by Bryce Oakley
And yet, she found herself reaching for raw sienna, a warm tan the color of Isla's skin. She lightly traced out the outline of Isla's hip rising as she lay on her side in the bed, the sheet draped over her. It was an image she had wanted to photograph the night before, she was so taken by it.
She added ginger and honey to even out the skin tone, adding highlights and depth to the round muscle of her thigh, the curve of her waist.
She sat, blending with her finger, so focused on the image before her that she didn't notice the soft footsteps of anyone joining her until a shadow loomed over her sketchbook.
"Drawing me like one of your French girls?" Isla said in a light, teasing tone.
"Of course not," Freya said, instinctively covering the page with her arm. Her heart raced in her chest, as though she had just been caught doing something inappropriate. Surely sketching her friend naked was completely appropriate. Completely.
Isla sat down next to her in the sand.
"Can I just–"
"I feel like–"
"Oh, you go ahead," Isla said.
"No, it's okay, you can continue," Freya said quickly, flipping her sketchbook shut.
Isla reached for one of the pencils, sea blue. She held it up, closing one eye as though she was studying Freya's face.
She set it back down, reaching instead for Aegean blue. "Your eyes are this color," she said softly, then set the pencil back in the tin, running her fingers along the lines to twirl the pencils in their slots.
Freya's heart was still pounding, but it felt different. Not getting caught, but instead, the moment before catching something else.
Isla lifted her eyes, looking through her lashes. "I'm sor–"
“You know what sounds like more fun than talking about this?”
“Uh, literally anything else?” Isla joked.
Freya reached for her before she could even reason through what she was doing. She slid her palm along Isla's cheek, clenching her fingers in Isla's hair as they drew together, some invisible magnetic force between them.
Isla's kiss was soft and tentative, but Freya matched hers with intensity, a question and an answer muddled together.
Isla shifted, pulling Freya towards her, fingers on hips and thighs until Freya was in her lap, straddling her. Isla's hands raked down her back, holding her fast.
"I don't know what this is, but I like it anyway," Isla whispered against her lips.
"Who says we have to know what this is?" Freya countered, sliding her tongue between Isla's lips.
Their hands groped at one another as their hips pressed together in desperation.
"Beach sex is not all it's cracked up to be. Sand and all that," Isla said with a smile as they parted for breath. Their foreheads pressed together as though they couldn't bear being further apart.
Freya understood her meaning and stood, reaching down for the stunning woman before her. Isla, to her credit, had the good sense to remember to grab the sketchbook and pencils.
They made it as far as the lounge chairs beside the pool, which turned out to be perfect height for one of them to sit and the other to kneel.
After, Isla slid into the cool saltwater pool, naked except for her sleepy smile, Freya pulled out her sketchbook again.
"Do you mind if I draw you again?" Freya asked, already visualizing the dark blues of the tile surrounding the pool, the jade greens and umber of the trees behind her.
"As long as you make my breasts look really good," Isla joked, resting her elbows on the far infinity edge of the pool, her toned back to Freya.
Freya grinned and shook her head.
Chapter Seven
Isla
The next two days went by in a blur. She’d spent nearly every waking moment with Freya, laughing, making love, exploring the reef, tucked into a hammock they found on the beach as they read aloud to one another.
It almost felt real, even though Isla knew it was only a temporary situation. She knew that once they left the island, they’d go back to normal. And what would that look like, as she secretly pined for one of her closest friends?
Her chest ached at the thought.
On their penultimate night, Pia, Zoey, Meg, Collins, Domino, Sabrina, Freya, Isla, and even the happy newlyweds were gathered around a large table in the resort’s single restaurant, drinking juice and water, laughing and sharing stories. Isla was sometimes amazed at how easily the band had accepted her as a friend, never once making her feel like Sabrina's friend or a tagalong.
When choosing seats, Freya had somehow ended up at the far other end of the table.
Why did that upset Isla? Why was her absence so tangible, even seven feet apart?
She focused on Sabrina to her right and Zoey to her left and Vero on the other side of Zoey, hearing them exchange stories about New York. Isla had only been to New York a handful of times, and usually with Sabrina, so she found herself leaning back, letting the conversation happen over her.
She snuck a glance towards where Freya talked animatedly to Collins, who was, surprisingly, responding animatedly as well. They seemed to be having a humorous debate over something, or perhaps it was a shared dislike of something. Both were laughing.
Freya tipped her head back in laughter, exposing the long, fair column of her throat. Just hours before, Isla had been kissing the skin right there.
Freya glanced at her out of the corner of her eye and offered a small smile before jumping back into the conversation with Collins.
Was she being a creep?
“How’s married life treating you?” Domino teased Billie nearby.
“Oh, well, so far we’ve spent our marriage on a luxury resort on a private island in the middle of the ocean, so things are looking fairly good so far,” Billie joked.
Vero giggled, gazing at Billie. “Everything has changed, and yet nothing has changed. It’s the strangest feeling.”
If she didn’t love them as a couple so much, Isla would have gagged at the adoration between them.
