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Sitting stock straight and calm, she says, “Right. Well. This information is certainly something to think about. What do you say we head up to the room and catch up on our rest, hm? I think I’m not quite over my jet lag. How about you, husband?”
Her knowing look would send the message to even the most thickheaded dunces, which I might very well be.
Whatever she’s thinking, I’m on board.
18
Kala
“My passport. They’ve taken it as well as my phone.”
Etienne’s declaration makes my blood run cold. What in the actual hell is going on?
We’ve shut ourselves inside our hotel room, locking all the windows and doors to keep prying ears from listening to our conversation. It feels insane, but none of this feels particularly reasonable.
“Mine’s gone too,” I say weakly, staring at the empty safe inside the closet, where I’d deposited our passports just last night.
My husband is pacing and cursing now. “I’ll kill him.”
I’m so confused. “Who took these things, Etienne? What is going on? Are we being held hostage? Are the bodyguards in on this?”
He doesn’t answer.
Mentally, I count how many drinks he’s had today, wondering if he’s misplaced these things or done something.
“Are you sure you didn’t take the passports out for some reason and lose them?” I ask. “You were drinking much more gin than water on the beach today.”
It slips out before I think better of it.
“Yes, I’m sure. And I haven’t had anything to drink in the last four hours.”
I feel guilty at the hurt look on his face, but then I check myself. I’m his wife. I should know how much he drinks because his drinking does affect his behavior. Sometimes in a fun way, sometimes in a not-so-fun way. All of it has an effect on me in one way or another.
“They,” he continues, gesturing to the ephemeral presence of someone or something.
“They?” I ask.
Etienne’s jaw works. “They. The palace. The king and queen. Someone. We are stuck here. This has happened before.”
He’s not making any sense. “You’ve been on a honeymoon before and had your phone and passport stolen?”
He paces and growls like a caged lion. “No, Kala. Don’t you see? The palace has ordered someone to take my phone and our passports so we can’t leave. We’re trapped here.”
This must be a joke.
“I don’t understand.”
“I have as many questions as you do,” he says. “And the only way to get answers is if we leave the resort.”
I blink at him. “Don’t be silly. I have my phone. We can use the internet to email the palace. Your sister seems nice; maybe she can help.”
The pacing lion now prowls toward me, backing me against the wall, ensuring I understand how sober and serious he is.
“Do you want to place a bet that we have no internet or phone service?”
The look in his eyes is like nothing I’ve seen in him before.
Heat pools between my thighs despite the upsetting news that we are imprisoned in the South Pacific for no discernible reason.
