Be My Valentine

by Teresa F. Morgan

  It was pretty, she ground her teeth, and would have been lovely with the bold violets she’d originally picked out. Ones that had been replaced with elegant cream roses.

  ‘We were going to compromise,’ she heard him continue, ‘and go for something simple, but Mother said it should be something expensive and lavish.’

  ‘And she’s agreed to put her hair up?’

  ‘After some argument. You wouldn’t believe how stubborn she can be.’

  There was a chortle. ‘So how does she feel about giving up her little jewellery stall to stay at home barefoot and pregnant once you get back?’

  Melissa’s breath hissed through the fashionable gap between her front teeth. Little jewellery stall? It was a thriving business with a fantastic online presence, one which had just started attracting the attention of celebrities. A business that had almost broken her, with the hours and energy needed to set it up and build it into something valuable and profit-making.

  ‘She’ll get used to the idea.’ Stuart said, tone resolute.

  She rocked back, shocked, hand falling from the door frame. God, who did he think he was, her lord and master? It was the twenty-first century! They’d talk about having children, but not any time soon. Plus they’d agreed that she could do both; raise children and work from home.

  ‘And if she doesn’t?’

  She was as intrigued to hear Stuart’s answer as his friend was. The disrespect was unreal. Her future husband was supposed to fight her corner, not cage her into one.

  ‘I’ll buy her a few pretty things, set her right.’

  ‘Didn’t think she was like that.’ Richard sounded surprised.

  Thank you, Richard.

  ‘She’s not.’

  At last! Thank you, Stuart.

  ‘You’ve got your work cut out for you then.’ A pause. ‘Are you sure she’s the right girl for you?’

  The silence that followed lasted forever and Melissa almost fainted as she held her breath waiting for the answer.

  ‘Too late for that now.’ Stuart’s voice was brisk. ‘Besides, she’s fun in her own eccentric way. And the sex isn’t bad either. She’ll learn to be a good corporate wife, I’m sure.’

  Laughter rang out and Melissa turned away from the door to walk numbly to her suite, thoughts circling madly round her head.

  Their conversation corroborated something she’d feared but hadn’t wanted to believe, reinforced the way she’d been feeling recently when she was alone with Stuart. That he wasn’t that into her. That he didn’t understand her.

  And something else - he wasn’t who she thought he was at all.

  They had it all figured out, didn’t they, he and his friends and family? The rest of her life decided. And she had no choice in it, not as far as they were concerned. Well, they were wrong! She had free will and would choose to use it. Anger and rebellion bloomed and triggered a headlong rush into abandoning him, as she packed and fled in a whirl of activity. Leaving the silk multi-layered dress in a crumpled heap on the floor was a gesture of defiance. Along with the note containing a simple message.

  Thanks, but no thanks.

  Back on the beach, she muttered bugger under her breath and looked down at the toe ring again. The princess-cut diamond engagement ring ‒ the tie that had almost bound her to an unhappy marriage ‒ had been tugged off with relief at Gatwick airport. Unfortunately the ten-hour flight had ballooned her fingers and toes to epic proportions and she was stuck with the last memory of him until they returned to normal. Once they did, the foot jewellery was coming straight off.

  Gazing out at the endless turquoise waters, she sighed. It was paradise here. Such a cliché, and she was the last one to buy into those, but true nonetheless. Of all the compromises she’d made ‒ agreeing to six bridesmaids, wearing a veil and a My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding style dress, sharing a traditional first dance with him in front of his wealthy business partners and hundreds of his society obsessed family ‒ this was the one she regretted the least. The coconut trees swayed in the light breeze that stirred drifts of hair across her cheeks. Their spiky leaves threw occasional shadows across her, providing shade from the scorching sun. The humid air carried the scents of brine and sun cream and nearby she could hear the clicking of crabs scuttling sideways into their daytime hideaways.

  It was so lovely it hurt.