"Isla, is it true that you're going to head on over to Kiwiland instead of traveling back with us?" Domino asked.
Isla startled, caught off guard.
"I am," she said, nodding. "I have to take advantage of the four hour flight while I can."
Freya gave her a curious look. "How long will you be in New Zealand?"
"Just two weeks," Isla said. She typically tried to spend longer at home, given how expensive it was to fly there and how long the flight from LA was.
Freya almost looked alarmed at the answer. The conversation lulled for a moment before Pia cleared her throat, drawing attention to her.
"I feel a little silly saying this, but we have a bit of news," Pia said, smiling at Zoey and reaching to take her hand. "Earlier on a walk in the reef, we decided to…” She paused, almost overcome with emotion.
“Pia proposed to me," Zoey exclaimed with a wide smile.
Domino nearly sprang out of her seat and Meg threw her hands in the air as they all began to excitedly yell congratulations. Vero was clapping wildly and cheering.
Freya, interestingly, didn't seem surprised. She smiled and hugged Pia, but there was no look of shock on her face.
Zoey laughed as the group leaned in for hugs and high-fives. "Obviously, we're keeping it a secret for now until we work out the publicist stuff, but we wanted you all to know first," she said, a look of pure joy on her face.
Isla had cheered and hugged her, but she couldn't help the strange squeeze of something in her chest — jealousy? A feeling of wanting something similar? She'd never felt it about a relationship before.
What was going on with her? She was growing soft.
They toasted to the happy couple and Isla saw Sabrina glance toward Domino, reaching for her hand. Had the mistake Isla made assuming they’d gotten engaged upset Sabrina earlier in the week? If so, she sure didn't look like it. She watched as her friend mouthed the words, "I love you," to Domino, and the affection on Domino's face in return.
God, that looked so nice. What would having a stable relationship be like? She looked over to Meg and Collins, who were touching noses together.
The love around her had never bothered her before, but now it felt like a heavy weight on her chest. She almost felt as though she was suffocating, as though all of the air was being sucked out of the room, like she was being compressed so tightly she might explode at any moment.
Suddenly, she was standing.
Sabrina looked up at her, alarmed. "You okay?"
"Sorry, bathroom," Isla mumbled, hurrying out of the restaurant's front door.
The cool night's breeze hit her skin in a welcome reprieve. She put her hands to her forehead, resisting the urge to scream fuck at the top of her lungs.
She hurried away from the restaurant, from the loved up couples, until she was standing near the unlit bonfire pit from the night before.
What the heck was going on with her? Was this a panic attack? She gulped in the fresh air, closing her eyes as she stood on the beach.
"It's not as pleasant without that fire burning," Freya said from behind her.
"Is this just a thing we do now? Sneak up on each other on the beach?" Isla said, her tone a bit snarkier than she had intended.
"I was just worried you got lost on your way to the bathroom, but I can go back inside if you'd prefer to be alone," Freya said. The wind whipped her short hair into her face, and she reached to hold it with one hand.
"It's just a lot," Isla said, waving her hand back in the direction of the restaurant. "It's just a lot of..."
"Love," Freya said softly.
Isla nodded.
"Is that something you're looking for?" Freya asked, taking a step closer.
"God no," Isla said, a knee jerk reaction.
Freya's eyebrows rose. "Oh," she said simply.
"Is it something you're looking for?" Isla asked.
"I don't have any interest in that sort of thing," Freya said.
Why did that feel like a slap across the face?
"Just an interest in fucking?" Isla said, her voice suddenly razor sharp.
Freya tilted her head, but didn't look upset. "Is that not a shared interest?"
Isla kicked at the sand with her toes, unable to look up and meet Freya's eyes. "Of course," she said. She swallowed, hardening her expression. "I hope I didn't give you the impression I was looking for something more or anything."
Freya pressed her lips into a thin line, shoving her hands into the pockets of her linen pants. "No, of course not."
"It was just sex," Isla said. She hated that she was saying such a blatant lie, but she hated the idea of humiliation for being vulnerable with unrequited feelings a lot more.
"I know," Freya said. "To get it out of our systems, right?"
God, was that what Freya was getting at?
Isla nodded, grateful for the darkness so that Freya wouldn't be able to see the tears welling up in her eyes. She looked up to the incredibly bright sky, recognizing the Southern constellations she'd grown up with.
Cetus. Aries.
She was surprised by the fact that she could feel more than hear the moment Freya turned to leave. She didn't stop her, or say goodbye, or say anything.
Hydras. Phoenix.
When she was sure Freya had left, she looked around for a moment, as if expecting Freya to return.
As if she was hoping Freya would return.
She found her way along the beach until she was around where she vaguely remembered Sabrina and Domino's villa to be. She walked up from the private beach entrance, through the pool area, and to the back door.
She knocked, not seeing Sabrina and Domino, but hoping they'd be there.
No one answered. The lights were off. Had they gone on a walk on the beach?
She sat down in one of the chaises to wait, staring up at the night sky again.
Grus. Aquarius.
