The Honeymooner Read online

  “Iguanas rarely attack. Just don’t challenge one for his food. And don’t worry about snakes. There aren’t any, I promise.”

  “But the other stuff…” I say, swallowing hard.

  Emma gives me two thumbs up. “Good luck to you.”

  “Thanks.”

  I take off my flip-flops (which I suddenly realize are not exactly hiking shoes), lift up my sundress (also not very practical for an early evening jaunt through an uninhabited island), and wade through the water to the shore. Standing on the beach, I watch for a minute while the party boat sets off, taking with it my last chance to change my mind.

  Okay, Libby. Time to wing it.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  A Man Escaping (Which is Completely Different than Manscaping)

  Harrison

  It was not a good idea to come out here to escape from my life. I honestly don’t know what the hell I was thinking because for the past few hours, everywhere I look, I see Libby. Especially right now. I’m standing under the waterfall in hopes of letting the cool water wash away everything I thought I knew about Ms. Dewitt, but instead it’s just making me think of us having wild waterfall sex here on this rock. And in the pool it leads to…

  I step out from under the spray and shake my head like a dog, then climb onto a large boulder so I can lay down in the sun and relax. Closing my eyes, I force myself not to see her face, not to feel her body against mine, not to hear her laugh or taste her kiss. She’s nothing to me. Less than nothing. She was the means to an end — one I didn’t want to see coming, but one that’s barreling toward me nonetheless.

  I called Stewart earlier, but his housekeeper said he’d taken Matilda to the Virgin Islands. He’s supposed to call me tomorrow when he gets back, and I guess that’s when I’ll tell him he can have Paradise Bay. As much as it kills me to sell him the property, he’s not a bad person and he has enough cash to keep it going for a long time, which is what the staff needs. Still, the thought of no longer having the resort is like a punch to the nuts…

  Kind of like Libby’s nasty report.

  Standing, I decide to make my way back to the cabin to have some dinner. I brought a can of beans, some hot dogs, and a whole lot of rum with me. Man food.

  See? A plus side to being single, already — no woman to fail to impress.

  As I walk along, I spot a mango tree near the trail and stop to pick a ripe one to add to my supper (hey, I’m a man, not an animal). When I turn around, an iguana is watching me. I jump a little, then laugh at myself.

  “Are you the same guy from the other night?” I ask.

  He responds by sticking out his tongue at me.

  “If you’re looking for that woman I was with, she’s not here. Oh, you probably want some mango…” I sigh, sitting down on a fallen log and grabbing a thin, jagged rock off the ground. Slicing the mango open, I then separate the two halves and set them on a large stone a few feet from where the log is. Settling back down, I say, “Go on. It’s ripe. But don’t think we’re going to make this a habit. You’re supposed to get your own food.”

  He sticks his tongue out a few times in the direction of the mango, then walks over, standing on the far side of the rock so he can watch me while he eats.

  “You won’t see her again, by the way. By now, she’s probably somewhere over Europe. Maybe she landed in Germany already, I don’t know. Doesn’t matter.” I pause and watch him eat for a bit. “It’s for the best. She and I weren’t exactly what’s known as a good match in human terms — we’re total opposites. It’s all fireworks and earth-shattering sex at the beginning, but it never works out in the end.”

  Libby’s smiling face pops into my mind without my permission. Then suddenly the image shifts and she looks devastated because I’ve just lied to her and sent her away. My gut churns at the memory, but then I remember that she’s the one who lied first. She’s the one who pretended. Not me. Well, not until I had to, anyway.

  Forget her, Harrison. She’s halfway to Avonia by now, and she’s never coming back.

  “On the plus side, I’ll never have to see her again either. I guess that’s also the downside, isn’t it?” I rub my hand on the back of my neck. “You know what? I should just go back to the cabin, get wasted, and forget all about the fact that tomorrow, life as I know it will end.”

