Honeymoon Suite
by Shift-Change
(Disclaimer: Most images were generated with the help of AI tools)
The salty Caribbean air was thick, a humid blanket that clung insistently to Savannahâs skin, mixing with the fine layer of dust sheâd accumulated over the last twelve hours of travel. Four and a half hours on an inter-island barge, preceded by several hours of last minute hiking she'd squeezed in on her last morning on the island of Dominica. She prepared to step off the ferry, her heavy rucksack shifting uncomfortably against her shoulders, a familiar ache forming in her lower back. Her hiking boots, scuffed and caked with dried mud from the rain forests of the previous island, thumping heavily against the wooden slats of the gangway before she leapt sturdily onto the concrete dock and set foot for the first time on the island of St. Lucia.
Savannah Miller was twenty-four years old, lean, and possessed a rugged beauty that didn't require effort. Her dirty blonde hair was pulled back into a messy, practical ponytail, and her skin was the deep, uneven tan of someone who spent more time under the sun than under any roof. She lived for this kind of adventure; the spontaneity, the grit, the raw connection to the world that only solo backpacking could provide.
She navigated the small ferry terminal feeling a little cooped up. She was eager to find a bunk at a hostel or budget inn, and plan out the next phase of her island-hopping adventure. After hours of just sitting around on the ferry, the customs line felt painfully slow, but she made it through without any trouble. It was only as she walked into the small, vibrant beach town, that her sense of adventure hit a snag.
The first hostel she'd marked down on her itinerary, a colorful shack with hammocks on the porch, had a "No Vacancy" sign hanging crookedly by the door. The second, a slightly more polished guest house, was already full of a rowdy group of divers who had booked out the entire place for a week. By the time she walked out of the small lobby of the third "budget" option on her list, also at capacity, a sinking feeling had settled in her gut.
"Every single one?" Savannah asked, her voice cracking with exhaustion as she stood at the desk of the fifth hostel sheâd visited in the small St. Lucian port town.
"Everything's full, love," the woman at the desk told her, offering a sympathetic wince. "The turtle nesting season started early. The sailing regatta is this weekend. Plus everyone is coming into town for the big spice festival next week. You won't be likely to find more than a cot for ten miles."
Savannah sighed and wiped the growing sheen of sweat from her brow, before stepping back onto the street. The sun was beginning to dip toward the horizon, painting the sky in stunning shades of purple and orange. She looked down at her muddy boots and then back up at the darkening sky. She was exhausted. Her muscles screamed for a shower, and her feet were already pulsing from being cramped in her boots for too long.
With a grunt of effort, she hoisted her pack, which was feeling heavier by the moment, and began walking back towards the edge of the bay. She looked up the beach, where the palm trees grew taller and the sand looked whiter. There, perched like a white marble crown on the edge of the turquoise water, was The Azurea. It was the kind of place Savannah usually avoided on principle: a high-end luxury resort where the guests wore outfits that probably cost more than her entire trip. Tourists there probably never left the property, never truly explored what made a place real. She knew it was sure to be way out of her budget, but she was running out of options. She just needed a place to get cleaned up, change out of her sweaty clothes, and get a good, well-earned night of sleep. She could figure the rest out after that.
"Desperate times," she muttered, adjusting the straps of her pack again.
Walking through the lobby of the Azurea felt like entering another dimension. The lobby was an oasis of marble. The air was chilled to a perfect, crisp temperature, scented with lemongrass and the natural sea salt of being right on the waterfront. Her boots left faint, dusty prints on the polished floors. She looked like a stray cat in a pristine cathedral. It made her feel self-conscious.
The concierge, a man named Mateo with a smile as bright as his pressed white suit, didn't flinch at her disheveled appearance.
"Welcome to the Azurea," he said smoothly. "How can I assist you this evening?"
"Iâm looking for a room," Savannah said, her voice a bit raspy. "Just for two nights. I know itâs peak season, but Iâve been through every hostel in town. Is there any chance you have a cancellation? Even just a small room? I'd honestly take a broom closet and a blanket at this point." She grinned wearily.
Mateo tapped at his tablet, his expression thoughtful. "It is indeed shaping up to be our busiest week of the year. However..." He paused, tapping on his keyboard, his eyes lighting up. "We did just have a cancellation for one of our Oceanfront Honeymoon Suites. Itâs quite a step up from a 'broom closet,' I assure you."
Savannah felt a wave of relief, followed quickly by a flicker of annoyance. She hated fancy places. They felt stifling, artificial. She wasn't one for the uber-luxury of a private suite. She preferred the camaraderie of a shared kitchen and the stories of fellow travelers. The fact that this was the only option she could find felt like a cosmic joke. But she looked down again at her aching feet and knew she couldn't just keep fruitlessly hiking around the island all night, looking for someplace to stay. Beggars can't be choosers.
