Текст книги "Convicted"
Автор книги: Aleatha Romig
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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 35 страниц)
Do what you feel in your heart to be right—for you‘ll be criticized anyway. You’ll be damned if you do, and damned if you don’t.
—Eleanor Roosevelt
Stepping through the doorway into a sea of familiar faces, Emily held tight to John’s hand. Everwood’s conference room bustled with counselors, therapists (speech, occupational, and physical), doctors (primary care, neurology, and psychiatry), rehabilitation nurses, and administration representatives—all with one patient in mind—Claire Nichols Rawlings. Various members of Claire’s care team greeted the Vandersols as they made their way to some empty seats at the table.
When it came to planning and treatment, Everwood was well known for their excellence. This was true with all their patients, but some patients received extra attention. It was no secret—Claire Nichols Rawlings wasn’t the average patient. First of all, she was incredibly wealthy. Second, her sister, next of kin and power of attorney, was excessively demanding, as well as incredibly involved, and lastly, Claire’s brother-in-law was an attorney, well versed in medical law. If pertinent revelations regarding her case were to be discussed, it required the presence of all members of her care team.
Today’s meeting was in regard to the information in Dr. Fairfield’s report. Dr. Carly Brown eased herself into the chair beside Emily. Squeezing Emily’s free hand, she whispered, “Don’t worry. Dr. Fairfield wouldn’t be addressing this entire crowd if he didn’t have some valuable theories.”
Tired of theories, Emily feigned a smile. Fighting the emotion building in her chest, she managed, “Thanks, Carly, I’m just afraid to get my hopes up.”
Dr. Brown smiled. “Hope is all we have. Don’t give up on your sister.”
Breathing deeply, Emily blinked back the tears. “It’s one thing for me to be disappointed—I’m used to it, but I keep thinking about Nichol having to deal with this one day.”
John leaned over, keeping his voice low as the rest of the room continued to murmur, “Let’s concentrate on Claire. Nichol’s young; we can keep her uninformed as long as possible.”
Emily nodded as she swallowed her tears. Everyone was taking a seat—some around the table and many in chairs at the perimeter. The overflowing room quieted as Dr. Fairfield began his presentation.
“Thank you all for joining me here today. I’ve spoken to many of you in the last few weeks; many over the phone. It’s nice to meet you in person. Let me begin by explaining my role as a neuropsychologist...”
Emily listened as Dr. Fairfield reviewed Claire’s condition. At first, it wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before—
“It’s well documented that psychosis like what Ms. Nichols is experiencing can be the result of traumatic brain injury. Recent studies have supported the theory of delayed psychosis. This has been well documented in veterans as well as NFL players. It’s characterized by slowly developing psychosis or delayed rapid onset. There are case studies which have documented rapid onset occurring as long as fifty-four months post injury.”
Emily liked to think that Claire’s psychosis was slowly developing. Although previously undiagnosed, that theory justified Claire’s decisions over the last years. As Claire’s sister, it made it easier for Emily to accept some of Claire’s actions and decisions—especially regarding Anthony Rawlings. Emily mentally reviewed the timeline: Claire’s initial concussion resulting in prolonged unconsciousness—hell, a coma—although, when she was capable, Claire refused to use that word—was in September of 2010. Though not a concussion, her second brain injury was in June of 2013, when she was attacked by Patrick Chester. Claire’s break with reality occurred in March of 2014...
“There have even been suggestions that a hormonal imbalance as well as weight gain, like that associated with pregnancy, could have exacerbated previous injuries...”
To Emily, it seemed very cut and dry—and the timeline worked.
Dr. Fairfield continued, “...Although Ms. Nichols’ brain scans support a history of traumatic brain injury, I do not share the theory that this has led to her psychosis...”
Emily’s neck straightened, and she turned to her husband. What was he saying? Of course TBI was the cause of Claire’s psychosis! It was all Anthony’s fault! He injured her. If it weren’t for him, she never would have been Patrick Chester’s target. Emily’s internal monologue drowned out the doctor’s words. She needed to listen.
“...The studies are less conclusive on the rate of recovery, from non-TBI induced psychosis. It’s true; this patient’s current scans indicate previous damage to the right hemisphere of her brain.” He projected various scanned images on the screen and utilized a small blue arrow to point to Doppler generated specifics. “You’ll note, as is consistent with TBI, the damage is most pronounced in the temporal and parietal lobes. What’s of specific significance with Ms. Nichols is the reduction in gray matter. As that reduction occurs, patients tend to feel pain. Ms. Nichols’ history does suggest problems with headaches. Now, if we compare the MRI of 2013 with the one taken two weeks ago, you can see...”
