He waits. I can hear him breathing slowly. Evenly. “What if I was to tell you that you have been here before? What if when you were here, you gave me permission to send the invitation and that you did, indeed, sign the invitation you are now holding?”
“I’d call you a liar.”
He waits, as if I’m going to suddenly remember something that did not happen.
When I don’t say anything he quietly asks, “Do you believe in magic?”
“No.”
“Not even after all that’s happened to you?”
I take less than a second to consider his question. “Nope.”
“Good. It doesn’t exist. Magic is the word we give things we don’t understand.” I hear him shift behind the screen. “Everything has a logical explanation.”
“So, when I was trapped in the villa—no way in, no way out, no one to help me—that was done on purpose?”
“Yes.”
I stand and bang the screen. “Who was responsible? You? Christophe?” I knock my head against the panel, hating how the silence greets my aggression with an embrace, muffling it. “Ah, shit, it doesn’t matter. Just get me off this fucking island.”
“I wish I could, but the island has chosen you.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Nevertheless, it is true. You were trapped because the island recognized that was what you needed.”
“That’s impossible.”
“There is energy here. Some call it psychic energy, others call it ley lines, some say it’s part of the mystery of the Bermuda Triangle. Not magic, this island allows us to simply access the part of our brain—the shadowy eighty percent that we neglect on a daily basis—that allows each of us to discover something critical about ourselves. To have an experience that is unique because of our brains’ miraculous ability to alter perception.”
“What do you mean, alter perception?”
“All of the things that don’t make sense to our linear forms of understanding, time-travel, alternate realities, mystical experiences, they are all possible through our minds that are governed by nothing more than chemical processes prompted by electrical impulses. In chemistry, we observe how compounds change from one to another simply by introducing a third element. In quantum physics we have seen particles behave in ways that are counter intuitive, breaking laws of nature—even space and time—making us question the laws we’ve created on the macroscopic level. We are not bystanders in this, we are part of this cosmic condition and the rules, or non-rules apply to us if we let them and in the right conditions. So much more is possible than what we see, hear or feel.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Yeah, you lost me at time-travel.”
His chuckle rattles through the lattice. “Magic is the term we give to things that we don’t yet understand, the beautiful mysteries of the universe. The enigmatic connection of all matter, past present and future.”
Enigmatic? Apparently this guy specializes in enigmatic. I want to demand he come out from behind the screen and show himself yet I don’t know if I want to see him. I’m afraid he’ll appear as a past lover or something else entirely that will make all of this more complicated.
“Do you really believe all this?”
“Not believe, Tessa. It’s what I know. I’ve seen this island work wonders over and over again. I know the effect it’s had on me and my life. I have seen the countless miracles it has worked in others’. This place has a knack of presenting us with our greatest desires.”
“So, what the hell am I doing here then because being trapped on a remote island—five star resort or not—is not my greatest desire.”
I’m not sure how I know he’s smiling but it’s like I can feel it or hear it through the lattice. “Neurologists have proven that the parts of the brain that express opposite emotions often come from the same part of the brain. Take love and hate for example, those two extremes are really the same thing turned inside out. So it is with desire and fear. Our greatest desires are a reflection of our greatest fears.”
“That’s bullshit. I can think of a million fears people have that have nothing to do with desire.”
“Really? Give me one.”
Exasperation explodes out of my throat and I shake my head. In the corner of the room is a small spider web. “Spiders. Lots of people fear spiders.”
“Ah, spiders. That is an interesting one. What is it about spiders that people fear?”
I shrug. “The way they look?”
“Yes. Ugliness is a great source of fear,” he says with authority, as if speaking from experience. “So people fear their proximity, fear their touch. The thought of a spider crawling upon your flesh unexpectedly, in your sleep...”
I shiver involuntarily at the images his words produce in my head.
“And yet they are such tiny creatures, rarely dangerous, beneficial to us, ridding houses of annoying pests. It’s strange isn’t it?”
“Frankly, I don’t care. I just want—”
“Hold out your hand.”
“What?”
“Slip your hand through the lattice, palm up.”
I don’t know why I listen to him. Is it his rough, velvet voice hypnotizing me? Is it the fact he has that tone—one I am well familiar with—of a dominant male, one who is nearly impossible to refuse? For whatever messed up reason, I obey him and do it. There is just enough room for me to stick my hand through the crisscrossed teak and I turn my palm up, as if asking for alms.
I feel his fingertips, skimming my hand like a caress before he draws his hand away. “It is not the creature they fear, it is its ugliness. We loathe anything that is ugly, we fear being ugly.”
His touch leaves a tickling sensation from my palm up my wrist and further, so light and airy, the nerves at the back of my throat ping with pleasure.
“However, one of our greatest desires is to be seen for who we are, to not be judged by superficial criteria.”
I stare at the spot where my hand disappears, like I’m the assistant in some bizarro magic trick and I’m going to pull my hand back only to find it’s a stump.