"How much?" she asked, afraid to hear the answer.
Mateo cited a number that made her heart skip a beat. It was more than she usually spent in two weeks of travel.
"Hold on, just a sec," she said, pulling her phone from her pocket, its heavy duty case thoroughly scuffed from being dropped on the trail so many times. She opened her banking app, her short, clean thumbnail hovering nervously over the screen. She checked the balance in her checking account, then her savings. Doing some quick mental math, she figured if she stayed for two nights, and only two nights, sheâd still have just enough to finish the final leg of her trip through the rest of the archipelago. It would be tight, and it would have some ripple effectsâno more expensive excursions, only the free museums, strictly street food for the rest of the monthâbut she could do it. Just barely.
"Okay," she sighed, sliding her credit card across the marble counter. She imagined her poor bank account, bracing for impact. "I'll take it. Two nights."
"A wise choice," Mateo said, handing her back her credit card along with a weighty, gold-embossed key card. "I hope you enjoy your stay with us. Guests usually find the experience revitalizing. Some even say, transformative. If you don't mind my saying, you look like you could really use the rest, Miss Savannah."
He wasn't wrong.
The honeymoon suite was absurd. That was the only word for it. Well, maybe breathtaking was another option.
It was larger than any apartment sheâd ever lived in. A sprawling private balcony directly overlooked the darkening Caribbean, the sound of the lapping waves a gentle, rhythmic hush as the water faded from turquoise to a gorgeous shade of indigo. There was a spacious open concept sitting area with velvet couches and hand-carved wooden end tables, and in the attached bedroom, a king-sized bed that looked as soft and inviting as a giant, fluffy cloud.
Savannah dropped her rucksack by the door, the heavy olive green canvas looking utterly out of place against the silk wallpaper. She stripped off her sweat-stained hiking clothes until she was blissfully nude, and stepped into the bathroom. The shower was a walk-in rainfall setup with six different nozzles, and even more settings. She let the hot water wash away the salt, the dirt, and the fatigue, her mind already drifting to the vast bed that awaited her.
She didnât even bother to unpack. Only the essentials. She pulled on an old, oversized T-shirt she used for sleeping, quickly brushed her teeth, stumbled to the bed, and collapsed. The sheets were high thread count Egyptian cotton, cool to the touch and impossibly soft. The pillows were unbelievably plush. She didn't even have time to pull the duvet over her before she was dead to the world.
As Savannah drifted into the deepest sleep of her life, the air in the room seemed to shimmer. It was a subtle vibration, like a heat haze rising over a desert road.
On the floor, the rugged, mud-stained rucksack began to change. The coarse green canvas softened, darkening into a rich, buttery cognac leather. The plastic buckles melted and reformed into polished brass hardware. The "Savannah" scrawled in all-caps Sharpie on the strap vanished, replaced by a set of leather tags with an embossed monogram reading "S.M." the letters looping elegantly in a classy script.
In the bathroom, her travel-sized plastic tube of generic brand toothpaste and her fraying manual toothbrush dissolved. In their place, a marble tray materialized, holding two sleek, top-of-the-line electric toothbrushes. A curated procession of glass bottlesâserums, oils, lotions and even a pair of French perfumesâsparkled into existence on the countertop, looking like fine gemstones expertly set in jewelry.
The transformation moved to the bed. Savannahâs old, thinning T-shirt thinned even further, the cotton turning to a delicate, translucent silk chiffon. The hem shortened, and the neckline dipped, trimmed with intricate lace.
Her body, physically fit from months of backwoods trekking, began to soften and refine. The jagged scar on her shin from a rock slide in Costa Rica faded until the skin was flawless. The callouses on her palms and feet, earned from miles and miles of hiking well off the beaten path, vanished as if they'd never been there at all, replaced by soft, pampered skin. Her complexion, previously featuring a stark sun-baked farmer's tan and dotted with several persistent bug bites, cleared into an unblemished, uniformly tanned glow the likes of which would require dedicated time by the pool, or in a tanning bed.
Her muscles didn't disappear, but they shifted; the sturdiness of a long-distance hiker smoothed into the long, lean lines of a woman who spent her mornings in a private Pilates studio. Her shifted physique was soon joined by attractive curves that filled out her negligee ever so nicely, a perfect valley of cleavage, and thighs and glutes that suggested her typical workout regimen focused on lunges and squats. Her hair, usually a salt-tangled mess these days, and still damp from the shower, suddenly took on a luminous, honey-gold sheen, falling in perfect, healthy waves across the pillow.