Emily listened, trying to remember the previous evidence. Everyone had said it was the TBI which indeed had caused Claire’s psychotic break. She recalled discussion of injury—evidence of concussion, yet as she tried to focus, Emily realized, Dr. Fairfield wasn’t nullifying that evidence. He had acknowledged that the injuries occurred, but he was also stating that he didn’t feel that the injuries were the cause of her psychosis.
Turning to Dr. Brown, Emily whispered, “Is he saying the head injuries aren’t the cause of her psychosis?”
Dr. Brown’s eyes opened wide as she turned to Emily, nodded, and shrugged.
Dr. Fairfield continued, “If the injuries prove to be the cause of the patient’s current state of mind, then in that case I’d have to agree with the conclusion of others that no further recovery will occur.”
Emily’s mind spun. Who said that? No one had voiced that opinion to her.
Dr. Fairfield went on, “I have based my current prognosis on the patient’s most recent DTI, or Diffusion Tensor Imaging. This is relatively new imaging and wasn’t commonly available at the time of Ms. Nichols’ break. As many of you know, I’ve worked with the NFL on this subject and have been personally involved with many of the more public cases. Accurately monitoring and measuring brain activity is essential in any prognosis. Let me show you this segment of consecutive DTI.” Again, everyone’s attention was brought to the screen. The image before them moved, or—more accurately—it pulsated. The defined areas of color moved, reminding Emily of an intense area of thunderstorm activity on a weather map. “Note the increased activity in this area of gray matter. What’s significant is that this image was recorded during one of the patient’s hallucinatory episodes. Let me also show you the increased stimulation in this patient’s auditory cortex. For those of you less versed in the medical terminology”—Emily knew he was specifically rephrasing for her benefit—“I’m saying that even though we may not hear what Ms. Nichols hears, or sense what she senses, she is indeed hearing and sensing. More importantly, her brain is active. Yes, there are areas of damage, but the human brain is very powerful and is quite capable of regeneration and compensation. I conclude that with the right antipsychotics and a significant change in therapy, progress can be made to bring Ms. Nichols back from her current state.”
As everyone discussed this new prognosis, the room buzzed with whispers. John leaned over Emily in an attempt to speak with Dr. Brown. Emily remained silent, contemplating the possibility that Dr. Fairfield’s assessment could possibly be true. Her mind fluctuated between hopeful optimism at the possibility of recovery and less than guarded indignation at the possibility that Anthony’s guilt could be more indirect than direct.
When the room began to quiet, Emily stood. Slowly, silence prevailed. Clearing her throat, she utilized the voice she’d reserved years ago for addressing students. “Dr. Fairfield, if brain injury wasn’t the cause of my sister’s condition, please enlighten us on what was the cause?”
Everyone turned toward the good doctor, watching as he shifted his footing. “Mrs. Vandersol, psychotic breaks can occur for a number of reasons. Let me emphasize that I’m not insinuating that your sister isn’t truly in the throes of such a break.”
Defensively, Emily stood taller. Pressing her lips together, she refrained from speaking as she waited for the doctor to continue.
“The most common causes of psychotic breaks include brain injury and drug use; however, it’s also well documented that a significant life event can precipitate such a break.” For all of his large words and doctor attitude, Emily saw a sudden shift in countenance as he asked, “Your sister had a significant life experience, wouldn’t you agree, Mrs. Vandersol?”
“Yes, Doctor, I do; however, the length of my sister’s break has—in the past—been reason to believe that there was more than a significant life experience to blame.”
It was as if they were the only two in the room. No one else dared breathe, much less speak. Dr. Fairfield continued, “As I stated earlier, the human brain is a truly amazing organ—one that’s essential for each of us to continue living. Without it, we would be incapable of simple involuntary behaviors such as breathing or the beating of our heart. That same amazing brain can also protect us”—he paused and waited; silence prevailed—“It’s my opinion that this patient’s break may have been initially associated with previous injury. It’s also possible that the swelling of blood vessels during pregnancy, her difficult child birth, and even the hormones associated with breast feeding could have contributed.” Dr. Fairfield cleared his throat and pushed on, “After observing more than one of your sister’s hallucinatory episodes, I believe your sister is where she wants to be.”
