“Meaning?” Melissa’s had enough confusion for one night. She feels as though she’s about to burst with knowledge.
“I’m going to Oxford!” Dove squeals, trying to keep her voice low. “But don’t tell anyone.”
“I already heard,” says Harley, wrinkling her nose as a sorry. “I thought you were talking about me.”
“Why’d you think that?” Dove asks. “But isn’t it great? Next term—I’m there. Provided, of course, that I haven’t burned all my bridges with my parents.”
“Ready to go?” Max hails them from the entryway. “I’m on a deadline.” He taps his watch.
Dove’s smile lessens just a tad. He looks amazing, Dove thinks. Like he did back at my birthday party last year, when I thought for sure we’d end up together. “I’m ready as I’ll ever be.” She motions for Harley and Melissa to keep the news of Oxford under wraps and they agree with a subtle nod.
“So, did you find the textbook I left for you?” Dove asks, resisting the urge to link her arm through Max’s as they crunch over the crushed seashells in the driveway on their way to the car.
“I did. Thanks for lending it to me. It helped.”
Dove nods. “That’s what friends are for,” she says, biting her lip as she says the word friends. Sure, I still have to tell William about Oxford and our impending breakup, but I’m not about to say anything other than friend to Max. He deserves to be happy. I just hope he knows what he’s doing with the flowers.
“You guys can all meet Bug tonight—finally!” Harley says when they’re strapped into the car.
“Finally is right,” Dove says. “I feel like you’ve been hiding him away.”
Harley nods. “That’s what I told him. It’s time to get everything out in the open, you know?”
Melissa feels a ripple of dread come over her. Open is one thing, open to the point of disaster is another.
25
WITH NEARLY EIGHT ACRES of lagoons, streams, and waterfalls, the Botanical Gardens are lush and fragrant with budding shrubs and billowing tubs of flowers.
Near the rose garden, a bronze statue of a mermaid is surrounded by orchids and set back from the water is a plantation-style great house with a tearoom inside that has views of the ocean. All along the entrance are cameras with flashbulbs blazing into the evening, reporters with news crews covering the event for entertainment shows, and various recognizable faces from the weekly tabloids.
Emmy was right—this is the party of the season, Melissa thinks. If only I had nothing else on my mind. A bright flash causes Melissa to cover her eyes.
“They caught us!” Bob says good-naturedly, hardly flinching at the bright light. He sees that Melissa doesn’t like the cameras and points her in the direction of the grounds.
“Wow. All I can say is wow.” Melissa takes in the sheer beauty of the land and view before her.
“Pretty special, isn’t it?” Bob leads her toward the mermaid statue. “This is where you’re meant to make a wish.”
Melissa watches him, sadness creeping into her stomach even though she’s so happy to be with him. “I’m not sure about wishes.”
Bob looks disgruntled. “That doesn’t sound like the Melissa I know.”
“And who is that?” Melissa pulls her gauzy wrap tight around her shoulders, wishing it could protect her from not only wind but hurt, too.
“Someone who cares, who’s passionate and funny and able to make the proverbial lemonade out of lemons.”
Melissa frowns. “Like that trait’s going to get me a shot at the TV show, right? Coming up next, folks, how to make iced lemonade.”
“See? You’re the best.” Bob kisses her lips. Melissa wishes it didn’t have to end. “So, what would your wish be if you—ahem—believed in wishes?”
Melissa looks up at the darkening sky, searching for stars and other wish-inspiring things. Then she comes back to earth. “You tell me.”
Near the great house, Harley and Bug are entwined, their lip-lock seemingly inseparable.
“Wait.” Harley pulls back. “Enough. I want to be in the party with you. Not just near it.”
Bug laughs. “Feeling a little hidden, are we?” Harley nods. “Okay. Fine. Just … wait here for a second.”
“In the swamp?” Harley looks to her right—a big pond—and then to her left, where there’s a large clump of prickly flowers.
“It’s not a swamp. And I’ll be right back.”