Finally, on her left hand, a weight appeared. A platinum band set with a diamond the size of a postage stamp, flanked by a delicate jewel-encrusted wedding band.
And then, the space beside her occupied itself. The sheets shifted as the form of a tall, broad-shouldered man appeared, his breathing deep and steady, his arm instinctively reaching out to find her in the dark.
The first thing Savannah felt was the heat.
Not the oppressive sun-blasted heat of a bright Caribbean morning, but a localized, comforting warmth right in the bed with her. Savannah rolled over in her sleep, her subconscious seeking the warmth. Still unconscious, she draped an arm over a firm, muscular torso, her fingers getting delicately tangled in the soft, yet sturdy hair of the mysterious man's chest. In her half-asleep state, she thought she must be back in a hostel, perhaps having rolled too close to a fellow traveler on a neighboring bunk.
For an unthinking moment, she snuggled closer, eyes still closed, sighing into the crook of his neck. She squeezed gently and nuzzled her face into a neck that smelled of bergamot and sandalwood, and expensive soap.
Wait.
The unfamiliarity of the sensations pierced through the fog of sleep. Her hostels never smelled like sandalwood or bergamot. They only ever smelled like mildew, cheap beer, and occasionally weed.
Her eyes shot open.
The warm, sunny light of the early morning filtered around the edges of the premium blackout curtains she hadn't bothered to close the night before. Through bleary eyelids, she saw a face. A manâs face. He was strikingly handsome, with a square jaw dusted with dark stubble and thick, dark eyelashes. He was fast asleep, looking incredibly peaceful.
Savannahâs heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She wanted to scream, but the sound died in her throat. She didn't want to wake himâshe didn't know who he was or why he was in her bed. Was she in the wrong room? Had someone broken in? Had she sleepwalked?
She went to cover her mouth in shock and froze.
Her nails were longer, shaped into perfect almonds, and painted a shimmering sky blue. And there, glinting on her finger, was the diamond ring.
"Oh my god," she mouthed, the words barely a breath.
She scrambled out of the bed, as calmly and quietly as she could manage with her heart still pounding in her chest. She didn't feel the usual morning stiffness in her joints. She felt light. She bolted for the bathroom and locked the door with a trembling hand, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
She turned to the mirror and gasped again. The woman staring back at her was herâbut a version of her that had been airbrushed, polished, and perfected. Her skin was glowing, devoid of a single blemish or freckle. Her chest looked more supple, her hips more defined. She was wearing negligee the likes of which she'd never owned let alone packed for a backpacking trip.
"What the fuck... what the fuck..." she whispered, leaning forwards against the marble counter. Then she looked down at the counter. "Where is my stuff?"
She saw the rows of La Mer creams, the Chanel makeup, the Dyson hair dryer. She noticed the two toothbrushes.
"I'm either in the wrong room or I'm losing my mind," she breathed, clutching the edge of the vanity. "Or Iâm having a stroke. Or this is some kind of hallucination brought on by dehydration."
She splashed cold water on her face. The water felt real. The sheer silk of her nightie felt real, too. She looked down at herself, noting the way the skimpy fabric clung to her new curves. She looked⌠incredible. But she wasn't herself. She slipped on the luxuriously soft hotel robe, just to have a little more coverage, and resolved that she couldn't very well hideout in the bathroom all morning. She had to get out of here safely before Mystery Man woke up, and then she could start to investigate what had happened. Maybe she could start at the front desk? Confirm her room number? Check security footage? She'd think of somethingâŚ
She slowly unlocked the door and peeked back into the room. The man hadn't moved. Still sound asleep. Thank goodness. She looked toward the door, hoping to see her hiking boots and her rucksack so she could grab them and run, but it was all gone. In place of her trusty pack stood an expensive-looking three-piece set of Prada luggage in a chic burgundy color.
She crept over to the bags, her bare feet on the marble floor and her heart in her throat. Her toes, she noticed, were also perfectly manicured, sparkling with a hint of glitter. She reached for the monogrammed luggage tag on the smallest bag. S.M. Her initials. That was⌠weird.
She flipped the tag over.
Savannah Montgomery.
"Montgomery?" she whispered. Her last name was Miller.
Suddenly, she felt a presence behind her. Before she could turn around, a pair of strong, warm arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against a hard chest. A chin rested on her shoulder, and a low, morning-raspy voice vibrated against her ear. She hadn't heard the man get up.
"Morning, babe. Happy honeymoon. Sleep well?"
Savannah stiffened, her mind racing. Honeymoon? Babe? She turned in his arms, her hands instinctively coming up to rest on his bare chest. Up close, he was even more devastatingly handsome. His eyes were a deep, soulful brown, looking at her with nothing but pure affection.
