One
British Virgin Islands, May 2011
“I hope you realize that I’m never moving from right here.”
Alex reclined on a chaise, the sun permeating her skin with the most luxurious warmth. From Ian’s cottage overlooking an inlet beach, the only thing they could see for miles was turquoise water and white sugar sand. Her black bikini, almost dry from their latest foray into the water, clung to her curves as she shifted to swipe her hair, stiff from the salt spray, from her shoulders.
Ian playfully nipped the prominence of her pelvic bone, earning a quick yelp. “Let’s go in town and grab some lunch.”
Alex groaned and scrunched her eyes shut. Her entire body felt heavy and sedate. It had been a phenomenal few weeks in Virgin Gorda. They had barely left the villa. Her cheeks filled with heat, remembering the intensity of perfect wedded bliss.
“What are you thinking about?” Ian teased.
The tingling rush coursing up her arched spine catapulted her body from horizontal to semi-vertical. She pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head, her eyes level with Ian’s calf and the puckered red scar running from knee to ankle. He had a matching one on his other leg—a permanent reminder that their life together had nearly been over before it started.
Ian grunted as he used the chaise to push himself upright then extended a hand in her direction. “I know a great little ceviche place.”
Alex reluctantly shoved her arms into her white linen shirt and allowed herself to be pulled upright by his outstretched hand. The momentum sent her colliding into his shirtless chest, the simple act of reconnecting with his skin causing her head to buzz and her heart to pound. She tipped her face upward to the sun and the ocean’s sky, her hungry lips finding Ian’s. She took her time tasting the salt there and the luxurious essence of time. Unhurried, precious time. He broke away from her when her stomach rumbled.
“I knew you were hungry,” he accused.
“Hungry for you,” she replied, biting her lower lip to entice his interest.
He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles before tugging her behind him. “Come on. We can’t survive on saltwater and sex.” He turned back to give her a delightful smirk. “As much as I would like to try.”
Grumbling to herself, Alex finally relaxed into a smile when Ian led her out to the canary yellow Jeep parked in front of the house. She loved this house, a stucco cottage with its stone-tiled roof of burnt orange and faded turquoise pots overflowing with bougainvillea. The green tendrils and delicate pink blossoms arced lovingly into the air before diving to the ground in a snarl of tangled vines. The second-floor windows had been thrown open, white linen curtains fluttering around wooden shutters like a gull’s wings.
In the passenger side of the Jeep, Alex tilted her head back and let the wind whip through her beachy waves and pummel the thin linen of her shirt. They drove parallel to the beach, past a stretch of land richly verdant from the recent rains and unoccupied except for a few feral goats ripping the grass up from the roots. It was a paradise so thorough that Alex could scarcely remember her reality.
A few miles down the single lane road, Ian whipped the vehicle through a patch of sand into a surprisingly full parking lot. The ramshackle building next to them was painted flamingo pink with a thatched roof that looked like it wouldn’t survive the next strong gust of wind.
“I haven’t been here in years,” Ian said, gesturing to the screened-in shack.
“When was the last time?” Alex asked, floating a hand over to stroke the inner surface of his forearm.
“Five years ago or so. My dad took me sailing, and we ate here just about every day. Well, I ate, and he delivered not so subtle hints about how I needed to get my life straightened out.”
Alex smirked. “And did you?”
“I did.” A faraway look entered his eyes. The same one he always got when he conjured the past. But Alex had a feeling that this time, he was thinking about the future. Their future.
They chose to sit outside on a covered patio at a corner table apart from the rest of the crowd where Alex could sit in a slice of sun. She admired the way it made her skin seem even more golden brown, twisting her hand to let the light shimmer over the slim diamond band on her finger.
“It suits you,” Ian said without looking up from the menu.
“What does?”
“The beach...time off...the ring...all of it.”
His voice had grown husky and now she caught him staring at her, a quiet yearning growing in his eyes. Like what they had was temporary and would run like sand through their fingers if they weren’t careful. She wondered if he suspected the restlessness in her—a tiny niggling at her conscience to return to reality. To being a doctor and saving kids’ lives. To living her greater purpose. So far it had been surprisingly easy to keep it at bay.
“It suits you too,” she said and studied his face.
