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"On what?" I pressed, curious.
"If you don’t overpack. You have a tendency to do that. We’re only going for three days. You don’t need to go crazy," he teased, poking my side.
"I never know what you want to do. Suppose you take me out to a fancy restaurant and I didn’t bring a dress?" I countered, pouting slightly.
"That’s what stores are for. They do have them on St. Croix," he replied with a chuckle.
"I know they do, silly," I said, rolling my eyes.
"Pack light and whatever we need, we’ll buy," he assured me, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
"I’m excited," I confessed, feeling a flutter of anticipation.
"Me too," he said softly, his eyes meeting mine with a warmth that made my heart skip a beat.
I yawned, stretching slightly in the plush seat. "When will we be landing?"
Oliver checked his watch, glancing at me with a small smile. "Probably in a half hour. Did you have a good nap?"
"Yes," I nodded, sinking back into the butter-soft tan leather. "These seats are so comfortable, like first class."
"Better than first class," he corrected with a wink.
I had fallen asleep the minute we took off, the flurries outside doing little to unsettle me. Oliver had reassured me not to worry about the weather. My sleep had been disturbed last night by a nightmare—not loud enough to wake Oliver but scary enough to disrupt my rest. I had tossed and turned until the alarm went off.
"Did you have a nightmare?" he asked, his voice soft.
"When? Now?" I blinked, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep.
"Last night. I felt you moving around."
"I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. It's the stress of the trip," I explained, biting my lip.
Oliver sighed, a hint of concern in his eyes. "I still think you should see a therapist."
"I'm not interested. They couldn’t help me before," I replied, my tone defensive.
"You were six. Things change, and your brain matures."
"I don’t want to get involved. I have too many things on my plate."
"Will you at least think about it?" he pressed gently.
"Yes. If I decide to go, you’ll be the first to know," I answered curtly, turning to look out the window. We were flying over a few clouds, but I was sure it would be sunny when we got to St. Croix. The weather app on my phone had promised sunny and warm in the eighties.
Sensing I didn’t want to discuss it any longer, Oliver returned to his laptop, tapping away until a female flight attendant, dressed in black slacks and a white blouse, came out to tell us to prepare for landing. Oliver packed up his silver laptop, stowing it in his brown soft leather briefcase.
A few minutes later, we began our descent, and the sun’s rays blasted through the window as we exited the cloudbank. I squinted, pulling down the built-in white shade, relieved to see the weather prediction was correct. Once we landed, the captain exited the cabin to open the door.
I stood up, adjusting my yellow sweater and smoothing my blue jeans with my hands. From my purse, I took out my sunglasses and slipped them on to ward off the bright sunlight as we left the plane. A blast of heat hit me, immediately causing sweat to bloom on my skin.
Oliver had discarded his sweater before he stood up from his seat, and I wished I had done the same. A black SUV was waiting on the tarmac, and our large Louis Vuitton suitcase was loaded into the back while we slipped inside. Vlad and Brenda, our security detail, took the seat behind us.
Our driver, a large man with a pug nose and ice-blue eyes, sat up front. His bulging muscles strained at his gray sports jacket, making me wonder how many of them he’d torn. We were driven to a marina where a small boat was waiting to transport us to Fox Island.
“We forgot the suitcase,” I said, a hint of panic in my voice, as Oliver helped me onto the deck of the small white boat. He chuckled, a low, soothing sound.
“We’re not staying on the island. The suitcase will be taken to our room at Diamond Square St. Croix.”