"I... uh..." she stammered. Her brain was screaming Who are you? but something in the way he held her, the familiarity of his touch, sent a strange jolt of recognition through her body.
"You look a little out of it," he chuckled, his hands sliding down to rest on her round hips. "Still recovering from the flight?"
"I think Iâm still a little disoriented," she found herself saying, her voice sounding higher, breathier than usual. "Waking up in a new place, you know?"
"I know," he said, pulling her into a gentle embrace. He began to stroke her back, his thumbs tracing soothing circles over her shoulder blades. "I get it. It was a long flight yesterday. But weâre here now. Two weeks of nothing but us. No work, no demands, just paradise."
A name flickered in the back of her mind. Like a word on the tip of her tongue that suddenly snapped into focus.
Julian.
"Julian," she said, the name feeling strangely right in her mouth.
"That's my name," he teased, kissing the top of her head. "I'm glad you haven't forgotten it already. I put a lot of work into that wedding. Almost as much as you. And don't you worry, I've taken care of all of our plans for the day, so you won't need to lift a finger."
Wedding? What?! Savannah pulled back, looking around the room. Her itinerary flashed in her head - she only had two nights here in St. Lucia, she needed to get back on track and fast. Her hiking plans. The rain forest preserve. Visiting the sea turtle nesting sites. She needed to get out of here. She needed to find her boots. She also needed to play along until she figured out who this Julian guy was.
"So," she said, trying to sound casual while her heart did somersaults. "What... what exactly do we have planned for today? Remind me? I'm such a space cadet in the morning."
Julian laughed, a rich, warm sound that made her feel strangely calm. "You really are. Itâs okay, Vannah. Iâve got the itinerary memorized."
Vannah? No one called her Vannah. Ever. It sounded like the name of some rich girl who lived off a trust fund and spent most of her time on yachts.
"First thing," Julian said, ticking it off on his fingers, "we have a two-hour appointment at the spa. Coupleâs massage and the resort's signature mud wrap. You said you wanted to 'melt' the jet lag off your skin the moment we got here."
Savannah blinked. A mud wrap? Sheâd planned to spend the morning ankle-deep in actual mud, trekking through the jungle to find hidden waterfalls.
"And then?" she prompted.
He smiled, tucking a strand of her strangely perfect hair behind her ear. "Then we have a private cabana reserved by the main pool. All-inclusive service. Weâre going to sit there, drink something with an umbrella in it, and watch the ocean waves until our skin turns bronze. Then, dinner at Les OndesâI managed to snag a 7:00 PM reservation."
Les Ondes was the most expensive restaurant on the island, and located right next door to the Azurea. Savannah had read about it in a travel blog and scoffed; a single appetizer cost more than a night at one of her beloved hostels.
The weight of the situation started to press down on her. She felt a surge of panicâa genuine, chest-tightening hyperventilation. Somehow, she wasn't Savannah Miller, the backpacker, anymore. She was apparently Savannah Montgomery, and who was that? A bride? A socialite? A pampered vacationer? Who was she? What had happened? What happened to the turtles? What about the rain forest hike? Where was her stuff? Her bags? Her boots? Her plans? Her self?
"Hey, hey," Julian said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming infinitely more tender as he noticed her spiraling. He took her face in his hands, his thumbs wiping away a stray tear she hadn't realized had fallen. "Breathe, Vannah. Itâs okay. Youâre just overwhelmed. Itâs been a big month."
He pulled her close to his chest, holding her tight. And the weirdest thing happened: Savannah felt herself calm down. Not because she suddenly understood what was happening, but because his arms felt like home. Her body seemed to know him, even if her mind didn't. The scent of him, the way his heart beat against her earâit was familiar.
"I'm okay," she whispered into his skin. "I'm okay."
"Good," he said, stepping back with a playful grin. "Because Iâm starving. Iâm going to order breakfast while you get ready."
He walked over to the bedside phone. Savannah watched him, her mind a whirl. She had to keep playing along. She didn't have her gear, she didn't have her money (presumably, her bank account was different now, too, and she wouldn't even know how to sign in), and she was trapped in a body that wasn't quite hers. She had no earthly idea what was happening.
"What do you want, babe?" Julian asked, his hand over the receiver. "The usual? Truffle eggs benedict? Or should I order that fruit platter you were eyeing in the brochure?"
Savannah felt a brief surge of her old self. No, I want scrambled eggs and toast. Simple. Fuel for the trail. But as she opened her mouth, and that new breathier voice came out all confident and melodic, the words changed. "Yes, please. But not truffle today, baby. The eggs benedict with the stone crab would actually be perfect. And let's do the jeweled fruit platter, too. Iâve been dreaming about tasting that papaya."