But as I stare, transfixed by whatever this magician has done to mesmerize me, I realize the source of the tickling sensation, a long-legged spider with the body the size of a mothball, meandering up my forearm. Although I am not normally afraid of spiders, I jerk my arm but my hand is caught on the other side of the lattice. Instinctively, I swipe the spider off and manage to pull my hand through the woodwork.
“It felt nice, didn’t it? When you couldn’t see, could only feel?”
“This is pointless.”
“Aren’t you curious why you are fighting everything that has happened to you on the island?”
“No.”
“That’s a lie.” His hands press against the screen again, urging mine to make contact. “What is your greatest fear, Tessa?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Is it death?”
“Everyone fears death.”
“Not true.”
“Well, that’s more bullshit.”
“Yes, most people fear it. You’re right. They fear they won’t accomplish everything they’ve set out to do in this life. They fear death will hurt. They fear the unknown. Yet, those of us—” He clears his throat. “Have you ever come close to death? Tasted it? Felt its fingers on your flesh, beckoning you? Not cold. Oh no. Warm. Hot. Burning fingers. Have you?”
“No.” I lean my forehead against the thin wall that separates us my eyes pricking, close to tears.
“If you had, you would know death is nothing to fear. Death is tied to our deepest most profound desire. Do you know what that is?”
I roll my head back and forth across the latticework, silently saying, I don’t know and I don’t care.
“Our desire to know what comes next. Our desire to believe in something bigger than ourselves. Death is the door to that knowledge.”
“You have an answer for everything.”
His soft chuckle tickles my ear inner as if it has eight tiny legs. “No. I don’t. But the island does.”
I close my eyes and inhale deeply. “So,” I whisper. “You’ve stood in the doorway between life and death. Tell me what comes next.”
“It’s not for me to tell.”
“Then why am I here? What do you want from me?”
“It’s not what I want from you. The question is, what are you here to learn?”
“Okay, so what am I here to learn?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that the Island is presenting you with a choice. Understand the choice you make is critical but that there is no right path, there is no wrong path. There are just different paths.”
“I take it going home is not one of them.”
I can’t see him but by his pause and the very slight shifting sound he makes, I figure he’s smiling. Then he starts humming Hotel California.
“What the fuck? Are you saying I can never leave?”
“Oh, you can leave. But if you do, you can never return and you will live with the consequences.”
“And if I stay?”
“Then you can leave when you’re ready.”
“I’m ready now.”
“Not before you choose.”
“Between two men?”
“No. There is no right choice where the men are concerned. Both originate from your sould group.”
“My what?”
He doesn’t bother to address my latest question. “Your choice is not between men but between your two greatest fears.”
“I don’t want this.”
“Maybe not, but you need it.”
Chapter Twelve
The mysterious master seems to simply vanish. Poof! He’s gone. After a few moments, I get up and leave through the same way I came in, however once outside, I find myself all turned around. The castle is no longer visible through the trees and there’s a well-worn path to the beach. I follow it, expecting to find the main promenade, a beach bar or swimming pool, something. But there is only a deserted expanse of beach. Confused, I turn around and expect to see the temple through the trees.
The temple is gone. In its place is a small, single room hut of simple thatch construction.
“What the hell?”
Inside the hut is nothing but a bed, draped in mosquito netting and a small table and two chairs. There are candles in the room and a small bowl, much like the one in the temple, on a wall altar, holding ashes. Sitting in the center of the table is a vase filled with calla lilies.
The air is cool inside the hut, like it’s air conditioned but there is no air con unit, no electricity, no reason it should be so pleasant and cool inside. I stare longingly at the bed, it compels me, beckons me. Not in a sexual way—I know, what’s wrong with me?—but in a healing, restful way. Like if I just lie down for a moment, all my problems will go away, all this confusion and upset will seep out into the ocean and be washed away.
It takes effort to step back out into the sunshine, like I’m tethered to that bed and the further I get from it, the harder I’m going to be snapped back. However, I’m intent on finding my way back to the castle, or back to the villa. Or...
Damn.
Where do I want to go? The castle leads to Chase. Which is not happening. I mean, apparently the island—I snort out loud, thinking of the island as a sentient being—wants me to figure my shit out with Chase but what is there to figure out? I fell in love with him when I was little more than a kid, we got married way too young, and I cheated and left. There is nothing I can do or we can do to be together, no matter what my feelings are for the man.
On the other hand, the villa leads to Christophe. He is not the man I thought he was when I first met him, he’s exactly the kind of guy I should be spending my time with. Smart, sexy-as-fucking-hell, interesting, he’s got that killer accent and we’ve got this weird, scary connection that makes no sense to me. Is that what scares me about Christophe? The connection? How well he knows me? How out of control I feel when I’m around him?
I sit down in the sand along this deserted section of beach, wondering absently how it’s even possible to have deserted sections of the resort given how many guests there are at the castle. But then, the last thing I want right now is hordes of people circling around me, enjoying themselves, in various stages of undress and arousal.
