100 Hours
Page 7
As two of the soldiers strike off down the beach, I realize the third isn’t a soldier at all. He’s the guy Maddie made out with on the dance floor last night, in Cartagena. Sebastián.
What the hell is he doing at Cabo?
86 HOURS EARLIER
MADDIE
The waves are fierce and foaming as they crash over the rocks, as if the Caribbean is Mother Nature’s heart and the waves are its beating. Regardless of the advantages I’ve missed, not being born to the wealthy Valencia brother, this is the only privilege that matters. “Hey, Ryan, wanna hit the—” I turn, expecting to find my brother waiting for me, ready to dive into the water. Instead, I find him on a wide stretch of grass between the sand and the jungle, surrounded by tents. He’s kneeling in the dirt, using a hand pump to inflate a pretty stranger’s small air mattress while she expertly negotiates the arched poles and canvas of a bright yellow tent.
“Wanna hit the water?” I drop onto the sand next to my brother.
Ryan shades his eye from the sun as he looks at me. “You go ahead. I told Domenica I’d play soccer with her, if she can find a ball.”
Domenica gives me an amused look. “I said I’d play with him if he found some balls.” She is tall and athletic, with a pouf of dark curls and beautiful brown eyes. I have no doubt she can hold her own against my brother, in any sport.
“Oh. Okay.” Even I can hear how disappointed I sound, and suddenly I feel like an idiot.
“You’re welcome to join us,” Domenica adds as she slides a flexible pole into the slot forming the apex of her small tent. Her accent isn’t Colombian like my father’s or Cuban like my mother’s. Maybe . . . Peruvian?
Her offer seems genuine, but Ryan gives me a small headshake. He clearly wants time alone with his new friend.
“That’s okay. You guys have fun.” I let my gaze wander the beach again, where several dozen people are surfing, swimming, wading, throwing Frisbees, and sunbathing.
Sand sticks to my feet as I head down the beach, to where Genesis is laying out designer Italian beach towels.
“I really admire the fashion risks you take, Maddie,” Neda says in a tone so convincing I’m not entirely sure I’m being mocked until she continues. “I could never pull off ‘discount chic.’”
I clench my jaw and let a retort die on my tongue. I swear, Genesis collects designer companions like some girls collect shoes or handbags. Though she collects those too.
She and the Versace vixens are the only other people I know here, but I’d rather puncture my own eardrum with a tent pole than listen to Neda’s voice for one more second.
We’re in one of the most beautiful places in the world, surrounded by travelers from every corner of the globe. If Ryan can make new friends, so can I. I pluck my bag from the sand, but before I’ve taken three steps away from my cousin, something hard crashes into my hip. “Ow!” I look up to find two guys jogging toward me, backlit by the afternoon sun.
“Pardon!” The guys stop two feet away and one smiles as he bends to reclaim his Frisbee. “Benard has terrible aim.”
The second guy runs one hand through dark, tousled waves. “Casse-toi! I hit what I was aiming for.” He winks at me, and my breath catches in my throat. Benard is gorgeous. His gaze takes a tour of my body with a thrilling boldness, and despite two years on my school’s debate team and a year in Youth and Government, I can’t think of a single intelligent thing to say.
“You’re French?” I finally ask, after several seconds of dumbfounded staring.
“Belgian. I’m Benard and this is Milo. Come play with us, belle.”
I glance back to see Penelope elbow Genesis, and suddenly all three of the Burberry brats are watching, waiting for me to fall on my face or frighten off both of the beautiful globetrotters with some other act of social ineptitude.
“I’d love to.” I smile up at Benard.
But Milo’s attention has snagged on the device clipped at my waist. “You are ill?”
I swallow a familiar, bitter lump of irritation. “I’m diabetic. Don’t worry. It doesn’t slow me down.” I snatch the Frisbee from Milo and take off down the beach to prove my point. Near the water’s edge, I spin to throw the Frisbee to Benard, and before I know it, I’m laughing as I jog up and down the beach with the two hottest guys I’ve ever met.
“You’re pretty good,” Benard says as I jump to snatch the Frisbee from the air.
“My brother started putting my toys on high shelves when I was four. I wouldn’t have survived childhood without a little vertical reach.” I shrug and push hair back from my face as he crosses the sand toward me, sunlight highlighting every plane of his bare chest. He’s shiny. I can’t tell if that’s sunscreen or sweat, but I’m struck by the sudden urge to touch him and find out.
“I’m thirsty.” Sand flies from beneath Milo’s feet as he skids to a stop. “Let’s get a drink.”
I follow his gaze to see that the open-air restaurant is serving dinner. There isn’t much of a line yet, but that won’t last long. “Sounds good.”
Benard puts one hand on my lower back, escorting me toward the long pavilion thatched with palm leaves, and leans in to whisper conspiratorially. “You get a table, and we’ll order. D’accord?”
I choose an empty white plastic table near the back.
A few minutes later, the Belgian boys come back from the bar carrying two bottles of beer and a bright red cocktail in a clear plastic cup, garnished with a slice of starfruit. “The selection is limited,” Benard says as he sets the cup in front of me. “Just beer and a couple of fruity cocktails. This one is sparkling wine and corozo berry–infused gin. They say it’s a local specialty.”
I take a sip. The cocktail is both sweet and tart, yet much stronger than the margaritas I had at the bar last night. “Delicious.” My voice comes out hoarse. “Thank you.” I’ll have to adjust my insulin intake to make up for the sugar and alcohol, but a beautiful cocktail with a beautiful Belgian boy is totally worth it.
Benard and Milo don’t know me as the lesser cousin of Genesis Valencia, heiress to a shipping empire. They aren’t intimidated by my father’s recent death. They’re taking me at face value, and they seem to like what they see.