Julian beamed at her. "Thereâs my girl. Celebrating already."
Savannah froze. Where had those words come from? As far as she knew, she'd never even looked at the menu. And she didn't even like crab that muchâor did she? Not to mention, eating like this would definitely blow the rest of her budget. How was she going to afford Barbados, or Grenada, or Trinidad, if she blew all of the money she had left on a way-too-expensive hotel suite and fancy fruit? She tried to set aside her panic for the moment, as she had more pressing matters to attend to.
While Julian was on the phone, Savannah turned to "her" suitcases. She unzipped the largest one.
Instead of the quick-dry cargo shorts and sweat-wicking T-shirts she was hoping for, Savannah found layers of silk, linen, and fine lace. Everything was organized perfectly, and looked like it would fit her new, more curvaceous body like a glove. There were designer sandals, wide-brimmed hats, and a collection of bikinis that looked more like art than swimwear.
She reached in and pulled out a bikini top. It was a deep emerald green, the fabric shimmering like a mermaidâs scales. It came with a matching, sheer silk sarong that felt like a cool breeze against her skin.
This will be perfect for the spa, a voice in her head whispered.
"Stop it, Savannah," she muttered to herself. "You're a hiker, not an heiress. You wear Keens and a sports bra."
But as she put on the bikini, she couldn't help but stare in the full-length mirror. She looked... stunning. The green made her eyes pop, and the cut of the suit accentuated every new curve of her body. She even found herself striking a couple of poses, absentmindedly. She tied the sarong around her hips, and she looked exactly like the kind of woman who belonged in an Oceanfront Suite. As she took in her reflection, another thought bubbled up: Iâm going to look so hot in this by the pool. She shook her head, trying to clear the fog. Focus, Savannah. Find a way out. Go talk to the front desk, as soon as you can.
Breakfast arrived on a rolling silver cart. The eggs benedict were rich, the hollandaise sauce perfect, and the fruit was dusted with some kind of edible gold leaf. Savannah ate with a gusto she usually reserved for a post-hike burger, but her manners were impeccable. She navigated the various forks and fancy napkins as if sheâd been doing it her whole life. Every time she felt the urge to panic, a bite of the delicious food or a casual touch from Julian seemed to soothe the anxiety away.
"You've got a little sauce..." Julian reached over, his thumb brushing the corner of her lip. He didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned in, his eyes darkening, his intent clear.
Savannahâs first instinct was surprisingly to melt into him, but a sharp spike of her old self protested. You don't know this man!
She quickly stood up, holding her hands up. "Wait! I⌠need to do my makeup! I need to put on my face for the day."
Julian blinked, looking a bit surprised. "We have a little time before the spa⌠I thought maybe⌠we couldâŚ"
"I just... I want to look nice for the first day of our honeymoon," she lied, retreating to the bathroom. Julian still looked a little put out, but placated. For the moment.
She had honestly never been any good at makeup. Usually, a bit of tinted moisturizer and some lip balm was the extent of her routine, if she bothered with anything at all. Her skin care regimen was more focused on sun protection than presentation. But as she stood in front of the vanity mirror in the spacious en suite bathroom, her hands moved with a life of their own. She applied primer, foundation, mascara, and a subtle smokey eye with the precision of a professional artist. She contoured her cheekbones and swiped on a nude gloss that made her lips look plump and inviting.
When she emerged from the bathroom, Julian actually stood up. He'd just finished thoughtfully packing a beach tote for them with everything they'd need to hang out poolside. "Wow. Vannah. You look... incredible."
"Thanks," she said, feeling a flush of pride that felt entirely alien. "Shall we?"
When they arrived at the resort spa, Savannah tried to stay alert. This is it, she thought. My chance. Iâll tell the masseuse Iâm being kidnapped or⌠something. Iâll run for the lobby.
But the spa itself was a blur of sensory indulgence. Soothing lights, delightful aromas, calming music. Savannah fully intended to find her opening and make her escape, but between her own nerves and the peaceful atmosphere, she found herself leaning into the experience. Instead of speaking up, or getting some distance, she just⌠didn't. She continued to play along. Sometimes she even forgot that's what she was doing.
In her old life, Savannahâs idea of a "spa day" was soaking her feet in a cold stream after a ten-mile trek. Here, she and Julian lay side-by-side on massage tables while two therapists worked over their muscles with scented oils. Expert hands pushed deep into the muscles of her back, erasing any lingering fatigue from three months of backpacking by thirty minutes in.