God! I press the heels of my hands into my eye sockets. What is wrong with me? Normally, Eden would be exactly my kind of place, a hedonist resort where your wildest fantasy comes to life. Yet instead of finding pleasure here, which is something I am totally into, I seem to be faced with nothing but confusion and angst. This should be my own personal version of heaven, yet if feels more like some version of hell.
“Maybe none of this is real,” I say out loud. Picking up wet sand, I wash it between my hands, needing the sensation. “Sure as hell feels real.”
I don’t know how long I sit there and stare at the softly cresting waves in the lagoon, hoping for some kind of sign, a message—fuck—I don’t know what I expect.
And then I see something bobbing up and down in the waves about ten yards in front of me.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I say, pushing myself to my feet, tying my loose blouse around my waist and wading out into the warm water.
Once I’m knee deep a school of minnows darts in between my legs and I reach for the thing that is already recognizable, a green tinged glass bottle corked at the top. I carry it back to the hut where I sit down at the small table. The cliché of it—a message in a bottle—is so ridiculous, laughter bubbles up in my chest, like the carbonation in a soda that’s been shaken and shaken, about to explode. Raucous laughter. Insane, hysterical laughter.
I use my teeth to uncork the bottle because I already know there is going to be something inside. Of course there is. There always is. Except that I should be the one sending the message, the plea for help. Not the other way around. But then, this island, this-fucked-up-backwards-assed living, breathing island is playing with me. Toying with me.
Sticking one finger into the neck, I manage to grasp the edge of the paper, which I realize isn’t paper at all but more like leather or velum. The kind of thing monks used to write on and illuminate in medieval times. I unroll the stiff material and read the swirled script.
The only way to leave is to make a choice and face your biggest fear. The choice you must make is simple. You must choose between your past, the present or your future. Once you have chosen, everything will become clear. Once you make a choice, there is no going back. Just say the word and it will be.
I attempt to make sense of the cryptic note but have no luck. What the hell does it all mean? My skin pricks along my spine and I glance up, scanning the open doorway to see if anyone is around. There is no one there. No one watching. Not that I can see, anyway.
Pushing myself to my feet, I go to the doorway and stand there, hands bracing the frame, searching the jungle, the beach...all of it. “What am I supposed to do?” The words begin as a soft question, gaining in volume. “What do you want me to do?”
There is no answer. There is no one to help me. With hands on my hips, I tilt my head to the sky above. “Hey,” I shout. “What do you want from me?”
The ground rumbles beneath my feet as if in response.
I throw my hands into the air. “What does that even me?”
Out of nowhere, a huge wave crashes into the beach, sweeping water so high up the sand it reaches the edge of the hut, nipping at my toes.
“Is that supposed to scare me?”
A resounding CRACK splits the sky and my eardrums. To the north a huge, roiling cloud billows with menace, growing and swallowing up the sun and the blue of the sky along with it. Lightening pierces the ocean surface, once, twice, three times while wind whips up the palm fronds, waving them in circles, this way and that as if even the wind can’t decide which way to go. I observe the rain approach, moving across the water, traveling at
a ridiculous speed, sheets of water stirring up waves, getting closer and closer.
“Fine!”
Turning back inside, I shut the simple door and latch it because the wind keeps trying to open it.
“Now what?” I go to sit on the edge of the bed. I expect it to be hard, the sheets dusty, but it’s soft. Oh so soft.
Kicking my feet out, I lie down, my head on the pillow, my arms crossed over my chest, mummy style. The rain chooses that moment to reach the hut and it’s not the violent pummeling downpour I expect to rock the small structure. It’s gentle. Soothing. Comforting.
My lids drift closed.
Images of Christophe and Chase dance behind my closed lids. Christophe’s knowing smile, his cobalt eyes, his insistence that we’ve known each other longer than we have. Then there’s Chase. Good lord. Where do I start? What do we have left to say to one another?
Deciding between these two men is impossible, which of course leaves me with a third option. I could leave. I don’t need either of them. Do I?
My body twitches, on the verge of an exhausted sleep. I don’t need to choose right now. Maybe just a little nap and everything will be clear. Just for a few minutes, then I’ll decide. Or better yet, maybe someone will make the decision for me. Yes. Maybe the island will decide...because I’ll be honest, I have no fucking clue what to do.
Help Tessa decide what to do.
To revisit her PAST (Chase), click here
To choose the PRESENT (Tessa), click here
To choose her FUTURE (Christophe), click here
Chapter Thirteen – Christophe
“Tessa? Tessa, where are you?”
Hearing my name repeated over and over again wakes me up. I roll off the cot and exit the hut out to the beach. Walking toward me is Christophe. He’s wearing cotton trousers rolled up at the ankles and a loose white shirt. His normally well-coiffed hair is in disarray and he’s holding a hand up to his forehead to block the bright sun.
“Tessa?”
“Christophe.” I jog over to him. “Hi.”
He takes my shoulders. “Thank God. I was so worried about you.” Then he pulls me against his chest.
[Invitation to Eden 24.0] How to Tempt a Tycoon Page 9