  I think about the staff and my family, and the realization that I can’t save them from this just about guts me. Then Libby’s list of my flaws comes into mind. Hero complex. She wrote it like it's a bad thing. How is helping others a flaw? I guess because I ended up here.

  My shoulders drop, and I let out a long, deep sigh. “You know what? Screw everyone else,” I say to the iguana, jabbing one finger into my knee to emphasize my point. “I'm through with all this hero business.”

  The iguana makes eye contact while he chews, which I take as a sign of his complete agreement.

  “My entire life, I've gone from one situation where people need rescuing to another. Maybe it's time I do something for myself for once. And not just a couple of nights away from everyone I know. Something big. Who knows? Maybe I'm not too old to give the circuit a try…”

  I notice the iguana is no longer chewing. “Shit, you must have been starving. You made quick work of that mango. Do want another one, buddy?”

  I stand and retrieve another mango, then cut it open and serve it to him.

  “Oh, who am I kidding? I can’t compete again at an elite level after taking so many years off. So maybe becoming a world champion surfer isn’t for me, but I am still 100% through with the hero business. The only person I’m looking after from now on is Harrison Theodore Banks.”

  I give him a firm nod, then realize the iguana isn’t eating the mango yet. “Did I not cut that open enough for you?” As I reach out, he snatches up the fruit and takes a big bite. “Oh…you’ve got it, I guess.”

  I watch him eat for another minute.

  “Yup. No more helping anyone ever. It’s me first from now on. Feels good.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Unreliable Flip-flops and Very Reliable Men

  Libby

  “It's fine, Libby. You're fine,” I tell myself as I wind my way up the mountain in my slippery, sweaty flip-flops. The sun is starting to set, and fear creeps in as the shadows grow longer in what now seems like the first scene of a horror movie.

  Just don't take your sundress off and go wandering about the jungle in your knickers. Only the stupid girl who strips down to her undies ends up dead. Everybody knows that.

  A rustling sound in the trees causes me to jump, and my right flip-flop flops when it should flip and snaps apart, the strap coming loose from the sole.

  “Are you shitting me?!” I say, bending down to see if I can fix it. I place the strap back in, then stand and take a step, only for it to fall out.

  “Like I really need this right now.” Putting the strap back in place one last time, I then walk with my left foot and slide my right foot along the path.

  Very efficient, Libby. Well done, you.

  Oh, what am I doing here anyway? I have no plan. Rushing into the jungle in a skirt and flip-flops in search of a man who made it very clear last night he despises me isn’t exactly the foolproof way to eternal happiness, is it?

  But to be fair, he did read a report that basically makes him sound like a complete moron, so…

  “Think, Libby. Think.” I need to figure out what I'm going to say when I see him.

  I lose my sandal again even though I’ve been carefully sliding it, so I decide to leave the flip-flop and go on without it. One foot is now making a smacking sound while the other pads along the damp jungle floor, and I can’t help thinking the abandoned flip-flop really is a metaphor for my sanity.

  A low hooting sound causes me to jump again. “Is that an owl?” Oh, God. Please don't let that be an owl, or any other type of hungry raptor with long, curved, can-kill-you talons.

  How far is it to t
hat damn cabin, anyway? I look around, spotting no signs of anything familiar along the path, even though I'm pretty sure I'm on the right one. Or at least I hope I am.

  All I have to do is just make it to the bridge. I'm not going to cross it. There's no way I'm going to cross it. I'm just going to walk up to it, call out to Harrison, and if he's at the cabin, great. He can cross the bridge, and we can talk. And if he's not? Well then, I'll just have to trek back down to the Rogue Fun and spend the night there. Alone. With no food, water, or weapons. Perfect.

  I walk for what feels like hours but is probably more like twenty-five minutes when I finally make it to the top of the mountain by the bridge, which sways in the breeze. I take a moment to fix my ponytail and adjust my dress, even though it likely isn't going to help much since I'm drenched in sweat and jungle humidity and I have one extremely filthy foot and one that's only mostly filthy that’s still in a flip-flop.

  “Okay, Libby, it’s now or never.”

