Page 131 of My Real Love Affair

Twenty-three notifications.Oh no.

I grabbed the phone and connected to the yacht’s Wi-Fi, immediately calling Cleo.

She answered on the first ring. “ARE YOU ALIVE?”

I pulled the phone away from my ear. “Yes, I’m alive. I’m sorry, I meant to text but as soon as we landed we went straight for the yacht.”

“Thirty-four hours, Melody! You’ve been gone for thirty-four hours with no contact. Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? Do you have any concept of the scenarios I’ve imagined? I was so close to coming for you.” I could practically hear her pinching her fingers together. “I almost called the FBI.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I just got caught up.”

“No. No ‘just.’ There is no ‘just’ that excuses this. What if something had happened to you? What if Austin turned out to be a secret serial killer? What if the yacht sank? What if pirates boarded and kidnapped you? They would love to get their hands on a Bancroft.”

“Funny you should mention pirates?—”

“Don’t you dare! Don’t make jokes right now. I’m too angry for jokes.”

But I could hear the relief in her voice underneath the anger. I couldn’t help grinning as I wandered around the stateroom, phone pressed to my ear.

“I really am sorry, Cleo. I fell asleep under the stars last night and I just—I forgot about everything else.”

There was a pause. Then, in a slightly less furious tone: “Under the stars?”

“Yeah. On the top deck. It was beautiful.”

“Hmm.” Another pause. “And Austin?”

“Is perfect. The yacht is perfect. Tahiti is perfect, what little I saw of it. Everything is amazing.” I caught sight of myself in the mirror, my hair a mess, my dress wrinkled, but smiling like an idiot. “Everything is really, really good.”

“Good enough to make me worry I would have to identify your body?”

“I’m sorry. Really. I should have texted.”

“Yes, you should have.” But her tone had softened. “But I’m glad you’re happy. Even if you are being irresponsible and making terrible life choices.”

“Terrible but amazing life choices.”

“Still terrible. But I’ll allow it.” I heard rustling on her end. “Now tell me everything. Is the yacht huge? Is the crew hot? Have you been in the ocean yet? Have you and Austin christened the yacht?”

“Cleo!”

“What? I’m living vicariously through you. The least you can do is give me details after giving me a near panic attack.”

I launched into a description of the yacht, the crew, the incredible cove we’d woken up in. Cleo asked a million questions, and I answered them all while exploring the stateroom more thoroughly.

The bathroom had a cabinet full of expensive skincare products, the kind I usually only used when I got PR packages. I started opening bottles, examining labels, already planning which ones to use.

“Hold on,” Cleo said. “Someone’s calling me.”

“Who?”

“Your mom.”

“Ha ha.”

“No, I’m serious,” Cleo said.

“Why would she be calling you?”