As the therapistâs hands moved over her back, her shoulders, her thighs, Savannah felt much of her tension, and perhaps even a bit of her resolve, dissolving. The "backpacker" Savannah was trying to hold on, trying to remember the name of the trail she was supposed to hike, the name of the beach where the sea turtles nested, even the color of her old rucksack, but it was getting harder. The scent of the essential oils and the sounds of the indoor waterfall were intoxicating. Then after the massage was over, she was wrapped in warm, mineral-rich mud that made her skin tingle. The scents of eucalyptus, lavender, and more filled the air. She felt like she was enclosed in her own little beauty cocoon.
After the massage and mud wrap were both over, they sat together in a private relaxation room, sipping cucumber water. Savannah felt so blissful, so light, that she turned to Julian and hugged him.
"Thank you," she whispered. "This was... amazing."
"Anything for my wife," he murmured, leaning in for a kiss.
Again, as she mentally rejected the word wife, she pulled back at the last second, crying out, "Wait!" A small frown of concern creased Julian's forehead.
"Is everything okay? You seem a little... skittish today."
"It's just, my makeup," she said, her manicured hands flying to her face without touching it. "I don't want to ruin the 'look' before we get to the pool! Think of the photos, baby!"
Where had that come from?
"Right. The photos," Julian said, his smile returning, as he held his hands up in surrender. "Don't want to ruin the masterpiece. Let's head down to the cabana then."
As they stood up to leave, Savannah thought to herself, Since when do I care about my makeup? She had to correct herself, No, that was just a cover I used to stop this total stranger from kissing me. Of course I care about my makeup. I just need to figure out what's going on before we kiss or anything.
Even though he is handsome.
Feeling more confused and uneasy than ever, Savannah resolved to try her best to keep track of which thoughts were truly hers. But things were quickly getting⌠blurrier.
The pool area was a turquoise paradise. Their private cabana was draped in white canvas curtains, featuring a pair of lounge chairs, a plush daybed and a personal server named Nicolas who gave them each a sapphire blue wristband which gave them full access to all the resort's amenities.
As soon as Julian settled onto the lounger, Savannah saw her chance.
"Iâm just going to go for a little stroll," she said, adjusting her sarong and grabbing her designer sunglasses and a tiny purse she hadn't noticed before. "I want to explore the grounds, see where everything is."
"I'll come with you," Julian said, starting to get back up.
"No! No, stay. Relax, baby. Youâve been working so hard planning all this. I just want to poke around the boutiques and maybe find the concierge to ask about... a few things. I'll be right back, promise!"
Julian chuckled. "Alright. Don't get lost. You know how you are with directions."
"I do?" Savannah asked, pausing uncertainly.
"Vannah, you got lost in our own wedding venue trying to find the powder room. Just follow the signs. And see if you can find us some drinks!"
Savannah nodded and hurried away. Lost in a wedding venue? She was a master of geography! She could read a topographic map in a thunderstorm!
She marched toward the lobby, her mind set. She would find Mateo, or whoever is working concierge today. She would start asking some questions. She would ask them what happened to the girl in the hiking boots who checked in yesterday evening. She would demand her rucksack back. She would⌠she would⌠need to find the lobby firstâŚ
She suddenly found she was a little turned around. Which way was she going? She could be so spacey sometimes, and directionally challenged.
What? No, thatâs not true. She was great with a map. Sheâd been traveling solo for months, for crying out loud.
But wait, no, that can't be right eitherâŚÂ After all, she was a little lost right there in the hotel and that felt perfectly normal. Like it happened all the time. Sometimes Julian joked that she could get lost in her own house.
Wait, how do I know what Julian says sometimes? He's a strangerâŚÂ Savannah was getting so confused. That wasn't like her. Was it?
What had she been doing again? Looking for⌠something. Going⌠somewhere. To ask about⌠something.
Huh. She paused, tapping her painted lips with a long nail. What could she have been up to.
As she walked through the lush gardens, and sun-drenched patios, she found herself losing track of her thoughts completely. She felt her urgency melting away. The sunshine was gorgeous. The hibiscus flowers were so beautiful. She should take a photo. She reached into her tiny clutch and pulled out an iPhoneâa much newer model than her old one, in a trendy case without a single scratch. She snapped a picture of the flowers, then another, and another. Then a few selfies, just for good measure.Â
Hang on. Where was I going again? Oh right, the lobby.
She turned around. The paths branched off in multiple directions; towards the beach, back to the pool, over to the spa, several that seemed to head off various wings of rooms and suites.
"Nowww, which way was the lobby?" she wondered aloud. Her brow furrowed. She felt a strange, dizzying sensation. The layout of the resort, which should have been simple, felt like a labyrinth.