What the hell is he doing at Cabo?
86 HOURS EARLIER
MADDIE
The waves are fierce and foaming as they crash over the rocks, as if the Caribbean is Mother Nature’s heart and the waves are its beating. Regardless of the advantages I’ve missed, not being born to the wealthy Valencia brother, this is the only privilege that matters. “Hey, Ryan, wanna hit the—” I turn, expecting to find my brother waiting for me, ready to dive into the water. Instead, I find him on a wide stretch of grass between the sand and the jungle, surrounded by tents. He’s kneeling in the dirt, using a hand pump to inflate a pretty stranger’s small air mattress while she expertly negotiates the arched poles and canvas of a bright yellow tent.
“Wanna hit the water?” I drop onto the sand next to my brother.
Ryan shades his eye from the sun as he looks at me. “You go ahead. I told Domenica I’d play soccer with her, if she can find a ball.”
Domenica gives me an amused look. “I said I’d play with him if he found some balls.” She is tall and athletic, with a pouf of dark curls and beautiful brown eyes. I have no doubt she can hold her own against my brother, in any sport.
“Oh. Okay.” Even I can hear how disappointed I sound, and suddenly I feel like an idiot.
“You’re welcome to join us,” Domenica adds as she slides a flexible pole into the slot forming the apex of her small tent. Her accent isn’t Colombian like my father’s or Cuban like my mother’s. Maybe . . . Peruvian?
Her offer seems genuine, but Ryan gives me a small headshake. He clearly wants time alone with his new friend.
“That’s okay. You guys have fun.” I let my gaze wander the beach again, where several dozen people are surfing, swimming, wading, throwing Frisbees, and sunbathing.
Sand sticks to my feet as I head down the beach, to where Genesis is laying out designer Italian beach towels.
“I really admire the fashion risks you take, Maddie,” Neda says in a tone so convincing I’m not entirely sure I’m being mocked until she continues. “I could never pull off ‘discount chic.’”
I clench my jaw and let a retort die on my tongue. I swear, Genesis collects designer companions like some girls collect shoes or handbags. Though she collects those too.
She and the Versace vixens are the only other people I know here, but I’d rather puncture my own eardrum with a tent pole than listen to Neda’s voice for one more second.
We’re in one of the most beautiful places in the world, surrounded by travelers from every corner of the globe. If Ryan can make new friends, so can I. I pluck my bag from the sand, but before I’ve taken three steps away from my cousin, something hard crashes into my hip. “Ow!” I look up to find two guys jogging toward me, backlit by the afternoon sun.
“Pardon!” The guys stop two feet away and one smiles as he bends to reclaim his Frisbee. “Benard has terrible aim.”
The second guy runs one hand through dark, tousled waves. “Casse-toi! I hit what I was aiming for.” He winks at me, and my breath catches in my throat. Benard is gorgeous. His gaze takes a tour of my body with a thrilling boldness, and despite two years on my school’s debate team and a year in Youth and Government, I can’t think of a single intelligent thing to say.
“You’re French?” I finally ask, after several seconds of dumbfounded staring.
“Belgian. I’m Benard and this is Milo. Come play with us, belle.”
I glance back to see Penelope elbow Genesis, and suddenly all three of the Burberry brats are watching, waiting for me to fall on my face or frighten off both of the beautiful globetrotters with some other act of social ineptitude.
“I’d love to.” I smile up at Benard.
But Milo’s attention has snagged on the device clipped at my waist. “You are ill?”
I swallow a familiar, bitter lump of irritation. “I’m diabetic. Don’t worry. It doesn’t slow me down.” I snatch the Frisbee from Milo and take off down the beach to prove my point. Near the water’s edge, I spin to throw the Frisbee to Benard, and before I know it, I’m laughing as I jog up and down the beach with the two hottest guys I’ve ever met.
“You’re pretty good,” Benard says as I jump to snatch the Frisbee from the air.
“My brother started putting my toys on high shelves when I was four. I wouldn’t have survived childhood without a little vertical reach.” I shrug and push hair back from my face as he crosses the sand toward me, sunlight highlighting every plane of his bare chest. He’s shiny. I can’t tell if that’s sunscreen or sweat, but I’m struck by the sudden urge to touch him and find out.
“I’m thirsty.” Sand flies from beneath Milo’s feet as he skids to a stop. “Let’s get a drink.”
I follow his gaze to see that the open-air restaurant is serving dinner. There isn’t much of a line yet, but that won’t last long. “Sounds good.”
Benard puts one hand on my lower back, escorting me toward the long pavilion thatched with palm leaves, and leans in to whisper conspiratorially. “You get a table, and we’ll order. D’accord?”
I choose an empty white plastic table near the back.
A few minutes later, the Belgian boys come back from the bar carrying two bottles of beer and a bright red cocktail in a clear plastic cup, garnished with a slice of starfruit. “The selection is limited,” Benard says as he sets the cup in front of me. “Just beer and a couple of fruity cocktails. This one is sparkling wine and corozo berry–infused gin. They say it’s a local specialty.”
I take a sip. The cocktail is both sweet and tart, yet much stronger than the margaritas I had at the bar last night. “Delicious.” My voice comes out hoarse. “Thank you.” I’ll have to adjust my insulin intake to make up for the sugar and alcohol, but a beautiful cocktail with a beautiful Belgian boy is totally worth it.
Benard and Milo don’t know me as the lesser cousin of Genesis Valencia, heiress to a shipping empire. They aren’t intimidated by my father’s recent death. They’re taking me at face value, and they seem to like what they see.