  Apparently, hiking through the jungle causes me to talk to myself like a crazy person. For the first time, I understand why Tom Hanks drew a face on that volleyball in Castaway. I've only been out here for about half an hour, and I already feel the need for a friend.

  Cupping my hand over my mouth, I call out to the cabin in the distance, “Helllooo over there!”

  Hello over there? That didn't sound very sexy.

  Taking a deep breath, I shout, “Harrison, if you’re in there, I need to speak to you.”

  Better, but still…

  “Harrison! I need you!” Urgh. Too needy, but definitely loud enough.

  I stand and wait, my eyes trained on the cabin door, willing for it to open. But it doesn't, and now I'm forced to make a decision: Go back to the boat, or go on and find him?

  “Just Dewitt.”

  Without letting myself think, I take a deep breath and kick off my remaining flip-flop, then grab on to the ropes that serve as makeshift railings for the bridge with both hands. Closing my eyes, I take one step forward before it occurs to me I probably shouldn't do this with my eyes closed this time.

  Don't look down. Keep your eyes straight ahead. Keep walking. You'll be fine. Do not panic, and whatever you do, do NOT look down.

  I take my first step onto the bridge and feel it slide back and forth under the weight of my right foot. With my left foot still firmly on the ground behind me, I take a moment to get used to the swaying motion of the bridge.

  My heart thumps so loudly, I can hear it in my eardrums, and I feel slightly dizzy as I force my left foot to lift off the ground and move in front of my right one. The bridge creaks and groans, complaining about its new passenger. I slide my hands along the ropes, gripping it with white knuckles and sweaty palms — a bad combination when you're trying not to fall into a deep valley on a deserted jungle island.

  Wow, the farther you get out on this thing, the more it shakes. I thought those first few steps were scary, but now that I'm pretty much dead centre, it's almost like being on one of those horrible carnival rides that shakes you back and forth. What is that one called again? The shaker or something to do with salt-and-pepper, maybe?

  Oh, for God's sake, what does it matter, Libby? Just focus so you don't kill yourself!

  “You'll be just fine,” I say out loud. “This bridge held up your weight and Harrison’s at the same time. It can certainly survive you alone.”

  “Why, thank you, bossy lady,” I say, changing up my voice to try to sound more fun than I'm feeling. Then I laugh at the pure absurdity of what putting myself in a terrifyingly real, life-threatening situation will do to me.

  Hmm…maybe if I hurry, the bridge won't sway as much, and it won't be nearly as scary.

  I take three fast steps forward.

  Nope! Not a good idea!

  I crouch down as the boards underneath me bob up and down wildly. “Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! I am going to die.”

  Taking a deep breath, I say in a soothing voice, “You're not going to die. Just keep going.”

  If Harrison is in that cabin sleeping with some other woman, she better be a psychiatrist, because I have definitely gone off my rocker.

  My hands are now gripped behind me, and I have to force them to slide along to my front, which throws me off balance a little. I take another step just as a gust of wind causes the bridge to tilt to the right.

  “Shit!” I scream.

  Oh good. I'm now hanging with my elbows locked around the ropes of an upturned rickety rope bridge in the middle of the freaking jungle on a deserted island. Also, my dress must have gotten caught on a nail or something because it’s currently over my head, so I’m also unable to see anything but the seafoam green fabric. At least I can’t look down…

  Why didn't I work on my upper body strength? Why, Libby, you lazy, lazy idiot! What would it have taken? Like, four hours a week to be in amazing shape? Would that really have been so hard?

  In a situation like this, you need arms like Madonna, not Kate Moss. Well, Kate Moss if she gained forty pounds but kept the same muscle tone underneath. You know what I’m saying.

  Okay, well at least I'm staying calm, so my last few moments on this Earth will be spent with a bit of dignity. Except for the dress-over-the-head thing. Although, when I fall the dress will come down. Or it’ll stay put and I’ll plunge to my death in my knickers.