"Come on, Vannah, how can you be this spacey," she giggled to herself, twirling a manicured nail through a wavy lock of her blonde hair, and not even clocking that she had used her new nickname. "I'm literally hopeless."
She stood there for a moment, the sun warming her shoulders. What had she been looking for? Something important, she was sure of it.
"Drinks!" she exclaimed. "That's it. I was getting drinkies for me and hubby!"
She pivoted on her heel, her wedges clicking against the stone path, and headed straight for the poolside bar. She didn't even think about the lobby or Mateo. She didn't think about her rucksack. Or her hiking boots. She barely thought about anything.
"Two piĂąa coladas, please!" she told the bartender, flashing a bright, vacant smile. "Extra pineapple!"
She watched him blend the drinks, her mind a pleasant, sunny blank. She fidgeted with her wristbandâthe "all-inclusive" passâand felt a surge of giddy delight. It was like magic. You just showed your wrist and things appeared! As she looked at the wristband, the sparkles bouncing off her engagement ring and wedding band caught her attention, and she spent the next several moments gazing at her rings in the sunlight without a care in the world. She only snapped out of it when the bartender announced her order was finished.
She sauntered back toward the cabana, hips swaying, two huge frozen drinks in her hands. Halfway there, she stopped.
What am I doing?
Savannah's old self roared back to life, horrified. She almost dropped the drinks as a wave of vertigo hit her. Drinkies? Hubby? You were going to the lobby to find out why your reality has beenâ is still being rewritten!
"Savannah, get a grip!" she scolded herself.
She felt as if two completely different people were fighting for control of her brain. One wanted to find a map and a sturdy pair of shoes before putting as much distance between her and this resort as possible; the other wanted to lay down on a recliner and be fed slices of mango while she worked on her already fantastic tan. As the two sides of her mind competed, she found herself walking on autopilot back to the pool area. Damn it.
"Look what I found!" she said as she reached the cabana, her voice betraying none of her internal struggle.
Julian took the beverage with a grin. "You're a lifesaver, babe."
Savannah sat on the edge of the daybed, her heart racing. She took a long sip of her drink. It was deliciousâcreamy, sweet, and spiked with high-end rum. She felt the alcohol hit her system almost instantly, softening the edges of her panic.
"I need to put on some sunscreen," she murmured, reaching into the tote bag.
She searched for her SPF 50 zinc reef-safe sport-block. All she found was a bottle of shimmering tanning oil with a paltry SPF of 20.
Oh, perfect, I want to get a real glow today, she thought. I want to see how bronze I can get.
Hmm, was that her own thought? She did think it, she reassured herself, so it's probably fine.
She began to slather the oil over her legs, her arms, her chest, her midriff, her fingers admiring the smooth, toned skin. She laid back on the day bed, closing her eyes behind her designer shades. The sunshine felt intense in the best way. Thirty minutes later, she let Julian apply the next round of tanning oil to her back when she rolled over. She loosed her sarong to minimize tan lines. She should ask the front desk if there is anywhere safe to tan nude here.
Wait, a thought crept up from her old self, the front desk. She needed toâ
"Another round?" Julian asked, derailing her train of thought, as Nicolas their server came back around.
"Ooh, yes, please," Savannah chirped.
By the third drink, the voice of her old self, the backpacker, the rugged adventurer, was becoming less noticeable, a ghost in the back of her mind. Savannah felt giggly. She felt hot.
She pulled out her phone. Maybe there's a clue in here, she thought, a final, half-hearted attempt at investigation.
She opened her photo gallery. There were no photos of muddy trails or mountain peaks. Instead, there were hundreds of pictures of her, but surprisingly there were hundreds more of her and Julian together. For every mirror selfie, every bikini photo, every photo of her in a white dress surrounded by rose petals, there was another of the happy couple. There they were at a fancy engagement party. There they were at a tasting for their wedding cake. There they were at the wedding itself. She looked happy. She looked like she belonged there. She didn't remember any of it.
This was so weird.
She opened TikTok. She wasn't sure if she'd even had that app installed before. Her handle was @VannahMonty. She had fifty thousand followers.
She scrolled to her most recent post, finding a video posted just twenty hours ago. It was her and Julian, sitting in the plush leather seats of a first-class cabin, sipping champagne.
"Honeymoon bound!" she said to the camera, her hair perfectly coiffed, bubbling glass in her hand. Julian leaned in and kissed her cheek. The caption read:Â Finally! Honeymoon mode activated! #StLuciaHereWeCome #Honeymoon #MarriedLife #MrsMontgomery.
Savannah watched the video over and over. She didn't look like she was being kidnapped or coerced. She looked like she was having the time of her life. But why didn't she remember any of this ?