Momentarily, Emily was at a loss for words. She stuttered as she looked to both Dr. Brown and John. “Ex—excuse me, do—”
John’s voice prevailed. “So, am I correct to understand—you believe Claire is willfully keeping herself in this state? Are you saying she’s faking?”
“N—no, Mr. Vandersol, I believe she’s in a true psychotic state. She’s obviously delusional, blissfully unaware of her surroundings or the burden her behavior has had on others. I also believe she doesn’t know she’s a mother nor of the fate of her husband.” When Emily shifted, Dr. Fairfield added, “I didn’t ask her those questions specifically. Mrs. Vandersol, your directives were maintained; however, in an effort to assess Mrs. Rawlin—Ms. Nichols, I breached some subjects that had no effect on her. Which I may add, I feel is a shame—”
John interrupted, “Dr. Fairfield, could my wife and I continue this conversation with you in private?”
“Yes, I under—”
Emily stopped his response. “No! I want answers, and I’m sure the others here will need to know. First, is Claire uncomfortable or in pain?”
“Mrs. Vandersol, the patient has been maintained in a static state of comfort—which I believe is the problem.”
Everyone in the room turned toward Emily. To the observers, it was like watching a tennis match: all heads turned one way and then they turned the other.
July 26, 2016
Today, Ms. Bali called and asked me to come in early. Since Claire has been doing well with me bringing her meals—she asked if I’d take her on a walk. Apparently, there was some big meeting regarding her diagnosis, prognosis, and treatment. Everyone associated with her care had to attend. I wish I’d been at the meeting, but Emily was probably there, so it was better I wasn’t.
I know I should write about the walk. That’s the whole point, right? Record my thoughts and comments so that I can later come back and see if any progress was made—have a basis for writing the follow-up to my book. Well, here’s the thing; I don’t want to. Oh, I want to stay with Claire. I want to help her—but for a journalist who’s supposed to be indifferent—I picked the wrong project.
Just in case I don’t remember when I come back to read—on the way home from Everwood, I stopped at the store and bought a bottle of wine. No—it isn’t the normal size—it’s the big one!
I hated it today! I went to her room—and surprise—Claire was sitting in the chair by the window. When she saw me and heard my voice, she went to the table to eat. Keep in mind, she’d just eaten! I explained that I was taking her on her walk. At first, she didn’t budge. I just kept talking about the outside. Finally, she stood. I stepped closer, like I’d seen the other woman do and Emily do. Claire didn’t move. I had to reach for her hand and place it on my arm.
After that, she stayed in step as we walked through the facility. The part that broke my heart was that when we went outside she didn’t look up. She kept her eyes downcast and walked wherever I led. I remember her stories, the ones of her at her lake on the Rawlings Estate. She’d talk about her love of the outside, the breeze in her hair, and the sun on her skin. I think I was expecting to see some sort of recognition or excitement; instead, there was nothing.
I hated that she had to be subdued when our eyes first met in the cafeteria a month ago, but honestly, I’d rather have a negative reaction than none! I think I’m done writing for tonight. I have more wine to drink!
Michael, Nichol, and John finished their dinners while Emily continued to pick at the food on her plate. She heard the chatter, but her mind kept replaying Dr. Fairfield’s words, No, the patient has been maintained in a static state of comfort—which I believe is the problem.
Indignantly, she listened as Dr. Fairfield hypothesized that Claire’s current provisions were too good. In essence, he blamed Emily’s directives on Claire’s compliance. He went on to discuss Claire’s history of compliance and adaptability.
Emily argued internally, too good?! Her sister was detached from the world, living in a place that wasn’t real. How could he possibly think that was too good? Besides, Dr. Fairfield’s resources weren’t primary! Wasn’t that an essential element of research—primary resources? The only way he could’ve learned about Claire’s past, from those who knew first hand, those who were there, would be to interview Claire or Anthony. Obviously, that hadn’t happened. He had to have researched not only Emily’s accounts, which she confessed were second hand, or read Meredith’s book. Yes, the book was relatively accurate, but even that had an element of fiction. The blatant truth would be too difficult for the world to read.
So what? So Claire had survived her ordeal by complying and adapting. That was because if she didn’t, then Anthony would punish her. Claire’s current situation wasn’t even remotely similar. How could he suggest it was?