  Hmm...wait a minute, if I'm so calm, then who's making that horrible shrieking sound?

  TWENTY-NINE

  You Had Me at HHHHEEEEELLLLLLLLLLPPPPPPPP!!!!

  Harrison

  I’m just about at the cabin when I hear someone screaming bloody murder. “What the hell?”

  I pick up my pace, sprinting the rest of the way toward the top of the mountain. When I get there, I see a woman dangling from the middle of the bridge with her dress over her head. That body looks a lot like…

  “Libby!” I yell. “I’m here! Just hang on while I come get you!”

  She finally stops screaming, and I breathe a quick sigh of relief before I hear the sobbing kick in.

  “Don’t panic, okay? Just hold on as tightly as you can.”

  “Okay,” she says. “But please hurry because I’m no Madonna and there’s no way I can hang here much longer!”

  Shit. This is not going to be easy. The bridge is upside down, which means I pretty much have to lay flat and crawl my way across it to get to her.

  “Don’t look down,” I say.

  “I can’t. My dress is blocking my view.”

  “I was talking to myself.”

  “Oh,” she says, clearly not comforted by the fact that the person saving her has just admitted to being scared.

  I lay down and grab the first rung, then say, “You’re going to feel the bridge bounce a little, but it’s okay. It’s just me. I’ll be able to reach you really soon.”

  “Okay. I’ll just wait here,” she says, then she laughs, sounding a little crazy.

  I pull myself onto the wooden slats, then let go with one hand and reach forward to grab another slat. The bridge tilts side-to-side, and I have to grip it hard to stay on, then wait for it to stop moving before I can pull myself along again. I do this a few more times, the bridge bouncing and swaying. When I look up, I see I’m still nowhere near her, and I doubt she’ll be able to hang on long enough for me to reach her.

  “Okay, slight change of plans. I’m going to flip the bridge so you’re on top again.”

  “Nooooo!” she says in a high-pitched voice. “Maybe there’s some other way to rescue me. Like we could call for a helicopter or something?”

  “You ready?”

  “Umm, no. Not really.”

  “Hang on, okay?”

  “No, thank you. I’d prefer you don’t—”

  Closing my eyes, I twist my body as hard as I can. The bridge flips over, bouncing, swaying, and creaking so loud, it sounds like it could snap. Libby screams, but then there’s silence.

  I�
�m now under the bridge, hanging from it with my hands gripping the ropes on either side of the slats. When I look up, I see Libby lying flat on the bridge, hugging it for dear life.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  “Yes. This is much better, actually,” she says. “I think I’m just going to live here from now on. Let’s not move anymore.”

  “Stay there. I’ll come and get you.” If I can get myself out of this, that is.

  My arms shake with exertion and sweat drips down my face as I let go with one hand and swing backwards, grabbing hold of a slat behind me. Now my body is parallel to the bridge, but I’m closer to the valley wall. I do it again so I’m facing the opposite direction but am almost at the edge of the cliff.

  “Harrison, in case one of us doesn’t make it, I need you to know I’m completely in love with you and that stupid report you read was meant to protect you,” she yells.

  “Can we talk about this in a few minutes? This might not be the time for a heart-to-heart,” I say as patiently as I can.

  “No, I have to tell you now. That report I wrote was never meant for you to see. I made it all up so I could get GlobalLux to leave you alone. I gave the real report to Rosy. You’ll love it, if you get a chance to read it. I promise it will make you very happy,” she says, still clutching the bridge.

  I swing myself one last time, managing to get one foot onto a root growing out of the side of the cliff. Huh, maybe I really am Superman. Or Spiderman, at least…

  A moment later, I’m on solid ground, but I don’t give myself time to enjoy it. I have to rescue a sexy business analyst who apparently loves me, and at the moment I’m terrified I’m going to lose her if I don’t act fast.

  “I’m coming to get—” I start to say as I stand and turn toward her, only to see her standing and walking toward me.

  “Stay there,” she says, wobbling a little while she inches along. “I’m coming to you.”