Unexpected

Chapter 5

"I feel like I've become a language expert in my brief time here, it's a regular United Nations around this place. I've heard more accents in the last few days here than I have in my entire life prior. Did you just get here?"

"Mmhm," he replied in a noncommittal way. He looked around, spying my e-reader. "What are you reading?"

Thank God for e-readers, they had finally allowed me the freedom to read the smutty novels I adored with no shame--you could be reading War and Peace or Fifty Shades of Gray and no one was the wiser. But you've always got to be ready if you don't want to 'fess up to what you're really reading, because people always ALWAYS ask. In this case, as I'd spoken to virtually no one that wasn't taking my order for two days, I was totally unprepared.

"Um, it's this book for my book club, I can't remember the title, it's about..." I mumbled, desperately trying to remember the last non-embarrassing book I'd read, which had been several months ago, over Christmas break. Think, Charlie, think!

Committing a serious breach in etiquette, he leaned over and pressed the home button on my Kindle, which made the main menu pop up, revealing the title of what I was truly reading. "’The Duke's Desire'’? That sounds...interesting. Exactly what kind of book club are you in?"

I blushed furiously, dying a little inside. "Ok, you caught me. I have a sick obsession with historical romance novels, particularly those set in England in the Regency era. And before you ask me, no, I have no idea when exactly that was. History was never my strongest subject. After the billion books I've read, you'd think I'd know more about it but I don't -- I don't even know which is a higher rank, a duke or an earl? By the way, do those even exist anymore--are there still dukes today? I'm like some sort of American stereotype, right? I'm sure you all imagine a bunch of overweight American women swooning over your aristocracy since we don't have our own..." I prattled on nervously, as I tended to do in awkward situations.

"First, you're not overweight in the slightest and no, that's not how I imagine Americans. And a duke is of a higher rank than an earl and yes, they still exist," although he was clearly amused by my revelation, he also looked somewhat uncomfortable. Great, I thought, I've totally freaked him out.

I sat there stupidly, not knowing what else to say. I really shouldn't care or be embarrassed about what I chose to read, but spending the last three years around people that were constantly trying to remind you and everyone else how smart they were had made me super defensive about anything that might lead a person to question my intelligence. Not that there was any sort of correlation between reading romance novels and being unintelligent, but so many people were so snobby about it, which was silly. As if any sort of writing was superior to another--it was all a matter of taste.

"John," he called out to a passing waiter, who must have sensed his desperation as he rushed over incredibly swiftly. "I'd love a margarita and the lady would like...? Some tea perhaps? Or what would the Duke suggest?" He picked up my Kindle, waggling it at me.

"I'll take a strawberry daiquiri, please," I said, snatching it back from him. "Wait, what time is it? Isn't it early for booze?"

“We’re on holiday, Charlotte, it’s never too early for a drink.” Why have I never truly appreciated how fantastic my name is? It sounded amazing when he said it.

"You're right, a daiquiri it is." After the waiter left to get our drinks, I told him, "you can call me Charlie, I think we're to that point in our relationship."

He smiled, "Charlie, I like it. It suits you."

"Thanks, I think."

"Are you here alone?" he asked as he settled back into his lounge chair. I was glad that I was wearing sunglasses as I could surreptitiously check him out. He had broad shoulders, slimmer hips, and an amazing chest -- not overly muscled but somewhat defined. He had a slight dusting of hair in the middle of his chest, which I wasn't typically a fan of but on him, it was sexy as hell.

"God no, that would be sort of sad, wouldn't it? I'm here with a friend," I said, hoping I don't have to get into the whole story about Maggie's whereabouts.

He looked like he wants to say something else but was too polite to actually do it.

"What?" I asked.

"Well, um, I, er." Sheesh, even stuttering is adorable with a British accent.

"Yes?" I asked, lifting my eyebrows, fairly certain I know where he was going with this.

"It's just that, uh, I haven't seen you with anyone," he said. "Not for the last two days -- and I've noticed you alone on the beach and at meals and such."

Oh God, everyone here thinks I'm some weirdo loner all by herself at this beautiful resort. But, wait...

"I thought you said you just got here, how did you know I've been alone the whole time?"

"Perhaps I got here earlier than I let on. I noticed you but didn't want to interfere with your solitude," he said, somewhat sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Trying not to read too much into this cute guy watching me for days before introducing himself, I answered his question. "I'm here with my friend Maggie. She, uh, ran into an ex-boyfriend and they've kind of, um, rekindled their old romance."

He looked around for them on the beach, "Are they around? Why aren't they sitting by you?"

"They, uh, they don't leave his villa much. Like, not at all." I could feel my face getting hot. Sheesh, Charlotte, prude much?

"Ah. I see."

"What about you, who are you here with?"

“I'm actually here by myself, sad, right?”

This whole conversation was playing out like a lesson in exactly what you shouldn’t say when a handsome stranger introduces himself to you. I guess it was comforting to know that even in this beautiful posh world I was living in, I was still just as awkward as I was at home.