In the months since the accident, the gaunt lines in his face had softened and the pallor of his skin had been replaced by a lovely shade of bronze. He had always been beautiful to her. But lately, his eyes had never been brighter, his lips fuller, his chest more solid as he pressed against her back every night when they fell asleep.
The arrival of a waiter in khaki shorts and flip flops, a pencil and pad in hand, broke her trance.
“Any idea what you want to order?” Ian asked her.
“Everything,” she mused, flipping through the multi-page plastic menu.
“I’ll come back in five,” drawled the pimpled youth, pocketing the pen and scurrying over to the next table.
Ian glanced up from his menu then abruptly thrust his hand up in the air in greeting. Alex turned her head to find an amicable man, deeply tanned with a short peppery buzz cut, motioning for Ian to join him at the bar.
“Friend of yours?” Alex asked, smiling.
“Yeah. Eddie, my dive instructor. I can’t believe he remembers me. Good guy. He moved here from London about thirty years ago and never left.” Using the table to push to a stand, he leaned over and kissed the top of Alex’s head. “Mind if I go say hi?”
“Of course not but bring me something with an umbrella when you come back.”
“Your wish is my—”
Alex absorbed the rest of his sentence into her mouth and pressed her lips to his. “And don’t forget it,” she whispered.
He groaned lightly before shuffling over to the bar, leaning to the right to take the pressure off his left leg. That side hadn’t healed as well as the other one after surgery even though it had been over a month. Alex furrowed her brow. They would need to get him back into physical therapy when they got home.
Home. That was a construct she hadn’t dared let herself imagine. Since the wedding, they hadn’t discussed anything beyond their next meal, but soon, they would be faced with the logistics of their life. His job in London. Her job in Botswana. And their mutual commitment to the hospital in Mongolia that Ian had built, and Alex had promised to support. She had chosen a life with Ian—with this man who loved her irrevocably. They would figure out what home meant. Together.
Her eyes drifted over his tall silhouette leaning over the surface of the bar as his dive buddy gesticulated into the air. The wind blew across his frame, thinner than it used to be, yet still muscular in all the right places. His linen shirt flapped sideways, and she caught a slice of his back right above the waistband of his khaki shorts. He was laughing freely, his head tilted back and bathed in sunlight. He looked positively vibrant. Not at all like someone who had been stranded in northern Mongolia for three months with multiple injuries. Luckily nothing that wouldn’t heal over time.
When Ian returned, he plunked down a glass of pink liquid in front of her, a cherry floating lazily on the top, skewered by a nifty paper umbrella. Alex sipped it through a straw as Ian slid into the seat next to her. A sickly-sweet nectar coated her palate as the vapors struck her in the nose.
“Whew.” She blew out a breath, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. “What’s in this?”
Ian eyed his own glass of pink and swirled it a few times. “Rum punch. A special blend of Eddie’s, I think.”
“If I drink this, I’m going to either be curled up under the table or dancing on top of it,” Alex joked.
Ian raised his eyebrows and put his drink to his lips. She plucked the cherry from the toothpick umbrella and popped it into her mouth. After mashing the fruit between her teeth to release its juice, she began absentmindedly flipping the stem around with her tongue. When she looked across the table, Ian’s eyes were on her.
“Can you—?” he asked.
Alex furrowed her brow in concentration, coaxing her oral muscles to manipulate the cherry stem into a solid knot. It was hardly the first time she had done this—usually it occurred under the duress of competition—but it was the first time in long time. She caught Ian’s wide-eyed expression as his tongue darted out onto his lower lip. Wearing an expression of pure smugness, she plucked the knotted stem from her teeth and laid it next to her glass.
“That was insanely hot.”
“Too bad we didn’t stay at the beach house.” Alex narrowed her eyes and flicked them over Ian’s chest.
“We can be back there in exactly two minutes, and I can have your clothes off in one.” He held up his index finger then tapped her on the nose, sending her stomach into a delicious flip.
Eddie’s gravelly voice punctured their lust bubble before Alex could nod.
“Pardon me everyone. No need to panic, but is there a doctor here today?”
Alex hesitated, giving anyone else the chance to push back a dining chair. Damn. She regarded Ian as he casually sipped a drink while raising an arm into the air.
“Right here, Eddie,” he called, pointing a finger at Alex.
As the wizened divemaster weaved through the seated guests, Alex stood up, tugging her denim shorts farther down her tanned thighs.
“I’m Eddie,” he said, thrusting out a hand covered in flat brown sunspots.
