And for me—well, things wouldn’t be awful for me either. I had faith in men again. The ghost of Oscar was permanently banished; every time I thought of him helpless and whimpering in Russ’s grip, I thought, How pathetic. I would venture forth with my self-esteem and self-worth restored. I would meet someone like Russ—kind, thoughtful, secure, adult—and that would blossom into the relationship that this could never be.

Our affair would be almost excusable if this all turned out to be the case. But even as I had these pretty and nice thoughts about us both going our own ways after this without any looking back, I felt my heart stirring up trouble. Maybe Russ was experiencing the same thing, because he looked genuinely crestfallen as he said, “You know, I’m really not sure. I know there will be travel with this job but I think it’ll be in dull places like Palm Beach and Midland, Texas. I think Todd just brought me down here to woo me.”

“Okay,” I said, trying to keep my tone light and unconcerned. “Let’s go back to the hotel, then, and properly enjoy the time we have left.”

We did just that, and it was wonderful—not only the sex, but also falling asleep in that luscious bed with our limbs intertwined.

When I woke up, he was staring at me just like the leading man in the movies looks at his leading lady—right before he betrays her or kills her or carries her off into the sunset.

“You’re exquisite,” he said. “And just now, watching you sleep, I felt so…privileged. Like I’ve been granted a private viewing of the Mona Lisa.”

“Everyone says the Mona Lisa is so beautiful,” I said. “But frankly, I don’t get it.”

This made Russ laugh and he reached over to the nightstand and plucked a pale pink hibiscus blossom out of a water glass. He tucked it behind my ear.

“You’re right,” he said. “You’re far prettier than the Mona Lisa.”

I swatted him to downplay how happy that made me—show me a woman who doesn’t like being compared to a masterpiece—then said, “I’m starving.”

It was dark outside. The bedside clock said twenty past nine. It was too late to get dinner anywhere on this sleepy island, besides which I was basically in hiding. So we ordered room service, lavishly, recklessly, like we were rock stars on the last leg of a world tour—one bacon cheeseburger, one lobster pizza, French fries, a Caesar salad, the key lime pie, a hot fudge sundae, and, of course, conch fritters, because now that was our “thing.” I would never see Russell Steele again but every time I put in an order of conch fritters, I would think of him. I told him this and he threw me down on the bed and said, “God, Rosie, how can I ever leave you? I’m…different now, in such a short time. I’m changed.” He was putting words to what I felt as well. I had tears in my eyes as I tried to control my crazy, runaway heart.