Their attention turns towards angry suntan man. He is looking right at us, his mouth in a thin line, but his eyes are obscured by his sunglasses.

Andrew sticks out his hand. ‘Hey, mate, I’m Andrew.’

Hugh’s expression shifts, losing its surliness. He looks peaceful and happy . . . almost friendly. I watch his shoulder muscles ripple under his T-shirt as he stands up. I notice his eyes have gone from greyish to a brighter, more cerulean blue.

‘Hugh,’ he says, as he extends his hand to shake theirs. He smiles an easy, wide, slightly crooked smile that he certainly never gave to me.

My stomach drops.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Pippa says, voicing my exact thought. ‘I didn’t quite catch that?’

‘Hugh,’ he repeats, louder and more clearly.

I’m glad he’s looking at Pippa and Andrew because my mouth is hanging open. If I’m honest with myself, I suspected he was Hugh from the moment I read his backpack. But I didn’t want him to be Hugh. I don’t need another complication. I was hoping if I pretended he wasn’t Hugh then he could just end up being some guy borrowing his friend’s backpack. But if he is Hugh Harris then where are his glasses? Doesn’t he wear glasses? And why didn’t Millie tell me he was this cute?

Hugh Harris, the man hell-bent on proving Millie wrong, is on my only opportunity to prove her right.

When is he going to realise that I’m Millie Paxton?

What if he realises that I’m really Andi Paxton?

What if scarf lady remembers that I go by Andi?

If Hugh gets so much as a whiff of trouble, he’ll see right through me. And he already witnessed my sunscreen debacle.

My heart is racing, so I take a deep breath and channel Millie. I cannot screw this up for her.

Finding the butterfly wrasse is all that matters.

‘Hugh,’ I mutter under my breath, ‘you’re going down.’

Chapter 7

Nine dives to go

I listen to Vanessa explain the boat in a daze. I vaguely register the words ‘life jacket’. I avoid looking at Hugh, wondering if I can successfully avoid him for the entirety of our trip.

I don’t remember the name of the camera-toting man although I’m pretty sure the scarf-wearing woman’s name starts with an N, something pretty and feminine sounding, like Natasha. The name Hugh Harris runs through my mind on what feels like a continuous loop.