years, she’d taken so much joy in helping discover their worlds. Then she pictured the faces of her students from last year, stopping to hug her as they bravely made their way to their second-grade classroom.
And Oliver. Sweet Oliver who talked a mile a minute, whose imagination was more intense and whose curiosity was more boundless than any child she’d ever known, the kid who’d stolen her heart from day one with his earnest questions and spontaneous hugs. And the same kid who’d start digging his pencil into his skin when he became bored, who’d physically lash out at his schoolmates and at Nicola herself when he felt overwhelmed.
A severe case of ADHD. Nicola knew the symptoms, had grown up seeing them in her own mother every single day. Her mother hadn’t known it because times were different then. But now that Nicola had encouraged her to get treatment, she couldn’t help but wonder at how different things might be if her mother’s condition had been managed earlier. Not just the instability and poverty that marked her childhood because her mom had had trouble holding down a job, but the calling Nicola felt as an adult to help others in similar circumstances. Would she have still stepped outside her professional boundaries to help Oliver? If not, everything that happened stemming from that one decision—the first photo with Matthew released by Celebrity Life, the paparazzi camped on her doorstep, the one piece of dirt the press was able to dig up on her, and the hurtful accusations from parents and coworkers—might never have happened. But it had, and as a result Nicola had had to leave behind everything she knew and loved.
A month ago Nicola had turned thirty. Teaching scuba diving on an island of celebrities, no matter how idyllic it might appear, was not the life she’d planned for herself at this point.
You have to stop this line of thinking, Nicola scolded herself. Such thoughts could only lead to one thing, and she never wanted to go back to the place they brought her to again. She simply couldn’t afford to exist in a world that dark.
Determined to get her day off to a better start, Nicola rolled over in bed—and came face-to-face with her open laptop on her nightstand. Three tequila shots in quick succession were never a good idea, but when combined with Google they could be downright regrettable. A little drunk and still reeling from the dive mishap—and him—she’d broken down and searched Matthew’s name last night for the first time since she’d moved here. What she’d found hadn’t helped her mood. Her screen had filled with the latest news—that his wife had filed for divorce because “their marriage hadn’t been able to take the strain of Matthew’s alleged affair with elite private-school teacher Nicola Metcalfe.” That his wife was asking for spousal support and full custody of their only child, Oliver.
Nicola had felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. She understood why celebrities flocked to this island. There were no tabloids or newspapers for sale at the gift shop, and here you could choose, if you wished, to exist without the internet and TV. The very famous were trapped in a hell of their own making that elicited zero sympathy from the public. Only by association, Nicola had lived that hell for six endless months, and it had nearly destroyed her. She couldn’t imagine what it must be to have the world judging her every word, move and decision—to fuel the voracious appetites of the masses for failure and hope and mistakes—simply by existing.
Heavy thoughts for a beautiful day. Trying to shake off her mood, Nicola tied her emerald robe around her and went into the bathroom to shower and brush her teeth. Her phone was sitting on the vanity. Since moving to Moretta, Nicola had become decreasingly reliant on it, sometimes leaving it at home for an entire day without even noticing it missing—something inconceivable back in her old life. But really, who was going to call her? She’d been shocked at how many of her friends had jumped ship when the scandal went down. Which was another reason she loved Kiki, loyal to the end.
Nicola brought her screen to life to see a text from Kiki. It had come in at around ten thirty last night, long after Nicola was fast asleep.
Z-lister just left you a note. Want me to take a picture of it?
Great—just what she didn’t need to improve her mood.
So what was up with that little flutter in her belly?
After showering and getting dressed in her usual work uniform—today it was a white bikini, pink terry shorts and a gray tank top—Nicola went into the kitchen with coffee on her mind. There was a piece of folded paper on the counter next to the coffee maker.
The note.
What could he possibly have to say for himself?
Nicola unfolded it and read: You saved my life. I acted like a complete moron. Would you accept an apology drink? Alex 555 873 9921
It was tempting. Nicola could still see his aqua eyes, the lines of his muscular shoulders, how he’d looked at her on the road yesterday morning…but no. Anything beyond a drink would prompt her conscience to reveal the truth about why she was here—or rather what she’d run away from to land here—and that was a complication Nicola didn’t need.
She crumpled up the note and tossed it into the recycle bin.
From the back pocket of Alex’s swimming trunks, his phone signaled an incoming text message. He made a grab for it, but it was just another work message from back home—still nothing from one of the two people he really wanted to hear from right now.
Fuck. It was only day two of his trip, and the whole thing was already off the rails. He’d managed to get John Brissoli’s cell phone number last night from a contact of his brother’s, who’d made Alex swear on his life he wouldn’t reveal his source. The contact said he’d heard Brissoli was staying at the Palms Inn, the island’s one hotel, and Dev said he’d never even heard of him. The guy was like some mafia hitman instead of a dude who’d started a website. In any case, Alex’s voice mail and text messages to him had both so far gone unacknowledged.
Shoving his phone back into his pocket, Alex strode from the scuba shack toward the tiny gravel lot where several golf carts were parked. He didn’t want to wait for her by the shack because this was a conversation that needed to happen in private, but there was nowhere else to wait without looking like a goddamn loitering creep. He was silently weighing his options when he saw her coming toward him.
She was in a golf cart this time, her hair blowing in the wind as she navigated the bumpy road. Beneath her gray tank top her breasts bounced gently. Seeing her like this, still unaware of his presence, relaxed and completely unconcerned about her looks, Alex thought she was more beautiful than ever. She looked strong and capable, and yet there was something about her that made him want to protect her from harm. Which was of course completely ridiculous, given that she’d had to rescue his ass yesterday.
The moment was too good to last. The second she laid eyes on him, her expression turned to one of flat indifference. She parked the cart, grabbed her satchel off the seat and strode toward the beach to avoid him.
“I acted like an asshole. You have every right to hate me.”
She stopped in her tracks, then turned to look at him over her shoulder. “Why would I hate you? I don’t even know you. I’m sure that underneath it all, you’re no worse than any other hotshot with a bruised ego.” She resumed walking, so Alex had no choice but to hurry after her. He got in front of her but she wouldn’t stop, so he started walking backward. He still had the lingering sense that she was familiar, but that wasn’t possible. Though she was as beautiful as any actress, she was quite obviously a scuba instructor and not a celebrity.
“I’m
