“What’s going on?” All three of us turn our heads, looking at the source of the question. One of the two naked individuals on my bed is finally awake.
Dad lets out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose again. “Miss, you need to get up, get dressed, and leave. The party is over.”
Her eyes dance from him, to my mom, to me, before she nods and shakes the other one awake. They both get up groggily and get dressed while we stand here awkwardly, waiting for them to leave before we resume our conversation.
When they finally make their escape, Dad turns back to me. “Did any of those partygoers sign an NDA?”
The tone in his voice makes me think he already knows the answer. “No.” I hang my head as he scoffs.
“You’re so irresponsible, Rowan,” he hisses. “When are you going to grow up?”
His words sting. They cut like a knife. I chew on the inside of my cheek as my throat tightens with emotion. When I don’t say anything—because what is there to say? He doesn’t actually want an answer. He wants to chastise me—he continues. “You have thirty minutes to get this place cleaned up and get out of here. Your flight leaves in an hour. We’ll be downstairs in the lounge waiting for you.”
“Dad, please don’t make me go there. I don’t need rehab, I’m fine.” I’m a grown adult, but the way I’m pleading with him, begging, makes me feel like such a child.
“You’re not fine, and you’re going. End of discussion.”
And with that, leaving no room for argument, they turn and leave the room, but not before I catch the look of disappointment in both of their eyes. I’m nothing but one big disappointment after another to them. Watching them walk out the door, I can’t help how powerless I feel. Being forced to do something I don’t want to do; go somewhere I’ve never been before. I have no clue what to expect. Nerves rack through my body, nearly paralyzing me to the spot with not knowing what’s to come.
CHAPTERTHREE
Rowan
Black Diamond Resort & Spa is a place for the wealthy. The elite. Those who want—or need—to escape the world without everyone knowing. It’s a place where paparazzi won’t find you and your secrets stay safe. It’s hush-hush and, truthfully, if I didn’t have famous parents and wasn’t somewhat in the spotlight myself, I probably would have no clue this place even existed.
Located in French Polynesia, on the Windward Islands, is Black Diamond. It’s a resort, like the name suggests. A place to relax, decompress, take a load off,hidefrom reality. But it’s also a rehab center for the addicted and mentally ill wealthy. A place to get clean, seek help, without your business ending up splashed on the tabloids. Or, in my case, a place for my parents to keep me out of trouble and out of their minds for a while.
To get here, I had to take a flight from LAX to the international airport in Tahiti, which took a little over eight hours. Then I had to jump on another—much fucking smaller and terrifying—plane to fly forty-five minutes to the island’s airport. However, I think the termairportis a bit generous in this instance.
It’s close to nine in the evening, local time, as I’m getting off the toy plane with a racing heart, slick palms, and trembling legs. I donotlike flying, and flying on tiny planes like this one is so much worse than flying on a regular one. Every little movement you can feel. I felt like it was going to drop out of the sky at any moment, landing right in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, making me prime shark bait.
I’m much too pretty to be eaten by sharks.
The island Black Diamond is located on is the top of a mountain. The resort side and the recovery center side are separated by a mountain range. I think there’s a bridge somewhere, but I don’t fully know how one would get from one side to the other. It’s probably built this way for a reason. It’s dark out now, so I’m unable to really get a good look at the island or the grounds. I imagine it’s beautiful here, though. Turquoise waters, white sand, lush, emerald-green hillsides.
If I have to be sent somewhere against my will, geographically, this probably isn’t the worst place to be, aside from the wholestuck on a secluded island with essentially no real way to get off easilything.
A snooty looking dude who says his name is Lawrence Shaw was waiting for me when I got off the miniature plane at the airport. He introduced himself as one of Black Diamond’s Intake Liaisons for the rehab center. Instructing me to get on what looks like a golf cart, he drove us to the main building, where I’ll apparently be checking in.
While I can’t make out much of the island, other than the well-lit building we’re stopping in front of, I can smell the warm mix of salt water and floral notes in the air. This place is probably covered with unique plants and flowers. I don’t have a green thumb at all, but I can appreciate its beauty.
“As I mentioned,” Lawrence Shaw says, turning off the golf cart and climbing out. “This here is the main building. In it you will find the front desk, health center—think gym, pool—the group therapy rooms, therapy and general physician offices, and the restaurants. Almost anything you need, you can find within this building.”
He grabs my bags off the back of the cart, and we make our way inside. The air is thick and warm. I’m not used to humidity like this in L.A. My back is lined with perspiration and, suddenly, there’s nothing I want more than a shower. Hopefully, the check-in process doesn’t take long.
The lobby is empty when we step inside, and the air conditioning feels incredible. Once at the front counter, Lawrence rings the bell, continuing with his introductory spiel while we wait for the receptionist.
“Aside from this building, there are three resident buildings that house some of the patients. Think hotel style buildings and rooms. These are where most residents stay. The ones who require tighter restrictions. Then, in addition to those, there are a string of villa-style bungalows that sit over the lagoon. These offer a bit more privacy and are granted to residents who are further along in the program or who don’t require as much monitoring.”
Nodding, I ask, “So, I’m in a villa then, right?”
He blinks a few times at me, mouth turned down into a frown, brows pinched tight. “No, Mr. Davies. You’re in one of our resident buildings.”
“Excuse me?”Why the fuck would I need to be in a closely monitored resident fucking building?“I think there’s been a mistake. I’m not even really supposed to be here. I don’t have a drug or alcohol problem.”
“Yes, well, that’s what they all say.” He pins me with a bored expression but is saved from having to say anything further when a petite brunette woman sits down at the front desk. The silver name tag stuck to the front left side of her blouse reads Katlyn, and she has rosy cheeks and big bright green eyes blanketed by thick black lashes.
“Hi there,” Katlyn greets cheerfully, a row of straight white teeth on display as she grins up at me. “How can I help you?”
