticket. The price is . . . painful, to say the least. I squeeze my eyes closed against the barrage of negative thoughts.