That was what he’d said—he said, the accommodating surroundings worked to mold Claire’s behavior. By not requiring her to face the consequences of her past, they were allowing Claire to live in her make-believe world.
The way Emily saw it, she was affording her sister the safe haven she’d been denied.
The sound of laughter returned Emily’s thoughts to present. Focusing on the table, she watched Michael giggle as Nichol blew bubbles in her milk.
“Nichol! What are you doing? Don’t teach your cousin those things!” Emily’s unusually harsh tone surprised everyone. She saw the shock in her husband’s eyes.
Nichol’s brown eyes, that only seconds ago glistened with laughter, were suddenly brimming with tears and looking down. “I’m sorry, Aunt Em.”
John stood and reached for the children’s plates. Keeping his voice steady, he reassured, “It’s all right, honey. Aunt Emily’s tired. You’re fine; no mess. How about you two go upstairs and let Becca help you get your pajamas on, and we’ll make some popcorn.”
Peeking her eyes upward, Nichol asked, “Can we watch a movie?”
“Sure we can,” Emily’s voice softened. “I am tired; I’m sorry that I snapped. If you two hurry then we can all cuddle in our bed.” As small feet rushed out of the dining room with their nanny, Emily’s head dropped and her tears flowed. It wasn’t until John’s hands massaged her shoulders that she found the courage to speak. “Do you think he’s right?”
“I don’t know, but I do know that we haven’t seen much progress in the last year. I think it’s worth a try.”
“I don’t want her to have to face—I don’t want her to have to deal with—”
John helped Emily stand. “I know what you want. You want Claire well, and her past gone. That’s not going to happen.”
Emily’s cheek settled against John’s chest. She listened as he repeated everything Dr. Fairfield said earlier. It may have been the quiet setting of their dining room, his tender embrace, or the relief from allowing the tears to finally surface—no matter the reason, John’s words made sense. Nodding her head, Emily replied, “I guess I get it, but I still don’t want her to have to deal with memories of him.”
Pulling her close, John whispered, “She’s survived more than most. Maybe these past few years have been a well-deserved break. As much as you want to, you can’t keep the truth from her forever. When she’s stronger, she’ll be able to face it, and perhaps this new protocol will help her get stronger.”
Emily conceded, “I’ll call Dr. Brown tomorrow and give my okay.”
Darkness restores what light cannot repair.
—Joseph Brodsky
Madeline and Francis met Claire and her guests on the lanai. Francis shook Phil’s hand as the two men exchanged familiar greetings. Still holding Tony’s hand, Claire introduced him, “Madeline and Francis, let me introduce Anthony Rawlings.”
Madeline’s smile lit the room. “Monsieur, we’re so happy to have you with us before your fille arrives.”
Claire smiled. She’d never mentioned Tony to Madeline; she wondered how she knew he was the father of her baby. Looking up at Tony’s expression, Claire realized what Madeline had just said and squeezed his hand. “No, I haven’t learned our baby’s sex; however, Madeline seems to believe we’re having a girl.”
Tony bowed his head. “Madeline, Francis, I too am happy to be here before the arrival of our bébé—fille or fils; either is fine with me.”
The smiles coming from Madeline and Francis warmed Claire’s heart and continued her inner peace. She hadn’t considered that they might not be receptive to him. After all, they weren’t married. They had been, but Madeline and Francis didn’t know that.
Claire said, “I know dinner’s ready and I’m sorry, but first, I’m going to show Tony to our room. Could you please show Phil to the room he didn’t take before?” Her eyes sparkled teasingly toward Phil.
Phil replied, “That won’t be necessary; I remember.”
Madeline announced, “I’ll have dinner ready for you. After you’re done, Francis and I will eat at our house.”
Although Claire and Tony had started to walk toward their room, Claire turned back. “Oh no, I don’t want you to do that. We’ll all eat together—all of us. I’m so happy to have everyone here, and I want everyone to get to know one other. Please, give us a little time. We’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
No one argued with the lady of the house as Claire led Tony down the hallway. When they reached their suite, Claire entered, expecting to show him around. The sound of the closing door surprised her. When she glanced back toward Tony and saw his expression, the deep yearning she thought was forever gone—ignited. The heat immobilized her; she couldn’t move toward him or away. Her only option was to stare into the dark, velvety depth of his gaze. For seconds or days, Claire was lost in his eyes. The black penetrating stare no longer filled her with fear; instead, it was a beckoning, a desire that only she could fill—truly an overwhelming and exhilarating responsibility. Within seconds, his strong arms surrounded her and their lips united.
