Page 4 of The Heartbreak Hotel

“Chezza—erm, Cheryl—prepaid the course for you. All you need to do is choose your dates and pack your bags.”

Ella stared at Winnie blankly, her brain struggling to compute what she’d just said. She shook her head. “Mum’s been relentless ever since Devin got his new job, but I never thought you two would gang up on me like this.”

Winnie sighed. “It’s not like that. Your mum cares about you. She just worries.” When Ella didn’t reply, Winnie continued. “It’s basically a free holiday. See it like that. Three weeks in the Portuguese sun, the sea at your doorstep. Cocktails.” She lifted her eyebrows. “You deserve a holiday, to unwind a little. Then you can come back ready to boss life again.”

“So, you and my mum have just been…waiting…for this to happen?”

Winnie gave her a sad smile. “Don’t be like that. We just want the best for you.”

Ella let out a humourless laugh. “And you really think that would be me, on this mindreading-power island thing?”

“If you come back able to read minds, I think that will be pretty useful.”

Ella took a long pull from her straw, savouring the fruity flavour. She didn’t want to be ungrateful. She just hated taking handouts from her parents; she’d worked hard to establish her own life, without their help or money. Clearly her mother still thought her choices were disappointing, but not everyone could be a superstar doctor like her brother Devin.

However, she supposed the trip was already paid for… and cocktails on the beach sure did sound nice. The last time she went away was years ago, when she went skiing with Maeve.

Don’t think about that lanky grasshopper.

“Thank you,” Ella said, forcing herself to smile. “I really do appreciate you looking out for me.”

“Always.” Winnie placed her hand on hers and squeezed. “Does that mean you’re going to go?”

Ella finished her drink, finally tasting the sting of the tequila resting in the bottom. “Fine, I’ll go. It’s not as if I have anything better to do.”

She really hoped she wasn’t going to regret it.

Chapter Two

Ella

Ella pushed her sopping hair back from her face, flinging water droplets through the air like bullets. She could hardly breathe through the rain pouring from the skies. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d done so much exercise either, never mind while lugging two giant suitcases and battling the elements.

Where are the staff?

Since Duarte had dropped her and Pauline by the dock what felt like a lifetime ago, she’d not seen another soul. The Portuguese captain had barely spoken a word of English, as demonstrated by his misunderstanding of the words “slow down” as he careened over the choppy waves. Not only did Ella’s undercooked plane panini threaten to resurface, but she’d also lost her favourite wide-brimmed summer hat to the North Atlantic ocean.

Duarte’s manic laughter had temporarily drowned out the sound of Pauline, though; the fifty-something brunette had been crying non-stop since they boarded the flight in Manchester. Ella had the pleasure of being Pauline’s confidante, learning all about the woman’s recent divorce.

What a treat.

The wail of Pauline’s sobs faded as Ella stomped ahead, flip-flops slapping against the wooden slats. Surely they couldn’t be far now? Her feet ached, blisters forming between her toes as she forced herself up the incline. Had she known she’d be hiking up this hill soaked to the bone—dragging not only her hefty suitcase behind but Pauline’s, too, after the woman had struggled to carry it—she would’ve thrown herself overboard with her beautiful hat.

Maeve had said she looked like a young Audrey Hepburn in that hat.

Anger spiked up her spine. Fucking Maeve. This is all her fault.

Sandy Springs looked nothing like the pictures on the website, though Ella was struggling to see through the rain pelting her in the face. Dark, thick clouds blocked the light from the sky, making the air muggy.

Isn’t Portugal supposed to be sunny? What gives?

Her muscles burned as the walkway evened out, revealing a handful of wooden cabins through the fog and a giant “Welcome to Sandy Springs” sign hanging from two towering trees.

“Thank you, baby Jesus,” she whispered, stopping for a second to pluck her wet shirt from her skin. She couldn’t wait to sit down and neck a cocktail or six to wash this shitty day off her.

Hearing Pauline’s heavy Darth Vader breathing draw closer, Ella forced her aching feet to move and her arms to drag their cases. She’d hoped that carrying her luggage would help the woman keep up. As annoying as Pauline’s sobs were, she didn’t want her falling behind. She had shared her salt and vinegar Pringles with Ella on the plane, after all.

Ella gritted her teeth against the pain. Nearly there. Tequila sunrises await.