GRAY

four

Juliette

I wake up, panting and sweating.

Another nightmare. They are pretty common now. The worst part is that every time I wake up from one, I swiftly slip into another. My reality is the worst nightmare - one that I desperately wish to wake up from.

I hop out of bed and start waltzing around the presidential suite, a double penthouse. It wrenches my heart that Harvey is not here to see this. It looks like a palace. Fresh roses everywhere. Complimentary champagne and macaroons. Expensive artwork. Floor-to-ceiling windows that reveal the breathtaking view of Maldives at night.

I thought coming here was a good idea. That it would take my mind off things. That it would give me the silence I desperately craved. But every inch of this room reminds me of Harvey and what he's missing. What we are missing. We should be making love on that white leather couch and making a mess of this massive room.

I take off my white big t-shirt and slip to the bathroom. It's pure marble and sandstone. A delicious ivory-coloured tub. A shower big enough for a small family. When I got here a few hours ago, I just slid into a t-shirt and plonked on the bed. Now I'm feeling stinky and sweaty from the flight and the long nap.

After the quick shower, I slip into some pajamas and toss myself on the bed. I stare at the ceiling, wondering how I went from a wife to a widow in a matter of minutes. How I'm on a fùcking honeymoon without my husband. How I'm completely cut off from all my friends and family because I don't want to see the sorry look on their faces. How my life will never be the same...

For almost an hour, I wallow in my own pity party before forcing myself out of bed. I didn't come here to throw pity parties or rot in bed. I could've easily done that back at home. I'm here to have fun. I'm here to forget my problems.

I slip into a white robe and grab a big bottle of wine from the kitchenette. I dash out of the room and straight to the elevator.

The elevator is glass-walled with spectacular views of Maldives. The white sandy beaches. The sparkling blue water. The sea of stars in the sky. This whole island is something straight out a book.

Someone stops the elevator doors before they are about to close. A man. A handsome man, I must say. He's in white shorts and a white shirt with a pair of simple sandals. His hair is a wet mess and he smells like soap. He's just fresh from a shower. I wonder if he's here on honeymoon. If he just had a shower with his wife. I feel a pang of envy at the thought. His wife gets to have a shower with her husband while I have solo showers...

I was too busy watching him to notice him watching me. Unlike me, he doesn't seem to like what he sees. He's especially looking at the big bottle of wine in my hand.

"Sorry, I'm an alcoholic." I blurt out.

"What?" He turns to look at me.

"I said." I force a smile. "Sorry, I'm an alcoholic."

"Why are you apologising to me?" He chuckles. "Save the apology for your liver."

"Rude." I scowl at him.

The elevator dings and I storm off, not looking back. Fùck the rude snob. He must be a horrible husband. I feel sorry for his wife. Maybe he's not even on honeymoon with his wife. Maybe he brought his mistress here. Maybe he just had a shower with his fùcking mistress.

It's almost 9.00pm and the beach is almost empty. The only people I see are a young couple, making out like their lives depend on it. A few minutes later, they vanish. They've probably gone off to fùck like rabbits.

I sit on the white sand, consumed with envy and rage. Envy because that should be me and Harvey, making out like wild teenagers. Rage because someone somewhere decided to take him away from me. The worst part is that he still hasn't been caught. He'll probably get away with the murder.

I try not to think about the killer much. Thinking about him makes me feel helpless and horrified and terrified and murderous. For now, I'll let the police do their job. They are doing their best to find the killer but they still don't have a suspect. All the guests were cleared. All the staff were cleared. The thought that he was at the wedding fills me with chills. He was watching us, waiting to strike. Waiting to watch Harvey sip his drink and take his last breath. Some human beings are cold monsters.

Staring at the crashing waves, I burst the wine open and take a huge gulp. Someone clears their throat behind me and I turn around to see the rude snob. I sneer and take another gulp of the wine.

"Maybe you should take it slow." He suggests with that cocky deep voice of his.

"Maybe you should fùck off."

"No." He smiles.

"No?"

"No." He sits next to me. "You look like you could use some company. Plus I have a bunch of chicken nuggets with no one to share with. And you have a big bottle of wine with no one to drink with. We could have our own little beach party and pretend like we're not lonely."

"I'm not lonely!" I glare at him.

"A young widow drinking wine on a beach, alone at night. Sounds pretty lonely to me." He frowns. "My condolences."

For a moment there, I almost forgot that I'm a famous supermodel. Ofcourse everyone has heard the tragic story. Ofcourse it's all over the news. The whole world feels sorry for me. Even this rude snob feels sorry for me.

"Stranger." I gulp the wine. "If we are going to have a beach party, it better not be a pity party."

He stares at me for a pregnant moment, probably feeling sorry for me. A small smile carves on his lips and he nods.

"Pity parties suck."

"Right?" I chuckle. "You know my name. And you know what I do for a living. And you know I'm a widow. It's only fair if you tell me about yourself, Stranger."

Stranger is sexy. He has dark brooding eyes with a touch of danger. There's a cloud of mystery around him that makes him even sexier.

"Roman Gray." He says. "That's my name."

He takes a few chicken nuggets and passes the bag to me. It's not until the aroma of the chicken hits my nostrils when I realise how seriously I was starving.

"And what do you do for a living, Roman?"

He hesitates for a moment, sipping on the wine.

"I protect people."

"Like a bodyguard?"

"Something like that."

"Which organisation do you work for?"

"I'd like to keep that a secret."

"Why?"

"Because my life depends on it."

There's a stretch of awkward silence, the only sound coming from the crashing waves. As I munch on the chicken nuggets, I can feel his eyes on me.

I turn to look at him and our eyes lock in an intense stare. I just met this man a few minutes ago but he already feels like a puzzle I want to solve.

"Girlfriend or Wife?"

"None."

For some strange reason, that makes me relieved. We're both single and lonely in a beach meant for honeymooners. I feel less lonely now.

"Quick one." I clear my throat. "If you could wish for one thing, what would it be?"

He ponders for a moment before throwing me a sneaky smile.

"A little beach party with wine, chicken nuggets and a supermodel."

I roll my eyes and throw him a few chicken nuggets. He laughs at that. A cute little laugh. His teeth are perfect. And his lower lip is bigger than his upper lip. Why the fùck am I staring at this stranger's mouth?

He catches me staring at his mouth and I quickly look away. I swear I can see him smile that cocky smile from the corner of my eye. I hate him.

"What about you?" He asks. "What's your wish?"

"Kill my husband's killer with my own two hands and watch him take his last breath." I say coldly. "Just like he watched Harvey take his."

****