She startled as the patio light flipped on and Domino stepped out onto the deck.
"Isla?" She asked.
"What?" Sabrina said, appearing behind Domino looking confused.
"Oh, hey guys," Isla said as casually as possible, feeling self-conscious that they were both standing over her. "I was just wanting to see what you were up to, but if you're busy, I can leave."
Sabrina and Domino exchanged a look.
"Want to stay here tonight? We can watch movies and raid the minibar," Domino said.
"And order room service," Sabrina said, clapping her hands. "Just me or did that restaurant have like the tiniest portions known to humankind?"
The tears that Isla had been holding back began to slip down her cheeks. "That sounds really nice," she said, sniffling. “And I’m sorry if you were going to get engaged tonight or something.”
"What?" Domino asked, looking alarmed.
Sabrina shook her head. "Come on, darling, let's change into jammies and put on the first dumb Hallmark movie we can find on Netflix."
The next morning, Isla made her way back to her own villa. She walked slowly, trying to figure out how to apologize to Freya for the conversation the night before.
Domino had cornered her when Sabrina was out of the room to tell her to just talk to Freya. To trust her, because she had intel, but her meddling days were over, and she should just talk to Freya.
Sounded a bit suss, but okay.
She walked into the villa, but it was silent. Maybe Freya was still sleeping?
She looked into the bedroom, but it was startlingly empty. So empty, in fact, that it contained none of Freya's things.
Panic began to rise in her chest.
She checked the bathroom for Freya's toiletries, but found nothing.
What the...
She walked back out of the villa, startled by the sound of a plane taking off over her head. And somehow, strangely, she knew that Freya was on board.
She hopped on her bike and rode to the main building, parking it hastily near the front door as she walked in.
Phoebe was standing in the lobby, looking startled by Isla's sudden appearance.
"Did Freya just leave?"
Phoebe didn't answer. She looked as though she was rearranging her paperwork on her clipboard.
"Tell me. Did Freya Olsen just leave?" Isla said, stepping up to the woman.
Drill Sergeant or no, Isla had a good four inches over the woman. She'd been using her height as an intimidating advantage since the days of primary school netball games.
"Yes, Ms. Olsen just left," Phoebe said in a proper, bored tone.
"Fuck. Did she say why?" Isla asked.
"Something about an unexpected gallery show," Phoebe said.
"Thank you, I really appreciate it, Pheebs," Isla said, turning on her heel.
She could hear Phoebe scoff from behind her.
If Freya wanted to leave like a coward instead of figuring out whatever the hell was going on between them, so be it. Isla wasn't the type to chase a woman.
Chapter Eight
Freya
She couldn't do it. She couldn't pretend to not be affected. She couldn't pretend to just be Isla's friend.
She'd checked her email when she returned to the villa the night before, surprised to find an email from an old art world friend requesting that she show a few pieces in an upcoming gallery exhibit in two weeks.
Except, she had nothing.
Her last show had crashed and burned. She'd sold a few works, of course, but the critics had hated it.
This was her big comeback chance. Maybe her only comeback chance.
And perhaps two weeks without seeing Isla was a blessing in disguise. Just enough time to get over her before their mutual friend group inevitably crashed them together again.
How had Meg and Isla stayed friends after hooking up? What kind of idiot was Meg to have Isla in her arms and not keep her there forever?
...Then again, she was doing something similar. Except she'd held Isla in her arms and Isla had kicked and screamed until she'd let go.<
br />
Isla hadn't even come back to the villa that night.
So, she'd jumped on the first flight off the island, back to Tahiti. Although the trip back would lack the luxury of Pia's private jet, she'd still managed to jump into first class on a flight back to Los Angeles, so she wasn’t exactly roughing it. The haste was for work, of course.
As the small plane lifted off the ground, crossing over the island, she almost imagined she saw Isla standing below it, staring up at her.
She forced herself to instead focus on the reef, the bright waters sparkling in the morning sun, the white sand beaches giving way to the ocean, the ocean giving way to the horizon, on and on endlessly.
Freya put her head down and got to work. She was given space to have three pieces in the show, and two weeks for three pieces was a lofty goal.
She painted day and night, sleeping almost every night in her studio. She paced the room endlessly, staring at the canvas as she added paint to its surface, stepping back to stare again.
In the end, she painted seven pieces in a whirlwind of inspiration. It was definitely just inspiration, and not some muse she couldn’t get out of her head. She didn’t even believe in muses. She only believed in putting the brush on the canvas and finding out what happened ›from there, like she was waiting for the painting to reveal itself to her.
And what each of the paintings had revealed was a bit alarming.
The night of the opening, she stood in a circle with two art critics and a few friends from the art world, discussing the show. She loved openings, loved watching people take in her work, loved hearing what resonated, even loved the cheap plastic cups filled with cheap wine.
The gallery had allowed her to show five of the pieces after they had brought them in, and had propositioned her for another show in six months. It wasn’t the massive New York galleries she preferred, but maybe this was exactly what she needed.
The feedback so far had been positive. She’d sold two pieces within ten minutes of the opening.