one
Dillon
I’m the first to step off the seaplane and onto the jetty, saying hello to the staff member waiting to greet us all.
Moving aside so the other passengers can get off, I stretch my back out.
Eleven hours on a flight from Manchester to the Maldives and then a forty-five-minute flight on a cramped seaplane to the island, and I’m finally here.
Alone.
Nope. I’m not going to get upset.
I’m not gonna think about him.
Or her.
I’ve spent enough time crying over what they did to me. No more.
I’m literally in paradise, surrounded by beauty. I cannot be sad here.
Even though I tell myself this, I still feel my throat start to burn, the hurt wanting to climb its way into my eyes.
I get my sunglasses from my bag and slip them on.
Swallowing back my emotions, I take a deep breath.
The air is heavy. The heat here is like nothing I’ve ever known.
I’ve been abroad before but only to Spain with my girlfriends. I thought it was warm when I was there. It’s nothing compared to the heat here.
When I landed at Malé airport, I began to seriously regret the leggings and long-sleeved shirt I wore to travel here. It had been freezing when I left home to head to the airport. Thought I was being smart, wearing something comfy to travel in.
But being here now, on the island, I can feel the sweat starting to gather around the nape of my neck and my armpits.
I need to shower and change ASAP. Then, eat something and fall into bed.
I’m knackered after all the traveling.
Retrieving a scrunchie from my bag, I gather my long hair up off my neck and tie it up in a haphazard bun. I know for a fact that it looks like shit. I’m not one of those girls who can put her hair in a messy bun and it come off looking amazing. I usually end up looking like I lost a fight with a bush.
But I’m not here to impress anyone, and I’m fucking melting, so shit hair bun it is.
I press my hand to the back of my neck to remove the sweat there, and then I surreptitiously wipe my hand on my leggings.
I look to my left, and the woman standing there, who was on the seaplane ride here, is watching me, a judgy look on her face, like I’m the grossest thing she’s ever seen.
Of course she’s totally put together.
We can’t all look amazing after a long-ass flight. Some of us are smelly and gross.
Deal with it, lady.
I give her a pointed look—through my dark glasses, of course—and she looks away.
The guy she’s traveling with comes over and kisses her. She lifts her hand to his cheek.
My eyes catch on the massive rock and gold band on her finger.
An ache deep inside of my chest tries to claw its way out.
What the hell was I thinking, coming here?
It’s going to be full of couples and happy newlyweds, who are going to make me want to poke my eyes out.
Come on your honeymoon alone, Dillon. It’ll be fine, Dillon.
Note to Dillon: you’re a fucking idiot.
The greeter guy asks us all to follow him down the jetty to the island.
I let everyone else go first.
All fucking couples.
I am the only solo person here.
What did I expect, coming here?
The Maldives is couples central. Not sad, pathetic, single women central.
I should have stayed home.
And lost thousands of pounds on this trip.
I couldn’t get a refund.
Apparently, my fiancé fucking … I can’t even say it without wanting to throw up.
Basically, cheating fiancé wasn’t listed on my travel insurance as a reason for cancellation.
And the travel company wouldn’t let me change to a different destination. It was literally two weeks before I was due to get married when I found out the truth. And a week before I could even bring myself to contact the travel company.
So, it was either stay home and drink myself into a coma. Or come to paradise and drink myself into a coma.
I chose the latter.
I just didn’t take into consideration the happy couples I’d be surrounded by.
Looking at these blissful bastards in front of me makes me wish I were back in my home with a few bottles of Prosecco in front of me and a serial killer documentary on TV for company.
I hear my phone ding in my bag, and I pull it out.
Text from my aunt Jenny. I texted her when I landed in Malé airport to let her know I’d arrived.
How is it? Send pics ASAP! Love you. xxx
I smile at her message even though I blame her for me coming here too. She was the one who first suggested it. I asked her to come with me, take Tim’s place, but she couldn’t get the time off work with such short notice. Neither could any of my girlfriends.
But Aunt Jen encouraged me to come alone. Said the time away would do me good.
I’m seriously doubting it now. But here I am.
I’m just gonna have to suck it up for the next two weeks.
Doing as Jenny asked, I lift my phone and take a few pics of the island that will be my home for fourteen days.
It’s the first time I’ve actually paid attention to the island since I landed here, which says a lot about my mental state at the moment, but this place is absolutely stunning. I’ve never seen anything like it before.
It actually slows my steps.
There were some gorgeous sights on the seaplane flight here, but being here on the island and seeing it in all its beauty is something else.
I feel something shift in my chest as I stare at the lush greenery in front of me, the clear blue water lapping against the soft white sand, the water bungalows that sit off to the right and left side of the island.
I’m staying in a water bungalow.
The water bungalows are a little more expensive than the beach villas, but Tim was paying for the whole wedding, so I wanted to contribute something more.
I felt so guilty that he was paying for the wedding, but he had insisted.
Still, I spent a frigging fortune on this honeymoon. Maldivian holidays don’t come cheap.
And considering I don’t have a job that pays a lot of money and I don’t come from a wealthy family, like he does, and that he fucked me over in the worst possible way, I’m glad he stumped up the cash and lost it all. The wedding venue wouldn’t refund at such short notice. The rings had been bought. The cars booked. My dress all paid for …
It’s still sitting at the store. I never did pick it up.
There was no reason to.
Fuck, I hate him.
And I hate her more.
Stop, Dillon. Don’t think of either of them.
Pushing all thoughts of the hell I’ve endured over the past two weeks, I snap a few photos of the island, beach, and the bungalows and send them to Jenny. Then, I put my phone away just as my feet hit the sand and we’re under the shade of palm trees.
Unfortunately, I’m wearing my favorite pair of Converse, so I can’t feel if the sand is as soft as it looks.
But I will later.
That can be my something to look forward to.
That, and shower, food, and sleep.
I follow the group into the main reception area.
And there is air-conditioning.
Thank you, gods!
The greeter guy tells us all to take a seat and that someone will be over to check us in.
I grab a single comfy-looking chair on its own in the corner, leaving the two-seaters for all the lovebirds.