  She’d never seen anything as beautiful as the Maldivian sunrise every morning for the last three days, it’s brightening rays creeping over the horizon with searching fingers of light. Her skin had browned with it and annoyingly, random freckles had appeared on the slight bump on the bridge of her nose. It was the start of a tan, one that Stuart would surely object to. In his circles women were pale and interesting. She would’ve had to slap on factor fifty to keep him happy. It wasn’t the sunshine he’d picked the Indian Ocean for; it was the ability to brag to his colleagues that they’d been to the Maldives. She was only surprised that he hadn’t picked Barbados or St. Lucia.

  She couldn’t work it out. Where had it all gone so wrong? He’d once appeared to cherish her uniqueness, their differences. But somehow it had all slipped away and the distance had become a divide that couldn’t be breached. A gap that had become apparent with the long hours he’d worked, his comments about her jewellery designs – don’t you think they’re a bit pedestrian? ‒ the snobby comments about her friends, the efforts to change her. Which was why the eavesdropped conversation was the final straw.

  And she was angry with herself. It was all so clear now. She’d been doing what she thought she should, settling down with a driven, confident man who could provide security. But it had been wrong. She hadn’t loved him. Or at least, not enough to make the sacrifices he would have demanded.

  ‘Shit. Stop thinking about him! Sort yourself out woman! ‘ Bolting from her seat she brushed the sand from her shorts and bent over to retrieve the tray of white porcelain plates and cups. Every day there’d been a platter of succulent fresh fruit and sweet mango juice to feast upon, provided by the polite dusky-skinned maid who lived three islands over.

  She knew that piece of information because she’d accosted the maid the day before, peppering the young woman with questions as she’d cleaned the room. The maid was too courteous and well trained to say she didn’t have time to talk, Melissa had realised later. Padding around the room in her sandals, the girl had straightened the sheets of the canopied king-sized bed and swept gritty sand from the wooden floor out onto the terrace, avoiding eye contact, giving yes or no answers.

  Melissa laughed, wondering if the maid had gone back to her family and told them about the mad, chatty, slightly wild-eyed English woman. The one who was so desperate for company she’d been oblivious to the fact the conversation was basically one-sided.

  ‘Jesus!’ She muttered, horrified. And now she was talking to herself. ‘Great.’ Being alone had never been an issue before Stuart. The solitary life – hand crafting her products, spending evenings reading huge tomes whilst curled up on the sofa ‒ had suited her just fine. She had a large family but had always liked doing her own thing. It seemed like the relationship she’d just liberated herself from had altered her. She didn’t know if that change was a good thing or not.

  Setting the tray on the terrace table she picked up a creased paperback secured from the makeshift library in the hotel lobby the day before. Grabbing her towel off a chair, she trekked along the wide clean beach and reclined on a cushioned lounger, striving for peace. After a moment she shot upright, restless, staring out at the topaz sea. What could she do today to try and keep her mind off her shallow ex?

  The first day she’d rested, jet lagged. The second day she’d gone on one of the all-inclusive excursions they’d planned together, a sunset boat trip, tangy tropical peach and fuchsia cocktail included. She’d stood at the front of the yacht, leaning over the wires toward the school of dolphins that appeared from beneath the surface to race the boat, their smooth graceful bodies arching and looping between the
sea and air.

  ‘No miss! No jump! I know you alone but you no do it.’ One of the crew, a skinny dark haired man, yanked her back from her position over the water, fearful for her safety. ‘No.’ Shaking his head emphatically to demonstrate that drowning would be a bad thing.

  ‘What?’ She let out a disbelieving laugh. He actually thought she was going to top herself. ‘No! Dolphins,’ she pointed behind her, sea breeze buffeting her gently, ‘dolphins.’ Laughing harder, high and long, she realised the sound might be a little hysterical when he eyed her warily and started backing away.

  ‘Sorry, Miss.’ Raising both hands. ‘Sorry.’

  She turned to face the water again. At the start of their relationship, if he were here, Stuart would have let her enjoy the moment, perhaps with a hand curled around her wrist to anchor her. She frowned. But now? Well, he’d probably shout at her to stop, that she was embarrassing him.

  Argh! She had to stop the constant remembering and questioning. She’d go insane otherwise. And other people were picking up on it; another member of staff came over to check on her and would only leave when she assured him no less than four times she was fine. Another guest further up the deck, a tall guy with sandy blond hair, chuckled and murmured something about scaring the natives. She raised an eyebrow and turned away. She wasn’t there to flirt.