Once again, her world was no longer her own. He didn’t take it—on the contrary, Claire relinquished it willingly. Not the control of the island or the money—those were truly insignificant. What belonged to Tony, probably before she ever knew him, was her heart and soul. As their bodies touched, her growing breasts pressed against his chest and his hands caressed her skin; Claire was totally and completely lost. Any thought of life outside their suite disappeared as the scent of his cologne and the taste of his kiss took on life giving power. Eventually, his deep, baritone voice penetrated their world while each word, each syllable dripped with desire. “God, I’ve missed you. I thought I’d never hold you like this again.”
Claire couldn’t respond verbally. Not only because her mouth was preoccupied—which it was—no, she couldn’t respond because the overwhelming sense of relief that was washing over her had removed her ability. It drained her and set her hormone-filled emotions into a new and terrifying cyclone. Tears fell from her eyes as she broke away from his kiss and buried her face in his wide chest. When her shoulders began to shudder from the sobs she couldn’t contain, Tony led her to the sofa. His sultry expression turned questioning. “Do you want me to leave? Isn’t this what you wanted?”
Claire shook her head and wiped her eyes. “No! I don’t want you to leave. This is exactly what I want”—she sniffled—“I can’t believe you’re really here. When you hung up—”
Tony knelt before her, his sad eyes a stark contradiction to the passion she saw moments earlier. “I was wrong. Everything was overwhelming.” She heard the restraint in his voice as he tried to subdue his shock and anger. “I had everything planned; how I was going to get the money and look for you.” His volume rose with each phrase. He shook his head. “I’ve told you before that you’re the only person in this world, who can keep me on my toes. I never imagined you’d access the accounts before me. I was totally blindsided! When I saw the signature of Marie Rawls, my gut told me that something was wrong! I still wasn’t sure until I called the number...” He exhaled and waited. Finally, he took her petite hands, surrounded them with his own, and reigned in his tone. “I wasn’t even sure it was you. I couldn’t fathom how you could possibly gain access—and then, when I heard your voice—”
The hint of anger faded into a sadness Claire couldn’t identify. She’d never heard so much pain in his voice. With all her heart, she wanted to make his world better; however, she couldn’t take away his sense of betrayal—initially from her and then from Catherine. He needed to say what he was thinking. While tears silently overflowed her eyes, Claire kept her gaze locked with his. Even with his visible pain, his dark eyes completed her world.
He continued, “It wasn’t that I didn’t want to believe you, but to believe you meant admitting that Catherine deceived...” His head bowed to Claire’s lap.
When he didn’t speak, Claire ran her fingers through his hair and waited.
Swallowing his emotions, Tony looked back up to her eyes. Dark windows of remorse matched the anguish she heard in his tone.
“I put you in harm’s way,” Tony said. “Since Roach explained everything, that’s all I‘ve thought about. I took you away from California and put you in the worse place possible. Tell me—tell me—you know—I didn’t know. I never would’ve—never thought—she was capable—of hurting you or me or”—he touched Claire’s stomach and rubbed, causing Claire to smile—“our child.”
The baby kicked Tony’s hand, and Tony’s eyes opened wide. “Did I just feel that?”
Claire nodded.
“That was amazing!” For a moment, their excitement and joy overpowered the shadow brought on by Catherine’s name.
Despite her moist eyes and tear-covered cheeks, Claire giggled, “I’ve been praying for you to feel our little one move and kick. I think we have a soccer player on our hands.”
Tony sat straighter and tipped his head. When their noses touched, he said, “Mighty fine!” Tenderly wiping her cheeks with the back of his hand, Tony brushed his lips over hers. “We’ve both made mistakes, too many to count, but this little life inside of you isn’t a mistake. He or she isn’t a Rawls or a Nichols. It’s a Rawlings! I’ve had many accomplishments in my life, and in comparison to this little life, they all pale. Beyond a doubt, this child is my—no, our—greatest achievement.
I don’t deserve you or an innocent child in my life. Thank you for keeping both of you safe. Roach explained how scared you were. If only I’d been home—”
Claire interrupted, “No, Tony. Don’t you see? It was all planned to happen with you away. Neither one of us is to blame for what happened.”