"Baby, get over here!" she called out, her voice bubbly.
Julian slid over next to her on the day bed. Savannah held the phone up high, pouting her lips and tilting her head to find the best light.
"Say 'paradise'!" she chirped.
Julian laughed and pulled her close, and she reflexively turned and planted a lingering kiss on his cheek, capturing it in high definition for her followers.
As soon as she hit 'post,' a cold shiver went down her spine. What are you doing? You don't even use TikTok! You need to get out of here!
"Julian," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "How... how long are we staying here again?"
He looked at her with that patient, loving expression. "Two weeks, Vannah. We talked about this. Two full weeks of bliss before we have to go back to our real life."
Two weeks.
For the briefest of moments, Savannah's old self mused, Two weeks to escape. Two weeks to find a way back to my real life.
Quickly though, Savannah's new self interjected, Two weeks of paradise. Two weeks to work on my tan. Two weeks of flirty fun with my man.
"Two weeks," Savannah repeated, a slow, dreamy smile spreading across her face. "Yay, I'm so excited."
Evening fell, the sky turning a deep, velvety purple over the horizon. They headed back to the suite to change for dinner.
Savannah opened the closet. She wasn't searching for her rucksack anymore. She was searching for which dress her husband might like best.
She found itâa slinky, midnight-blue silk slip dress that hugged her curves and featured a slit that went halfway up her thigh. She found a four-inch pair of strappy silver heels in her suitcase that made her legs look miles long.
She spent an hour in the bathroom, her hands moving with practiced ease. She touched up her makeup. She pinned her hair up in an elegantly tousled chignon, leaving a few tendrils to frame her face. She applied a bold red lipstick, and what she knew to be Julian's favorite perfume. She somehow knew instinctively how to do all of this pampering without a second thought.
When she stepped out, Julian was waiting there in a crisp suit. He looked at her, and the air in the room seemed to thicken.
"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen," he said softly.
Savannah walked over to him, her hips swaying naturally in the high heels. She looped her arm through his, leaning her head against his shoulder.
"And you're the most handsome husband in the world," she said. Wife was a title that was getting easier and easier to wrap her head around.
As they walked toward the restaurant hand-in-hand, Savannah felt the last flickers of her old self fading. She tried to remember the name of the island sheâd arrived from, but it wouldn't come. She tried to remember the weight of her rucksack, but her shoulder only felt the warmth of Julianâs arm.
The dinner at Les Ondes was a masterpiece. They drank expensive wine and ate sea bass that melted on the tongue. She laughed ditzily at Julian's jokes, her mind clear, not a hint of any anxiety. She wasn't worried about slipping away. She wasn't worried about her bank account. She wasn't worried about anything. She felt like the luckiest woman alive.
By the time they walked back to the suite, she was well and truly tipsy. The tropical air was sweet with the scent of night-blooming orchids.
Julian unlocked the door and stepped inside, turning on the dim, golden accent lights.
Savannah stood in the center of the room. She looked at the king-sized bed. She looked at her new leather luggage, monogrammed V.M. just like she'd ordered.
Suddenly, everything clicked. Sparkly, new memories began to crystallize. She remembered her name, Vannah, obviously. She remembered a whole sequence of sweet (and sexy) romantic dates with Julian, the love of her life. She remembered a proposal in Paris. She bit her lip as she remembered how much she loved the way Julian looked in a tux. She remembered the wedding. She remembered the white roses and the delicious cake and the way Julianâs voice had cracked when he said his vows. She remembered the first class flight, the excitement, the way sheâd been dreaming of this honeymoon for the better part of a year.
Vannah Montgomery (nĂŠe Miller) wasn't a backpacker. Why had she ever thought she was a backpacker? That sounded totally exhausting. Walking in the mud? Staying in hostels with strangers? Carrying all her own stuff? On her back?
"I must have had, like, the weirdest dream," she whispered to herself.
"You say something, babe?" Julian asked, tossing his jacket onto a chair.
Vannah turned to him, her eyes bright. She reached back and unzipped her dress, letting the blue silk pool at her feet. Underneath, she wore a matching set of lace lingerie that left very little to the imagination.
She walked toward him, her eyes full of fire and confidence. She took his tie in her hands and pulled him toward the plush king bed.
"I said," she whispered, her voice a sultry purr, "let's start this honeymoon off right."
Julian didn't need to be told twice. As they sank into the Egyptian cotton sheets, Vannah let go of the last traces of Savannah Miller. She didn't need the rain forest or the turtles or the rugged trails. Not anymore.
She had all the adventure she could ever want right here.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hope you enjoyed the story! Here's my Ko-Fi if you'd like to leave a tip.
