Guns, Not Roses

~Chapter Ten: Stir Crazy~

Hey guys: I need your help... A few people have mentioned that this story would be better in third-person throughout. Is that true? I’m not a huge fan of constantly switching POVs either, so what do you think? Should I ditch Tony and Savannah’s POV altogether? Or should I continue in this way? Please let me know what you think. Your opinion matters.

Don’t forget to enjoy this chapter! x

“My BlackBerry can’t get any reception,” Savannah told Angelino plaintively, interrupting his afternoon tanning session.

Angie slowly removed his shades, quizzically regarding the woman currently blocking his sun. She was dressed in a thick multicoloured mohair jumper, as if she were rebelling against the island’s scorching temperature, which, when he thought about it, she probably was.

“What am I supposed to do about that?” he asked Savannah, a smile playing across his lips in anticipation of her impending outburst.

“I don’t know!” Savannah threw her arms up in frustration, sweat starting to trickle at a snail’s pace down her already sticky back. “Take me to the port or something! Anything!"

“My orders are to keep you on this island. I follow orders, therefore I am keeping you on this island.”

“How noble of you, dickwad! Fuck you, Angie! Did you hear me? Fuck you!” In the approach of a child, Savannah bent down and scooped up a handful of pale-russet sand and flung it at her bodyguard’s bulging chest, turning on her heel to head back into the house.

Once she’d entered the front door, the stupid jumper was on the ground, as well as her black, ribbed turtleneck from underneath. She had been foolish to think that wearing her winter wear would show Angelino and Ivanka, her only companions, that she did not want to be stuck on this island with them. Feeling slightly faint-headed, she deduced that she was probably suffering from sunstroke due to her arrogant lack of common sense.

Small and dainty-looking Ivanka bustled into the corridor and quickly averted her eyes at Savannah’s half-nakedness.

“Sorry,” the older woman mumbled. “I did not know-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Savannah said quickly. Ivanka was obviously a prude.

“I have baked a cake. Chocolate. I hope you are not allergic?”

Savannah smiled. Ivanka communicated better through her cuisine. “I love chocolate. Thank you.”

“Good.” She paused. “That is nice bra.”

Hours after her encounter with Ivankam Savannah announced, “I’m taking a walk.”

Angelino looked up from his novel, which, from Savannah’s vantage point in the doorway, looked suspiciously like Confessions of a Shopaholic.

“I’ll come with you.” He started to rise from the sofa, but Savannah held up a hand to halt him.

“I forgot to say alone. I’m not a kid, Angie.”

“I didn’t say you were, but it’s late. Anything can happen.” Angelino met her eye. “And I don’t trust you.”

“What am I going to do? Swim away?” Savannah huffed, folding her arms across her chest and glaring at him.

“I know you well enough to figure out that the thought has definitely crossed your mind,” he chuckled.

No, it hasn’t crossed my mind – strolled at a leisurely pace is more like it.

“I don’t have a death wish.”

“You’re practically naked and it’s freezing outside. I’d say you do have a death wish.”