The nodding of his head moved hers. His words were barely a whisper, “For this one—”
Claire’s fingers touched his lips. “Stop—please. I know we have a lot to talk about. We both have questions, and hopefully we both have answers, but right now and tonight, can we please just have us?”
Tony kissed the tips of her fingers, which only moments earlier stopped his words. “You’re right. Besides, Madeline and Francis are waiting.” Claire stood, yet Tony refused to relinquish her hand. Standing close, he looked down and said, “I need to know one thing.”
Tipping her eyes up, Claire saw need in the depth of his dark eyes and her heartbeat accelerated. “What? What do you need to know?”
“Has all of this changed our relationship? I mean—are we still engaged?”
Claire smirked. “We definitely have a lot to talk about; however, if this little one is to be a Rawlings and not a Nichols”—her eyes twinkled—“I believe we only have a few more months to move our status to married.” She paused. “If that’s what you still want?”
“So, me being an ass and hanging up on you didn’t change your mind?”
“Well, you see—I’m used to you being an ass. It’s the part where you recognize it—that’s new, and that’s the reason my mind hasn’t changed.”
Tony pulled Claire closer and encircled her with his arms. “Well, how about I work on not being such an ass, and you work on restraining that smart mouth of yours?”
Claire pushed up to her tip-toes and kissed his neck. The familiar growl rang like music in her ears. “I was under the impression you liked my mouth.”
His lips seized hers. Without hesitation, she met him with equal ferocity. When their force eased, their eyes met, and his sparkled as he replied, “Oh, I do. I love your mouth, your eyes, your neck, and every other part of your amazing body; however, some of the things you do with that amazing mouth I like better than others.”
“Really?” she bantered, as she purposely suckled his neck.
Tony seized her shoulders. “Do you plan on going back out there for dinner? I’m asking, because if you don’t stop, it isn’t happening.”
Claire smiled. It was true; they had a lot to discuss, and a lot to work out; nevertheless, she felt empowered. She knew at that moment dinner could be a memory. If she continued her persuasion, then they could be naked and in bed in seconds; however, she needed food. Somewhere in her memory, she heard his advice, I suggest you eat. You’ll need your strength. Grinning, she replied, “I do, and they’re probably waiting.” Pointing toward one of the other doors, Claire said, “The bathroom is over there. I’m going to freshen up. I’m afraid with my crying I look like hell.”
“You, my dear, could never look like hell. You’re radiant!”
“Oh, really?” Claire smiled knowingly at Tony. “Give me a minute”—she kissed his cheek—“After dinner, when we get back here, you can remind me what it was you liked my mouth to do.”
Again, he pulled her close for one last embrace. “It’s a date. I certainly hope Madeline doesn’t cook twelve course meals.”
Once Claire was ready, Tony disappeared into the bathroom, and Claire went into the closet. She found the box from the other day, the one with the cell phones and sat it on the floor. Kneeling, she looked into the depth of the container. At the bottom was her long gold chain with her engagement ring. Until a few days ago, she’d kept it close to her heart. After her conversation with Tony she’d decided that there was no longer a reason to wear it. Begrudgingly, she tucked it away in the container.
Now, things were different. Claire removed the ring from the chain and placed it on the fourth finger of her left hand. Feeling his presence, Claire sighed and looked up. Tony was standing in the doorway, his dark eyes watching. By the erratic beating of her heart, she knew he saw everything.
“I took it off the other day,” she confessed.
Taking her left hand in his, Tony helped her stand. Though his eyes hadn’t softened, his words were more of a plea, “I hope you never feel the need to take it off again.” Peering into the box, Tony added, “It seems as though it would’ve been difficult to hear that phone ring, tucked away, in a box, in the closet.”
Claire smiled and pushed herself against his chest. “Since I don’t believe it ever would have, we’ve someone to thank. My guess is—he’s waiting for us for dinner too.”
They left their suite hand in hand. While they’d been alone, the sun had fully set. In the middle of nowhere, the beautiful blue that filled the daytime view was now hidden behind shades of black. A star-filled sky sparkled above a dark sea, and the gentle rush of the waves filled the air as a soft breeze blew through the open doors of the dining room. Before they reached the others, Tony squeezed Claire’s hand. “This place is amazing. Now that I look around, it’s beyond words.”
Claire agreed. “Now, it’s truly paradise.”
