“No,” I say. “But I don’t want to be late for my excursion.” A lie. I have no intention of going through with the day’s plan of swimming with the pigs with Felix and his sisters. Another thing that he’s ruined.
I really wanted to see those pigs.
“I owe you an apology,” Gabe says. “For karaoke. I was hoping to charm you. I can see it didn’t land.”
If there is one silver lining to the events of this morning, it is that I don’t have any patience for bullshit from men. I do not want Gabe’s apology or his attention.
Felix was right about one thing: he doesn’t deserve me.
Neither of them do.
I need to get away from them. I need to get away from every single person on this boat.
I rush to my room, throw on a bathing suit and a sundress, and go directly to the gangway.
The instant I step down onto the pier in Nassau, I run toward solid ground.
9PARADISE LOST
Back to the Present, Unfortunately
Felix
I had hoped never to speak to Hope Lanover again.
Judging by the panicked way her eyes are darting between me and the departing ship, the feeling was mutual.
Hope is drenched with sweat and out of breath. She looks like she’s been crying.
In fact, she looks like she’s been crying for hours.
She looks like she’s having the worst day of her life.
She looks the way I feel.
“The boat left,” I say.
“Yes, I see that, obviously,” she snaps. She gestures to the kiosk. “Did you speak to someone? Is it coming back?”
“The guy at the information desk said there’s no way to get back on. We have to contact our embassies.”
“Oh, please,” she says, like I’m the greatest idiot who has ever lived. “It’sright there. I’m going to talk to him.”
I go sit on a bench and watch her have the same dead-end conversation I just had. She returns a few minutes later looking shell-shocked, carrying two pieces of paper.
She wordlessly hands me one of them.
It’s the contact details and hours for the British High Commission in Nassau.
The first thing I notice is that the office closed at five p.m.
“Is your embassy still open?” I ask Hope.
“Nope,” she says dully.
She looks so despondent that I almost feel bad for her.
“Fucking nightmare,” I say. I pull out my phone to google what to do if you’re stranded abroad with no identification. The low battery message pops up. The charge indicator is at six percent.
