63
We have lunch on the main deck with the rest of the party, eating chicken Caesar salad and drinking wine, relaxing on the padded double loungers in the mid-day sun. Jake’s beside me, leaning toward Daniel’s lounger, his muscular back covered in a pale gray T-shirt; they’re talking about a New York Giant’s game they recently went to at the MetLife Stadium. I’m facing the lounger with Richard and Leila; she and I are engrossed in girl talk and making plans. She agrees to take me to the mainland for some girly shopping and to a salon to get my hair cut.
I catch Jake staring back at me as she picks up strands of my hair, talking about cutting it short; he frowns when she mentions a really short pixie style, but I shrug it off. He seems only half-tuned into what Daniel is saying and more interested in how much of my tawny locks are to be shorn off. I wonder what he’s thinking.
“I think maybe you would suit shoulder length.” Leila’s sweet little voice breaks into my thoughts. The girl is the dictionary definition of a perky blonde, all smiles and cuteness, ample boobs, and gentle curves.
“Maybe.” I pick up a strand too, twirling it as I look at it, considering it. I catch Jake watching me again and, this time, lock eyes. I want to know what he thinks, but I don’t want to ask his opinion openly.
“What’s wrong with how it is?” he breaks in with a frown, making Leila crease her pretty face, but he pushes in any way.
“Jake, men have no clue. Women like a drastic change every so often,” Leila quips at him with a beaming smile.
“If it’s not broke, then don’t fix it,” Jake replies, raising his eyebrows as his eyes skim my hair, an air of hostility brewing.
“Maybe it’s not broken, but it can definitely be revamped. Women like to shake it up and try on a new look,” she sasses him. This has a comedy battle between two obviously good friends written all over it.
“It’s my hair!” I point out, putting my hands up between the two of them. Jake reaches out, takes a strand, and tucks it behind my ear, his eyes skimming it again as though he’s thinking about something, and he doesn’t seem happy.
“I like it how it is, but if you want to change it, then fine; it
can always grow back,” he says in that childish sulking tone of his.
Leila smirks, and I laugh at him. He sounds like a boyfriend and definitely not a boss.
“Worried your girlfriend won’t get you all hot and bothered with short hair, Jacob?” Leila leans over me to prod her finger on Jake’s cheek. I open my mouth to correct her on the fact we’re most definitely not in a relationship, but Jake leans over me to shove Leila back.
“Shut up, wench. Emma has more sense than to let me be her boyfriend.” He sounds a little more severe than I think he means to, and I clamp shut.
“Oh right, I forgot. You’re just friends.” The honey-like way she says it makes both me and Jake throw her friendly fake smiles. “I can see that,” she adds sarcastically.
“Really, we are.” My feeble attempt is ignored by her. She smiles and sighs loudly, throwing herself back on her lounger.
“Well then, you won’t care if I take her to get it all shaved off, will you?”
Jake just casts her a look somewhere between a challenge and a glare before turning to me with a friendlier face.
“Emma can do whatever she wants with her hair. She’ll always look beautiful.” Sulky vibes growing, he gets up, turns his back on us, and walks off to follow Daniel, who has gone to the table laden with lunch.
“Someone is not a happy little playboy today!” Leila grins and throws me a charming, feigned-innocent smile. I am focused on that slight lurch in my stomach from his calling me “beautiful,” pushing it down quickly. I don’t bother replying to Leila. I don’t even know how, if I am being honest. He certainly didn’t behave like my boss just then.
***
After lunch, Jake takes Leila and me ashore on the speedboat, which is moored to the back of the yacht.
He doesn’t say anything again about my hair, whether I should cut it or not, and I don’t bring it up. He has a car and driver waiting on land to take us anywhere we desire and leaves us with a goodbye at the dock with orders to call him when we’re returning.
He hands me a credit card, which I try to push back at him but meet his death glare. I know better than to argue with that look. I slide it into my bag, remembering he made it clear before we came that this trip was all on him, and if I even mentioned paying for a single thing, he would tie me up and dump me in the ocean. Jake’s funny about very few things, but women paying when they’re with him is a strong dislike. He likes to be the traditional, courteous gentleman. Some may think it’s chauvinist, and maybe it is, but it’s a Jake characteristic. Brought up in an old-fashioned Italian family, paying for everything when a girl is with him is natural to him. There’s no arguing with it.
I’m excited and apprehensive about the shopping spree and spending time alone with this girl I just met. I don’t hang out with women apart from Sarah, and even then, it’s been so long since we did. I don’t do social outings and girly shopping days. I never did. Sarah was always more of a tomboy type, going to movies and baseball games.
Leila soon puts me at ease with her never-ending chatter. She captures my heart with talk of Sophie almost immediately, even though she only met her briefly, but I can tell that Leila will be a good, protective older sister.
Her mother sounds fantastic: a woman who has adopted five children from varying backgrounds, who loves and raises them all like her own, and who is the most maternal woman you will ever meet, according to Leila. It is obvious she adores her.
She drags me into several boutiques, swanning over rails of high-priced dresses. I don’t need any more clothes; Donna has ensured that, and I already know most of the items she bought me are more expensive than anything here. Jake is rather indulgent on that front.
I wonder what he’d be like as a husband, should he ever find the inclination to marry. I can see him spoiling his wife, money no object, and the inability to say ‘no’ to whatever she wants. I don’t like the idea of Jake marrying some woman and doting on her with gifts and clothes. The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
“Here we are,” Leila announces proudly as we stand in front of a classy-looking building with tinted windows and potted bushes at either side of the door. It’s a bit Mediterranean-cutesy yet somehow chic.
“Where?” I ask, confused, looking around.
“Best salon in the Caribbean! Come and meet Andre.” She beams a charming smile with a huge, bright flash of white, neat teeth and drags me inside the cool, air-conditioned building.
Our sandals echo on the tiled floor, and there’s a strong chemical smell in the air. We’re greeted by a round man in a Hawaiian shirt and a bald, shaved head as he waves his arms around energetically at the sight of her before they embrace excitedly amid air kisses. It’s obvious they have met before. Many times. The following cooing and crooning make it abundantly clear that Andre is very gay, and his personality is just infectious.
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