Providence

Jared shook his head, amused by my idea. “My place wil be ful of monitors and computer equipment. Not exactly a romantic setting.”

“Aw,” I lilted, my voice sickeningly sweet. “You’re going to be romantic?”

He wrinkled his nose. “Don’t say ‘aw’.”

I giggled and leaned my head on his shoulder, settling in for the rest of the flight.

We arrived on Corn Island in the early afternoon, and I began peeling layers. Two men, one shorter than I and the other as tal as Jared and twice as wide, met us just yards from the plane. Several other locals stood behind them, ready to work and a bit intimidated. I looked at Jared and couldn’t fathom why they would regard him in such a way. I had seen him look far more menacing than he did now.

I quickly discerned that the two men standing in the front of the others were our drivers, and beyond them and the smal workforce were their two waiting vehicles. A car that might have doubled as a taxi cab sat with open doors and a rusty, white moving truck waited for the crates.

I waited for Jared to demonstrate his fluent Spanish, but to my surprise he and the driver conversed in the only language I understood.

Once again Jared took charge, issuing orders and getting the crates and our things secured in the vehicles. I stood next to him this time, and I was more than pleased when he took my hand.

“We’re ready, Mr. Ryel,” the short man said with a thick Spanish accent and a discolored smile.

“The boat is waiting, correct?” Jared asked in a commanding, dispassionate tone he’d never used with me.

“Yes, yes. The boat crew wil take you to the Little Island and has been given instruction. You wil be quite satisfied, Mr. Ryel. You and the wife wil have a happy time.”

I felt the blood rush to my cheeks as the smal man nodded to both of us with a grin so wide it made his eyes close. Jared squeezed my hand, pul ed it up to his mouth and pressed his lips to my fingers, keeping my hand against his chest. His eyes turned a bit softer as he thanked the man and handed him several American bil s.

When we went on holiday during my formative years, I loved to pretend. I felt I could be whoever I wanted when we left Providence, and of course Jack encouraged my fantasies. Mostly I was a princess; a few times I posed as a famous ice skater, and once I was even an up and coming young actress. With my father keeping drivers and assistants, it was easy to appear as someone important. Letting the locals think I was Mrs. Jared Ryel was by far the best role I’d ever played on vacation. I righted my posture; I was flattered by what was being assumed and wanted to portray my part to perfection.

Forty-five minutes after we left the wharf, our boat pul ed next to another dock, and the fresh hands of the boat crew went into action. Instead of pacing back and forth, they walked down the sand-covered pier to a trail, continuing around a corner past the thick, lazily bent trunks of native palm trees.

We fol owed the same path the crew had taken to another set of aging vehicles. Jared informed me these were two of just a handful of automobiles on the island. That fact came to light when I noticed some of the inhabitants straddling their bicycles and staring at our caravan with minor curiosity.

The morning had disappeared and evening quickly approached by the time I had settled into my room. At first glance, I was wary of what I would find inside, but once I climbed up the steps of my whimsical y painted bungalow, the inside was spacious and clean. Palm trees surrounded my temporary residence, and I noticed Cynthia’s casita peaking out of the trees to one side of me, and Jared’s on the other.

I splashed my face with water and changed into the turquoise maxi dress I had bought a week before just for the trip. I tied the halter around my neck and chose a pair of sandals from my newly organized closet.

I plodded over the dirt trail to Cynthia’s cabin and found her already on her spacious veranda reading one of the many books she’d packed. She wore a large brimmed hat and square shaped sunglasses, her legs stretched across an adjacent chair, properly crossed. Even in her remote casita, she remained a lady.

“Hel o, Dear,” she said, laying her book pages-down in her lap.

“Hi, Mom. How’s your cabin?” I asked, taking a seat beside her.

She leaned toward me and smiled. “It’s beautiful. And yours? What do you think about the island?”

“My room is great. I’m not sure about the island, yet, but I’m sure it’s going to be… interesting. No cars, no jet skis, no phones, no Wi-Fi, col ected rain for water…not exactly what I imagined when you said you wanted to vacation in the Caribbean.”

“I’m sure you and Jared wil find something entertaining to do. There’s snorkeling, fishing, and so on. Take care not to burn,” she said, returning to her book.

I took that as my cue to let her be. I strol ed back to my cabin and decided to continue my walk, fol owing a trail that led me to the beach in minutes. I gasped at the sight of it. The fishing boats on the horizon, the clear water and the Technicolor clouds were beginning to glow blues and yel ows from the descending sun; it al would have been the perfect shot for a postcard.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” Jared said from behind me, folding his arms around my waist.

I leaned my head against his chest and stared out onto the ocean. “I think it’s the company more than anything,” I said, relaxing into his arms.

He pressed his lips against the bare skin of my shoulder and I smiled at the warmth left behind. “You are absolutely beautiful.”

I turned around and slipped my arms under his and tightened them around his middle. He was stil in his crisp white shirt and jeans, but his sleeves were rol ed up and he had changed into a pair of casual sandals.

“Why didn’t you correct the driver when he cal ed me your wife?”

He grinned. “I guess I just liked the sound of it so much I couldn’t tel him he was wrong. Did it offend you?”

I shook my head. “Not at al . I’ve always liked to pretend on vacation.”

Jared raised one eyebrow, amused. “Are you royalty this time or an award winning actress?”

“Neither,” I laughed. “Apparently this trip I’m Mrs. Jared Ryel.” The words rol ed off my tongue like I had spoken a beautiful foreign language. It felt strange to say the words together, yet it was familiar somehow.

Jared’s eyes brightened. “Wel …pretend if you like. There’s only so much longer you can do that.”

I frowned. “Don’t remind me. Only five days left and we haven’t even started, yet.”

“I didn’t mean for the remainder of our trip, sweetheart. You can’t pretend to be Mrs. Jared Ryel when you are Mrs. Jared Ryel.”

“Oh,” I said, processing his last sentence.

He looked down at me with the softness in his eyes that he reserved only for our sweetest moments. I took in a deep breath and let a broad grin spread across my face. As talented as I had become over the years at false impersonation during vacations, I couldn’t pretend not to be overwhelmingly besotted by his sentiment.

“What do you say we walk down to the vil age?” Jared suggested. Sliding his hands down my arms, he took a few steps backward and pul ed me along with him.

“I say yes,” I chirped, stil high from the euphoria I had felt just moments before.

At a leisurely pace, Jared and I walked hand in hand down a dirt road—it wasn’t even a road, real y, more like a double path that had been worn by bicycles, scooters, and the occasional vehicle.