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Prologue
RICHARD
Iknew if I came back today, I would see her.
Walking along the beach, with her long, wavy blonde hair falling down her back, the breeze blowing it behind her, and the sun highlighting her face. Bronzed skin like she’s ready for a photoshoot. But I doubt she’d be interested in that. From afar, she just doesn’t seem like the kind of person who cares about how other people see her. All the primping and makeup they use, she doesn’t need any of that to look attractive. To me, she is just an all-natural beauty and a product of living in this beautiful place.
When I left England wanting an adventure, looking to find myself before taking up my role in the family business, I never imagined what I would find in Australia. I have traveled widely over Europe with my parents and visited many beach resorts, but nothing compares. The beauty of the golden sand and the blue of the ocean waves is just like I’d heard about.
But no one told me about the Australian women.
From the moment I arrived, it was like a smorgasbord of gorgeousness. And from that first night I spotted her, she captivated me.
The woman of my desires.
She’s quiet and unassuming but radiates all the confidence of someone who takes life in stride. There’s no sign of stress of what life brings her or the worries of a business empire hanging over her head.
She doesn’t compare to any of the girls I grew up with in my stuffy lifestyle of money and the aristocracy all around me. I live in a world of glitz and glamor. God forbid one of those women should leave the house without a face full of makeup or hours on end spent at the hairdresser and nail salon.
They aren’t real women… not even close.
Biding my time, I finally see her appear at the edge of the grass, stopping to slip her sandals off before stepping her bare feet onto the sand. It’s like she is taking a moment to connect with nature, just sinking her feet into the sand. Her long loose skirt is blowing in the breeze, and today, she has a wide-brimmed straw hat on her head, containing her wavy hair around her face, but the rest is hanging down and moving with the gentle air blowing through it. The floral bikini top she has on is visible through a very thin white shirt that is only buttoned twice at the top, and the rest is scooped up and tied under her breasts, exposing her stomach that has been kissed by the sun and tanned to an olive tone that makes her blonde hair stand out even more.
I’m not about to let this opportunity pass me by today. Pushing up off the grass to my feet, I walk onto the sand. I’m not like the Aussie guys I’ve seen around on the beach, my feet are soft. Comes from always living in fine Italian leather shoes and my skin rarely touching the ground. Keeping the flipflops on my feet only lasts about ten steps before my feet get heavier and there’s sand all over them. I feel like I’m dragging half the beach with me.
“Fucking useless shoes!” I slip my feet out of them and throw them behind me. Now my feet start to heat up, to the point of burning pain beginning to shoot up my legs.
“Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to make a beach hotter than the ground in Hell!” I yell as I start into a full jog, heading toward the water. Reaching the packed sand at the edge of the waves, my feet are on fire, and all I can hear from behind me is sweet laughter that is now getting closer.
I’m still dancing on my toes until I finally hit the water, and it’s like I can hear my feet hissing as the cold water runs over the hot surface of my skin.
“Your Pommy skin isn’t designed to handle our beaches.” Standing almost level with me, we both look out into the waves.
Great start, Richard. I’m almost too embarrassed to turn and face the woman I have been fantasizing about for days, since that first morning I spotted her. Instead of pulling myself together, my arrogance comes rising to the surface, and the words just blurt out of my mouth.
“Why in God’s name do you Australians call us Poms? I mean, it doesn’t even make sense. It’s not like it has anything to do with the word English or British.” Turning to look at her, I realize in the first few seconds that she is even more beautiful up close than I dreamed about.
Her giggle is already doing things to me, and I don’t want to embarrass myself further by showing how much it affects me.
“History tells that us Aussies love to shorten names, words, anything really. So, the word British just wasn’t going to cut it when they started shipping you Pommies here to work. The word Pom is short for pomegranate, which rhymes with immigrant. The word stuck, and Poms or Pommies it became. Makes perfect sense, don’t you think.” She kicks up the water each time a wave runs over her toes.
“No. Not an ounce of sense, really. And why the big thing about us being immigrants? We could really go back to you all being convicts that we stuck on a ship to send to some random island that wasn’t worth living on.”What is wrong with me? Shut up, you idiot.
The smile on her face gets brighter, and she spreads her arms out to her sides and starts spinning in a circle.
“Of course, nobody would want to live here. I mean, just look at it. What a punishment to be shipped here. Now you might understand why things turned around and the British started immigrating the first opportunity they got. Welcome to our horrible island.” Still twirling in a circle, she looks up into the sky and soaks in the warm sun on her skin. The twirl now turns into a dance, swaying backwards and forwards, as she holds her skirt and swishes it side to side.
Nothing awful touches this woman. Her soul radiates purity.
Transfixed by her happiness, I’m taken aback when she reaches for my hand, the softness of her fingers running up my arm.
“Dance with me. It will help take away the grayness sitting on your mind.”
Confused at what she’s saying, I almost start to question her nonsense, but she reaches her other hand toward my face, with her finger touching my lips, shushing me.
No one ever shushes me!
But I can’t stop from taking her in my arms, and we start moving to the imaginary music that is playing in her head.