“Alex.” Alex took his hand and gave him a wide smile.
“Follow me, Doc.” He pivoted on his heel and motioned for Alex to accompany him.
“I’ll save your seat, cherry pie,” Ian whispered as she bent down for a swift kiss.
Alex trailed behind Eddie down a set of wooden stairs leading to the beachfront where blue and white striped chaise lounges sat in a neat row. One of the chairs was occupied by a woman in the recumbent position, hands folded neatly over her abdomen, a large white umbrella shading her face from the glaring sun.
“One of our regulars—snowbird from up north somewhere who owns a house not too far from here,” Eddie explained. “She nearly passed out walking up the stairs to the restaurant, and our hostess made her lie down.”
“What’s her name?” Alex asked as she approached the still form.
“Margaret Levine,” clipped a prim voice from inside the cocoon of the umbrella.
“I’ve brought you a doctor, Margie,” announced Eddie. “Now be a dear and tell her what’s going on with you.”
“There is absolutely nothing ‘going on with me,’ Edward,” she replied. “The sun was too hot for my walk this morning, and I got dizzy. End of story.”
Alex edged around the umbrella to get a better view of her patient. She was dressed in white linen pants and a long-sleeved black blouse. A set of pearls adorned her neck, and a wisp of dark bangs fluttered beneath a black silk scarf tied over her hair. She looked to be in her late fifties, elegant and refined, with perfectly polished red fingernails and skin as creamy as alabaster despite living in a beach community. Alex knelt at the edge of the chaise, her bare knees sinking into the sugary sand.
“Hello, Ms. Levine. My name is Dr. Wilde, but you can call me Alex.”
Margaret remained in her reclined position, her face covered by a pair of Chanel sunglasses. “You, my dear, look nothing like a doctor.”
Alex gritted her teeth but smiled. “I’m sure I don’t, but I am a doctor. I work in the intensive care unit. Can you tell me what happened?”
“I already told you.” Margaret’s thin lips tightened into a singular red line, deepening the grooves around her mouth.
Alex ignored the woman’s tartness and donned the placid yet concerned face of a medical professional. “Have you felt dizzy before?”
“Of course, who hasn’t?” she snapped.
“Did you have chest pain?”
“No.”
“Shortness of breath?”
“No.”
“Nausea?”
“Only since this conversation started.”
This was going nowhere. “May I take your hand?”
“If you must.”
The woman thrust her hand toward Alex, an enameled bracelet spinning on her bony wrist. Alex enveloped the hand that was cool despite the warm day. She slid her fingers under the bracelet where she felt a thrumming pulse that was regular but not quite strong enough.
“Have you had enough to drink today?” Alex asked softly.
“Hardly,” the woman answered, the hint of a smirk forming at the corners of her mouth.
“Can we get you something?” Alex asked and lifted her brows at Eddie.
“I’ll take a whisky sour made with Macallan’s, Edward,” the woman said, pulling her hand from Alex’s grasp.
Alex sighed and narrowed her eyes. Her expensive taste in whiskey matched the rest of her.
“You need some water first,” Alex said as Eddie chuckled in the background.
“I will have water,” she said, smoothly removing her sunglasses and turning her head toward Alex. “It will be frozen and surrounded by whiskey.”
The eyes that cut into her like glass were blue—ice blue—and startlingly familiar. Alex was mesmerized by her face; though aged, it was finely boned and beautifully symmetric. A movement near the stairs caught her eye, and she spied Ian making his way down, his linen shirt flapping in the breeze.
“Need anything?” he called.
Alex stood up and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Can you bring some water?”
He nodded and, a few minutes later, carefully limped over with two glistening bottles.
“Thanks,” Alex said, brushing the hair out of her face before reaching for both bottles. Margaret remained still, hands clenching the frame of her sunglasses.
“You’re really getting better at stairs,” Alex said.
“It helps living with a doctor.” He smiled brilliantly and ruffled her hair.
“Here you go,” Alex said to Margaret, offering her one of the bottles.
What little color that existed in her complexion drained as she stared at Ian, her pupils dilating until only a rim of blue existed.
“Ms. Levine, this is my—”
“Hello Ian,” Margaret interrupted.
Ian jerked his chin down to fully take in her features, his face turning stony and expressionless.
“Hello, Mom.”
Mom?
