Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 91820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
But Aunt Jen encouraged me to come alone. Said the time away would do me good.
I’m seriously doubting it now. But here I am.
I’m just gonna have to suck it up for the next two weeks.
Doing as Jenny asked, I lift my phone and take a few pics of the island that will be my home for fourteen days.
It’s the first time I’ve actually paid attention to the island since I landed here, which says a lot about my mental state at the moment, but this place is absolutely stunning. I’ve never seen anything like it before.
It actually slows my steps.
There were some gorgeous sights on the seaplane flight here, but being here on the island and seeing it in all its beauty is something else.
I feel something shift in my chest as I stare at the lush greenery in front of me, the clear blue water lapping against the soft white sand, the water bungalows that sit off to the right and left side of the island.
I’m staying in a water bungalow.
The water bungalows are a little more expensive than the beach villas, but Tim was paying for the whole wedding, so I wanted to contribute something more.
I felt so guilty that he was paying for the wedding, but he had insisted.
Still, I spent a frigging fortune on this honeymoon. Maldivian holidays don’t come cheap.
And considering I don’t have a job that pays a lot of money and I don’t come from a wealthy family, like he does, and that he fucked me over in the worst possible way, I’m glad he stumped up the cash and lost it all. The wedding venue wouldn’t refund at such short notice. The rings had been bought. The cars booked. My dress all paid for …
It’s still sitting at the store. I never did pick it up.
There was no reason to.
Fuck, I hate him.
And I hate her more.
Stop, Dillon. Don’t think of either of them.
Pushing all thoughts of the hell I’ve endured over the past two weeks, I snap a few photos of the island, beach, and the bungalows and send them to Jenny. Then, I put my phone away just as my feet hit the sand and we’re under the shade of palm trees.
Unfortunately, I’m wearing my favorite pair of Converse, so I can’t feel if the sand is as soft as it looks.
But I will later.
That can be my something to look forward to.
That, and shower, food, and sleep.
I follow the group into the main reception area.
And there is air-conditioning.
Thank you, gods!
The greeter guy tells us all to take a seat and that someone will be over to check us in.
I grab a single comfy-looking chair on its own in the corner, leaving the two-seaters for all the lovebirds.
God, I’m such a loser.
A waiter appears in front of me with a glass of bubbly, which I happily accept.
I down it in two swigs.
Christ. I needed that. I only wish there were more.
I set the empty glass on the table in front of me just as a super-pretty Maldivian woman takes a seat across from me, a tablet in her hand.
“Hi, I’m Najam. I will be checking you in today. Can I take your name, please?”
“Dillon Dawson.”
I booked the honeymoon in my name, thankfully. I was going to have a double-barreled surname. I didn’t want to give up my dad’s surname. It’s the only thing I have left of him.
That, and the fact that Tim’s surname is shit. Prickett.
Apt really because he is a prick.
She taps on her tablet. “Yes, of course. Miss Dawson and Mr. Prickett. You are on honeymoon. Congratulations!” She beams at me. “Mr. Prickett is here, yes?” She glances around, looking for him.
My heart sinks. I can feel my face reddening.
I’m thankful I’m still wearing my sunglasses, so she can’t see my eyes, which are definitely watering. I take a breath before speaking, “Um … no, it’s just me,” I say in a quiet voice. “No Mr. Prickett. Just me.”
Her expression drops. Eyes pitying. “Oh. I am sorry.”
“Don’t be. You didn’t cheat on me.”
Her eyes widen in shock. Clearly, she doesn’t get my stupid brand of humor.
I always use jokes as an attempt at deflection. They fail ninety-nine percent of the time. Like this one. Obviously, I’ve never learned to stop.
“Sorry. I was, um, it was a lame attempt at humor. Ignore me.” I wave my hand, like I can somehow erase the last minute.
“Oh, okay.” She sounds all awkward now. About as awkward as I’m feeling.
I just need to get the key to my bungalow and get the hell out of here.
She glances down at her tablet. “You are staying in one of our most wonderful senior water villas. Number seventy-eight. Very lovely and private. The views are stunning. Please wait while I go and get your key.”