She returned to Lake Geneva on a grim, rainy spring afternoon, ricocheting between feeling dumbstruck by Sam’s comment and lovesick for Mitch. The two men seemed to represent the two possible ends of the romantic spectrum. She chose not to think of Sam, and let her mind linger over all the moments she’d shared with Mitch, from taking a bubble bath together to the way his golden hair gleamed on his legs in the afternoon sun. You look like a real prince, she’d told him. She’d stuffed his soft, white undershirt in her bag and smelled it occasionally when nobody was looking in hopes that his piney scent would obfuscate Sam’s musky odor and harsh words. She’d given Mitch the phone number for the resort so that he could call her. She couldn’t wait for Ola and Biata to come find her with a pink “while you were out” memo when he did. She was already mythologizing Mitch, forgetting that when they made love, she felt they were doing so alongside each other instead of together. Why had Mitch kept his eyes shut? Why did she fumble with him, unsure how to give him pleasure? They seemed to have different rhythms. His desire seemed almost athletic, like he really had to try hard and focus. She certainly hadn’t reached the height of passion—she only pretended she did. She was certain that once they got to know each other better, that would happen. Sex had seemed more straightforward with Sam, more animalistic and instinctual. How horrible, she thought, that her more primal attraction was to that awful man. The mere thought of Sam made her shudder with the feelings of shame, guilt, and embarrassment she knew she deserved. She’d given herself away like she was trash. Sam had taken her dignity from her, but she’d let him. She wanted to believe that Mitch could give it back.

One day, she decided, she would live somewhere like Calabasas. She felt she belonged in a place where the weather was warm year-round, and where there were palm trees. She wanted a prettier life, one where everyone was having as much fun as they did in the magazine. She’d wake up next to a handsome, trouble-free man whose tan skin glowed against fresh, white sheets.

CHAPTER SEVEN

She spent her first morning back at the resort dressed in a light pink Bunny costume working the Easter egg hunt on the resort’s back lawn. Parents stood around chatting while their greedy little kids dressed in their Sunday best ran each other down to snatch up candy-filled plastic eggs. It was cool out for April, and it was hard to walk, because her heels sank into the damp, recently aerated soil. Rain sputtered from the sky. Her ears wilted, her hair flattened, and she shivered uncontrollably.