by Lauren Rowe
I wasn’t buying into it.
“You can’t wallow around forever,” she continued.
“I can’t seem to pull myself out of this, Chelle.” No truer words. How was I supposed to get over the love of my life?
She touched my forearm, no doubt trying to offer comfort but failing. “I miss him too. We all do. I understand.”
She thought she understood. But she didn’t. She was his little sister, not his soulmate. Not the woman who was supposed to bear his children—those beautiful phantom babies I’d never meet. Not the woman he should have grown old with—laughing together on a park bench, feeding pigeons, watching children play.
My lover had been snatched from me by the jaws of hell, and no one got it. No one understood.
Michelle gazed around my kitchen. “When was the last time you cleaned? Ate a decent meal?”
Dirty dishes towered high in the sink, and the remainder of my Chinese takeout from two nights ago littered the table. I hadn’t been able to choke much of it down.
I didn’t answer.
“Look,” Michelle said. “We’re getting out of here. I’m calling a cleaning service to fumigate this place, and I’m taking you to lunch. Where you will eat. Then we’re going shopping.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but she shushed me.
“No arguments. You need clothes. Island wear.” Then she dug into her purse and pulled out some papers. “Here are our e-tickets and itinerary. We leave first thing tomorrow.”
* * *
After a turbulent flight, a ferry ride that nearly had me retching—“You’re not seasick,” Michelle had said. “It’s just nerves.”—and a bumpy, bouncy excursion ride over roads made of actual rocks, we finally arrived at a small beachfront villa on the South Pacific island of Leiloa.
The cabbie unloaded our luggage. Michelle paid him and muttered something I didn’t understand.
Once the driver was on his way, she turned to me. “So what do you think?”
“I think I have to pee.” The bumps and bounces to get here had taken their toll.
“For God’s sake, Kate. Look around you. It’s beautiful here. The beach is straight ahead, and I hear the sunsets are amazing. This is paradise. Embrace it.”
The only thing I wanted to embrace was dead and buried. I picked up my suitcase and carry-on. “Let’s go inside.”
Michelle shook her head and sighed. “Fine.” She produced a keycard and unlocked the door. “This place is supposed to be great. Four bedrooms, full kitchen. Pool and hot tub.”
“What do we need with four bedrooms?” I queried.
“Just go with it for once. Okay, Kate?”
Michelle had been a good sport, putting up with my pessimistic attitude. The least I could do was try to enjoy this trip she’d arranged. She’d obviously gone to a lot of effort. Everything had been first class all the way. It was likely costing an arm and a leg. At least I could afford it. “You win. Let’s go with it.”
The villa was beautiful and decorated in a plush modern style. The kitchen was equipped with a gourmet stove, marble countertops, and a huge stainless steel refrigerator.
Michelle opened it and pulled out a bottle of Moët. “Some bubbles to toast the beginning of our three weeks in paradise.”
I wasn’t in a partying mood quite yet. “No thank you.”
“Hey. Remember? You’re going to go with it.” She unwrapped the cork and pulled it out with a pop.
“You’re right. I said that.” Trying to do my part, I searched the cupboards until I found some champagne flutes. Michelle filled them and handed one to me.
“To finding what we’ve lost,” she said, clinking my glass.
I inhaled deeply. She’d chosen interesting words. I would never literally find what I’d lost, but maybe I could find part of myself—a part that was strong, a part that could help me get through what was coming. “All right. To finding what we’ve lost.” I took a drink of the sparkling liquid. The bubbles danced across my tongue.
“To that end,” Michelle said, “let’s change clothes and go for a walk on the beach. You take the room at the end of the hallway upstairs. I’ll take the bedroom down here.”
I lugged my bags upstairs to the room she’d chosen for me…and dropped my jaw to the floor when I walked in. This was the master suite of all master suites. I didn’t need this room. Why had she rented this particular villa, anyway? We could have made do in one hotel room with two beds.
The king-size bed was draped in black and silver silk, and the dressers and night tables were dark cherry. But that was nothing compared to the bathroom. Pure decadence. Silvery white marble countertops and black porcelain fixtures, including a bidet. The tub and steam shower were both big enough for two. I inhaled. The entire room smelled of rose and lavender.
I unpacked a few things and changed into a hot pink bikini that Michelle had insisted I buy. “You have a great body,” she’d said. “Show it off!”
To whom I was going to show it off, I had no idea. I put it on anyway and wrapped a black and pink sarong around my waist. I wriggled my toes into some flip-flops, brushed out my honey-blond hair and gathered it into a high ponytail, and went back downstairs.
Michelle was waiting for me in the kitchen, dressed in a royal-blue bikini top and white broomstick skirt. She handed me another glass of champagne. “Some bubbles for the walk.”
“On a public beach?”
“Silly. This is a private beach. Did you notice any other houses around when we drove up here?”
I hadn’t noticed much of anything. I’d been too busy feeling sorry for myself. “I’m sorry. Then I guess it’s okay.”
“It’s all okay,” she said, smiling. “Go on out. Walk to the left. The view is spectacular. I’ll catch up in a minute.” She sipped her drink.
“No. I’ll wait for you.”
“I have a quick call to make, and I don’t want you hanging around here when the beach and waves are right outside. Go. I don’t want you to miss the sunset.”
What did I have to lose? I’d already lost everything. Walking on the beach by myself for a few minutes wouldn’t hurt me. I stepped outside, gripping the stem of my glass, and looked toward the ocean. The sun was nearing the horizon, a bright orange ball with rays of yellow and white radiating around it. It was still quite bright, so I shielded my eyes. I hadn’t thought to put on sunglasses.
Then I walked along the shoreline, looking down at the myriad shells and flora that had been washed ashore. After I’d gone a few yards, I looked back for Michelle. No sign of her yet.
I continued, looking again to the sun and then ahead, when—
Michelle had said this was a private beach. So why was a figure walking toward me?
I squinted, trying to get a better look. Something seemed so familiar about the confident stride…
My heart jumped.
No.
It couldn’t be.
A ghost was walking toward me.
A ghost who said I had the most beautiful blue eyes he’d ever seen.
* * *
Continue Reading Misadventures of a Good Wife
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Acknowledg
ments
This book, along with all my others, is dedicated to my wonderful and loyal readers. Thank you for always sticking with me. Thank you also to the talented and kind Meredith Wild and the fabulous team at Waterhouse Press for welcoming me into your publishing family. It’s been a true pleasure. And, last but not least, thank you to my dear friend, Stacy Carlson, for the hilarious name of Abby’s blog and for always being such a great sounding board for me as I write these stories of mine. You are my own personal Dr. Carlson, Ms. Carlson!
About Lauren Rowe
USA Today and internationally bestselling author Lauren Rowe lives in San Diego, California, where, in addition to writing books, she performs with her dance/party band at events all over Southern California, writes songs, takes embarrassing snapshots of her ever-patient Boston terrier, Buster, spends time with her wonderful family, and narrates audiobooks. Much to Lauren’s thrill, her books have been translated all over the world in multiple languages and hit multiple domestic and international bestseller lists. With enticing characters, enthralling situations and a general love of romantic fiction, Lauren has created a world of her own, full of wit and sensual desire.
For more information, please visit Lauren Rowe at:
www.laurenrowebooks.com