  The next day ‒ yesterday ‒ there’d been an excursion where she’d put on a rubbery snorkel, mask and flippers with her cut-away black swimsuit and explored the reef off a tiny island, keeping well away from the other day-trippers. The coral teemed with vivid, exotic life. Communities of fish and other sea creatures swam and twirled around her unafraid, all and every hue of the rainbow. Canary yellow, hot pink, royal blue, sunburnt orange. Unimaginable, indescribable. The only sound beneath the waves was the faint chomping of the fish on food. It was serene, spectacular.

  It was with regret that she returned to shore, wading through the sea toward the assorted crew who were setting up a BBQ lunch. The tall fair haired guy appeared next to her, smiling. ‘You made it look easy out there. Have you snorkelled before?’

  ‘No,’ she couldn’t prevent the answering smile that curved her mouth, the experience was so amazing. ‘I was just really enjoying it.’ Then her mouth flattened as she recalled the moments she’d forgotten herself, stretching out her hand in the temperate water for Stuart’s. To distract from those thoughts she let her gaze drift downwards.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asked, reaching out to steady her as she stumbled on a loose rock on the seabed.

  ‘Fine.’ It was a clumsy mistake; they were in shallow water and it was so clear you could see the bottom. Except you weren’t paying attention to where you were walking, you were looking at him, weren’t you? she scolded herself. Checking his body out. But then his defined chest and ridged abdomen was one of the best she’d ever seen. David Beckham eat your heart out. No! It was too soon. She’d left her fiancé only a few days before.

  ‘Thanks.’ Unhooking her elbow from his scorching fingers, she took the last few steps on to the beach carefully. Starting to take off the mask and snorkel, she hissed as the mask strap tangled in her hair. Astonished when he calmed her with a hand on the shoulder to hold her still and gently free her from the self-made trap, she muttered a quick thanks and stalked off hastily, putting some space between them.

  He had nice eyes, she mused, sitting down in the pale sand to peel off the clunky flippers. She hadn’t noticed the colour but they were kind. It was that stray thought that made her avoid him for the rest of the trip, drawing his puzzled glances.

  ‘Water, Miss?’ A barman dressed in whites appeared beside her, wrenching her from the memories with a glass filled with ice, lemon and water. ‘You need to be careful in this sun, yes?’ He gestured to the blinding globe in the sky above them. ‘Very bright.’

  ‘Yes, cheers.’ Melissa accepted the drink from him, the dewy drops on the outside of the glass cooling her fingers. He remained at her side. Oh bugger, was he waiting for a tip? She’d not brought any cash with her.

  But he pointed to the drink insistently. ‘Drink, please?’

  He was suspiciously concerned. Were the staff all worried about her? Were they watching to make sure she didn’t try anything stupid? She wasn’t planning anything. Death by dehydration was as bad as it was going to get. It’d make a fantastic headline. British woman shrivels to prune on beach. Ridiculous. She giggled at the idea.

  ‘Drink.’ He repeated.

  ‘All right!’ She replied. Tipping her head back to glug it down in one go, thirst quenched, she smiled triumphantly and handed the glass back to him.

  ‘Good Miss, good. I go get another.’ Without waiting for an answer he strode away, intent on his mission.

  Laughing again and shaking her head, she looked at the leaflet she was using as a bookmark, which listed the week’s activities. This afternoon was an excursion to the capital island, Male, an hour’s boat ride away. Hopefully there’d be a chance to explore the fish market and drift around the tiny air-conditioned shops and bazaars she’d read about in the complimentary guidebook from her room.

  But however busy she kept herself, there was no getting away from it. It was a place designed for couples. Even the north end of the island, set aside for families, was beset with paired off adults deeply in love.

  If only she could have a day in the life of someone else. To get away from the burning, niggling shame and righteous anger. To escape the fact he hadn’t really loved her, not as she was. To avoid the realisation that she hadn’t been enough for him. If he cared he would have followed her out here, to tell her he understood why she’d done it, that he did love her and wanted her just as she was. To ask her to start again. But he hadn’t. Not that she would take him back anyway.