Harley stands with hands on her hips, waiting for him to return. What’s his deal? And what am I doing in the middle of a jungly flower bed? She swats at a buzzing insect near her ear. It’s enough to make me wish for the frigid temps of the Alps. She’s about to leave and follow him, worried that her earlier suspicions will prove true, when she sees something glint on the patio by the great house. Is it a shard of glass? A mirror? Harley goes to investigate.
By the veranda, in the flicker of light from the grand torches, she bends down. A bit of decoration from someone’s dress? A rhinestone? “A diamond!” Harley says aloud and stands up holding it. It could be fake, of course, but in her hand it looks real. And large.
“Oh thank heavens,” says a voice. “You’ve found it.” A small woman with white-blond hair tucked into an elegant chignon approaches Harley. “That is it, isn’t it? I’ve been looking everywhere.”
Harley turns. “Did you lose something?”
“Her wedding stone,” a tall man with a deep British accent wearing a dinner jacket says. “The prongs are always coming loose.”
Harley holds the stone out toward the woman. Then, seeing her delicate hand, and going back to the woman’s face, she feels a wave of familiarity. “Mrs. de Rothschild? Um, Lady de—”
“Yes,” the woman says, gratefully accepting the rock. Her cool exterior matches her facial expression—not cold, just reserved. “Have we had the pleasure of meeting?”
Harley shakes her head. No wonder Dove always seems so graceful, so demure. These are people from a storybook. “No, we haven’t … but I … I know your …”
“This is the horrid girl I told you about,” interrupts a voice that belongs to Mrs. Taylor. With aqua-colored heels and a matching dress, Mrs. Taylor’s outfit is loud enough to match her voice. “Great salesperson, terrible work ethic. Surprised she even handed the diamond back to you,” Mrs. Taylor snorts, her bright-pink-lipsticked mouth twisted into a frown. “She’s the one who charged a fortune of items—all in your name.”
The de Rothschilds do not react to this. Rather, they stand statue still and regard Harley with a look that is neither menacing nor pleasant, just expectant. Harley stands there with her mouth open, wishing she could somehow evaporate rather than deal with the oncoming storm.
“Dove!” William spins her around in the darkened air. He surprised her, coming to the entrance a bit later than they’d set up, and immediately pulling her away from the spotlights and cameras and into a more secluded area. “There’s my girl.”
“Hey,” Dove says, dancing with him despite the lack of music. He’s adorable, Dove thinks, taking in his summery sheen, his affable grin. But what has he proven to me aside from the fact that thinking about someone can be more rewarding than actually being with them? Not that much. With a sinking feeling, Dove realizes that when she tells him her big new plans, she might in fact be letting him down the way he has her. “Some party, huh?”
“You should see the scene by the great house. All lanterns and food and incredible champagne.” He focuses on Dove, who looks over her shoulder at Max as he walks away from her in the direction of the great house and its expansive gardens.
“Listen, William, I need to tell you something …”
William nods. “Me, too.”
Melissa accepts a forkful of Bob’s food. “You’ll love it,” he says. “Not the sesame part, that’s standard fare for tuna, but the tapenade. It’s got figs in it.” Melissa tastes the food and nods.
“So good,” she says. “How can you tell they’re figs?”
Bob shrugs, taking another bite from the ancestral china plate. “How do you know how to drive on the left here? You just know.”
“Instinct,” Melissa says, her arms covered with chills from extracting the same feeling and applying it to Bob. Being with him just feels right. She squeezes his hand and he returns the gesture.
Melissa watches Emmy Taylor in the limelight, glad that her own comfort isn’t based on people noticing her. “Fame isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, I don’t think.”
“Oh, no?” Bob licks his lips and glances at the herd of paparazzi. Noise erupts from their gathering spot by the trellised entrance.
Melissa tilts her head to see what the fuss is about, but can’t. “It just seems so unreal. Not fake, but just based in this other reality that doesn’t exist on the same plane as I do. We do.”
Bob puts his plate on the buffet table, his expression downcast. “Melissa—you should probably be aware that—”
Bob’s train of thought is interrupted by a burst of bright orange. Mimicking her brother’s former bathing suit, his sister Bethany’s evening dress is the same hue, only made from fine silk that shimmers in the lights, making her even more radiant than she had been at the rotunda.
