Page 13 of The Jealous Girl

Maybe she was right. Maybe Charlotte hadn’t recognised me at all. And yet I still couldn’t shake the doubt that had taken hold.

What had I been thinking, following her like that?

My stomach lurched and I pushed myself off the door and stumbled down the hall to the bathroom. I gripped the sink, bending over it as nausea surged. For a second, I thought I was going to be sick. But nothing came. Just a hollow shaky sickness that sat low in my stomach.

I lifted my head and froze as I caught my reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back wasn’t me. The oversized sunglasses were still perched on top of my head, tangled in the unfamiliar fringe of the wig.

My breath caught. How had I forgotten?

I shook my head. No wonder the guy at the hire car desk had given me a strange look. I’d thought it was just surprise that I was returning the car so soon after only collecting it early this morning. But no – it had been me. I looked different. Too different, at least to him.

Had Charlotte been so easy to confuse?

I reached up and tore the glasses and wig free, ripping them off in one sharp movement and flinging them across the room. They hit the tiled floor with a clatter. I turned the tap on and shoved my hands under the cold water before scrubbing at my face. Foundation smeared beneath my fingers, streaking down the sink. I didn’t even wait for the water to warm. I didn’t care. I just wanted it gone.

The disguise. The pretence. The version of me that had sat in that car and followed her like I was someone else. Someone confident. Defiant.

I looked up at the mirror again, water dripping from my chin, my skin flushed and bare. This time, it was just me.

Familiar.

Real.

And yet, somehow, that felt worse.

6

THEN

Mid July

I curled my toes in my flip-flops, flexing them slightly, relishing the space after my feet had been trapped in trainers all day.

My fingers wrapped around the pool terrace railing, the metal cool against my skin as my gaze drifted out across the bay below.

I drew in a slow breath, filling my lungs and letting it settle in my chest as the tension eased from my shoulders.

This is what I’d come here for.

I’d barely paused in my room after checking in. Stepping inside just long enough to dump my case, kick off my trainers, peel off my jeans and pull on the first sundress I could find before heading straight down here.

I needed this. This moment. This view.

It had always been my favourite time of day. Even when I’d worked here. That moment when the rush slowed, the noise softened and everything calmed.

The sun was already starting to sink, casting a golden shimmer across the water. The beach mostly empty as the last of the sunseekers made their way back to their rooms. Behind me, the hotel staff reset the terrace for the evening. Sun loungers grated softly against the tiles as they were dragged back into neat rows. The soft rasp of a brush swept away the grains of sand. There was something soothing about the rhythm of the hotel winding down.

I turned to my left, allowing my gaze to drift to the pool bar. It was already closed for the day. The shutters were pulled down, the space quiet and empty.

But I could still see Ryan there. Leaning against the counter, laughing, talking with the guests like he’d known them for years.

Even here, our lives had been so different.

I’d been behind the reception desk. Crisp blazer. Name badge positioned with pride. My heels clipping sharply against the polished tiles as I’d moved between the desk and the back office. Efficient. Professional.

But Ryan had been out here. Picking up shifts whenever and wherever they’d needed him. The pool bar, beach bar, lobby bar. It had never seemed to matter to him – the inconsistency. The unpredictability. He just moved through it all.

Like everything was temporary. Like everything would change.