  ‘Oh, bollocks to this!’ Bolting up she pounded down to the water’s edge, kicked her shorts off and launched into the refreshing waves. Swimming back and forth repeatedly parallel to the shore, she felt much better by the time she flung herself back onto the lounger. Closing her eyes, she turned to face the sun, frowning as a shadow fell across her.

  ‘Bollocks to it?’ A deep voice repeated mildly, ‘Is that your view of this holiday or life in general?’

  ‘Neither, ‘ she forced open her eyelids to find the guy with the kind eyes staring down at her, ‘or both.’

  He settled in the sand next to her in his black swimming shorts. ‘Want to share more?’

  ‘Why?’ Trying to ignore how wide his shoulders were in a plain white t-shirt and how muscular his long hair-roughened legs were, she pushed up onto her elbows.

  ‘I can’t be on duty all the time.’ He murmured. ‘I need some human interaction too.’

  ‘On duty? What are you, a policeman?’

  He grinned, white teeth a little wolfish, ‘No. I’m a travel writer. I go on trips and write about them for a living.’

  ‘Incredible.’ She breathed.

  ‘Lonely.’ He countered. ‘Are you?’

  She shot up, stood, hand on hips. ‘Bloody hell, where do you get off?’

  ‘Touched a nerve didn’t I?’

  ‘Yes, actually.’

  ‘Sorry.’ He stood up too, palms held up in the universal sign of surrender. ‘Didn’t mean to upset you.’

  ‘You didn’t,’ she said fiercely, blinking her eyes.

  ‘Good.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Dinner then? Tonight?’

  She pushed a hand through her hair and saw his eyes – tawny brown she noticed – follow the motion. ‘Presumptuous aren’t you? I don’t even know your name.’

  ‘Taylor. And not presumptuous at all. If I were it would have been a demand rather than a request.’

  ‘I don’t know you.’

  ‘Right, but that’ll be a little less of an issue after dinner.’

  ‘Correct, but- I don’t want to get involved.’

  ‘I’m not asking for a gunshot wedding. It’s just dinner.’ He pushed his hands into his short pockets. His
comment felt like a kick to the guts. But he wasn’t to know he’d scored a direct hit. ‘You’ve gone a bit green,’ he said. ‘Do you feel okay?’

  ‘Yes, thanks,’ she huffed, battling with anger and regret mixed with curiosity about him. Even if he was out of bounds, he was still one of the hottest men she’d ever met.

  ‘So why the not getting involved comment?’

  ‘I left my fiancé.’ She admitted. She had to start somewhere. Why not with a stranger?

  ‘So you’re unattached.’

  ‘I’m a bitch.’ She was shocked to voice the thought that had been worrying away at her. ‘I jilted him at our wedding, left him humiliated in front of everyone.’

  ‘You’re only a bitch if you took pleasure in it.’ He leaned closer, dropping his voice. ‘Did you?’

  ‘No! Of course not!’ The answer was automatic. Not so he wouldn’t think badly of her. Because it was the truth.

  ‘So why did you do it?’

  ‘He didn’t love me. He only loved who he thought I could be.’ She blurted, and then lifted her damp hair off her neck for a moment before releasing it. ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you this.’

  He shrugged a shoulder. ‘Sometimes it’s easier to tell stuff to people you don’t know, who won’t judge you. Or if they do, you never have to see them again if you don’t want to.’

  She looked down at the sand, drew a circle with her foot, mulling over his words.

  ‘Your ex sounds like an idiot. If you weren’t in love you did the right thing.’ Bending over he somehow managed to peer up into her face. ‘So, dinner?’

  ‘No.’ Turning away, she paused, impulsive nature fighting the voice telling her to do the sensible thing and walk away. ‘Oh, eff it!’ She twirled back to face him, waiting for him to disapprove of her language, as Stuart would have, but his expression was unperturbed.

  ‘What?’ Straightening up slowly, removing his hands from his pockets.

  ‘Do you ever wish you were someone else?’ Toying with the woven fabric bracelet on her left wrist.

  ‘No.’ He said in a firm tone. ‘You do?’