“Hey, Melissa!” Bethany says, swooping in with a friendly hug as though she and Melissa go way back. “You look great.”
Melissa looks at her own outfit, then back at Bethany. “You, too. Nice to see you.” And glad she remembers my name, if only because it means I don’t blend in with all the other islanders who’ve been interested in Bob.
“Took you long enough to get here,” Bob says, ribbing his sister.
She shoots him a look. “Well, let’s just say I had a variety of—ahem—fires to put out.”
Bob looks apologetic. “Success?”
“Mild.” Bethany stands on tiptoe, looking at the now very noisy paparazzi. “Speaking of which, Dad’s waiting for you. And may I suggest that this time you don’t offer up any excuses.”
Melissa looks at them both. “Dad? Your dad’s here?” I had no idea they were on a family holiday. Melissa’s shoulders sag. Maybe he is ashamed of me, or maybe he just can’t face introducing me.
Bethany turns to Bob. “You did tell her—”
Bob flicks Bethany’s arm and cuts her off in midsentence. “No. And if I can offer up one final excuse—I’m in the middle of talking about figs with Melissa.”
“It’s fine,” Melissa interjects. “You can tell me about figs another—”
“No,” Bethany announces. “He can tell you about figs right now. And stop leaving everything for me to deal with.” She drags Melissa by one arm and Bob with the other toward the now rowdy red carpet.
“I can explain,” Harley says, pleading with Lord and Lady de Rothschild. It wasn’t my idea. It wasn’t even anything I thought about doing until Melissa came in and—Harley looks at the elegant people in front of her, knowing she has a decision to make. She can either blame it on Dove—after all, Melissa isn’t known to them, they won’t care if her name is sullied—or she can, for once, admit to her own shortcomings and face facts.
“Please try to enlighten me,” Lady de Rothschild says.
“And I’ll be standing here waiting for the truth to finally emerge,” Mrs. Taylor says.
“Actually,” Lord de Rothschild says after an almost unnoticeable glance from his wife, “I think we’ve more than got the situation under control. You should attend to your guests.”
“But I …” Mrs. Taylor stumbles over her words, hating to miss the next round of potential gossip.
“Please do,” Lady de Rothschild says. “We’ll be over to the dance floor shortly.”
Mrs. Taylor exits, leaving Harley alone with the upper echelon and her own decision. “I come from nothing,” she says, saying it aloud for the first time. “Trailer park—you know, like something you’d see in an American film?” She looks for signs this is making sense. “Or maybe not. But anyway, not like you. And not like anyone here that I’ve met.” She sighs, looking at the partygoers. “Not that I’m envious. I’m not. And I’m not intentionally a bad worker. I’m just … learning the ropes here.”
“And what have you learned?”
Harley twists her hair, fidgeting. “That I’m more of a visionary than a detail person.” She thinks about the rotunda, how she threw the party together so quickly and so well. Permit aside. “And that even though I do have these lapses in judgment …” She looks at the couple and blushes, stammering. “I—I was—I did take some things. Or borrow them on credit. I know it was wrong, but I thought I’d just pay it back.”
“Well, you will,” Lord de Rothschild says. “I’ve settled the account.”
“You have?” Harley grins, thankful.
“Now your debt is to us,” Lady de Rothschild says.
Harley’s body feels weighted, her chest dragging. “But I don’t have a job. I don’t have a—”
“Surely there must be some work experience you’ve had where you didn’t burn every bridge?” Lady de Rothschild asks.
Harley considers. “I’m a terrible waitress. And I know nothing about kids, so babysitting is out.”
“Where were you before coming to Nevis?”
Harley’s mind flashes with images—the chairlift at Les Trois, the Main House there, the warmth of her ski jacket, the tiring but social work. “At a ski resort.”
Lord de Rothschild smiles and nudges his wife, sharing a moment that only they understand.
“So … the thing is …” William stammers, looking at Dove’s solemn face. “You go first.”
Dove chews her lower lip. “Um, I think you should.”
William pauses, temporarily jostled by partygoers trying to spot the famous faces on the red carpet. “Well, it’s not the easiest thing in the world to tell you.”
As he’s about to speak, with Dove looking wide-eyed at him, Melissa happens by, still being pulled along by Bethany. She overhears the last bit of their conversation, her expression annoyed. “Thank God! Make sure he tells you everything, Dove!” Melissa shouts, on her way to the paparazzi. “And I mean everything!”
Relief floods over Melissa’s face. “At least I won’t be the bearer of bad news,” she says.
“But I might be,” Bob says as his frame becomes illuminated by the heated halo lights set up to maximize the star power.
Caught up in the crowd and cameras, Melissa reaches for Bob’s hand. Bethany waves to someone, trying to surge forth into the crowd. “Come on, I see him over there.” She pushes Bob and Melissa toward the biggest group of photographers. “Time to face the music.”
“What’s all this about?” Dove asks, sure that Melissa wasn’t just joking around.
William looks over his shoulder. “It’s just that I’ve been offered this job …”
Dove sighs. A job. Okay, me too. Sort of the same. “Which is …?”
“A boat delivery. Up the coast of New England. I’ll be there all summer.”
Dove overlaps his words. “I can’t go with you, William. I’m sorry. I just—I’m going to Oxford. It’s been a long time coming and it’s a decision I—”
A wash of reprieve comes over his face. “So you’re not pissed?”
Dove shakes her head slowly. “Not angry. Just … it’s weird, you know? How much effort we put into this and now …” She’s glad to have one of those fading breakups. Not the explosive kind. “So we’re okay?” William glances over his shoulder again. “What are you, on the lam or something?” she asks.
He shrugs her off, but then sees Harley, walking purposefully toward him. Nerves make his hands shake. “So, yeah, we’re good and that’s all. Okay. Bye!” He starts to walk off.
“Bye? That’s it? Months of being serious and then long distance and then one word? Bye?” Dove is shocked. Even though she’s ready for the split, and her heart’s elsewhere, it still stings.
“Um, I just …” He looks at her and then over his shoulder again. Harley is only a lit
tle ways away, her hair catching the red glow from a lantern.
“Hey, Harley!” Dove shouts.
William looks crestfallen. “You know her?”
With her feet firmly planted on the red carpet, Melissa stares at the celebrity reporters, the fashionable masses all posing for the cameras. “What’s going on?” she asks Bob.
“Remember the rumor mill? How I told you Olivia and all those guys at the restaurant liked you after all?”
Melissa recalls the conversation. “Yeah. How’d you know all that?”
Bob gives her a sorry look and kisses her mouth quickly, all of which is caught on film. “Dad!” he yells.
Melissa follows the shout and is more than surprised to see a very familiar face. Dressed in a clean chef’s jacket and black trousers, Matty Chase looks every bit the elegant chef. “Robbie!”
Bob pulls Melissa to where his father is standing, a microphone catching every sound bite. The reporter leans forward. “So, this is the infamous Robbie Chase!” Bob grins sheepishly, still holding on to Melissa’s hand. Agog, she can neither move nor speak.
“That’s true—I am my father’s son,” Bob says, his eyes flicking over Melissa’s to make sure she’s okay.
“I thought you said names aren’t important,” Melissa whispers. Then in her mind she goes over all the names that have been mixed up in the past months. My old crush thought my name was Mesilla and not Melissa. Harley never knew Bug’s name was William. Dove’s real name is Lily. And now simple Bob turns out to be Robbie Chase. I guess you never know what’s in a name until you look.
Matty slings an arm over his son’s shoulders. “My boy here’s the next big thing to hit the airwaves.” Melissa’s heart begins to pound.
“Is this a fact?” The reporter leans the microphone closer to Bob’s face.
Bob nods. “Yep—all true. Despite my reluctance, my dad made me an offer I can’t refuse.”
“And just what is that, exactly?” Melissa pipes up in Bob’s ear.
Bob turns to her, holding her close around the waist as the reporter films the whole scene. “Looks like I’ll be heading to New York City to start filming Chase Me, a new show that follows me around the globe testing food, recipes—and adding in a bit of lifestyle hints.”
Off the Trails Page 15