bit intimidated by most of them. Maybe that was why she was being so introspective all of a sudden? Whatever, she needed to snap out of it.
They were all young, pretty and confident, and judging by their chat on the boat, all successful. There had been a mix of languages, and even without the age difference, that had set Mia apart. She didn't speak half their languages, just a bit of tourist French. Well, I can say please and thank you, can I have a beer, where's the toilet, and may I please have the bill, in a few more, but don't think that really counts.
Mia decided there and then that no doubt she'd be the party pooper without even trying. Whilst the others all went off and did their thing, she'd decline gracefully to participate in a dream or a fantasy or whatever, and spend the week reading and sunbathing. That thought hit her like a sledgehammer, and she almost dropped her glass. Add in a couple of glasses of good champagne every day, chocolate and rich tea biscuits, and she had it. Her dream and her fantasy. What about the kidnapped by a hot bod and riding off into the sunset?
With an inward snigger, Mia scrabbled around for the sheet of paper she'd been sent before she'd left home. She'd taken a quick look at it, blanched, giggled, shoved it in her suitcase, and promptly forgotten about it. There was one heading 'Dream Desires', and another 'Fantasy Fulfillment', and then several paragraphs outlining some of the themes that were catered for. Damn, there is a kidnapping one. I'm not even going to look at that page. Or the shapeshifter one. Good grief, tell people to get a life.
She opened the slim booklet and turned the pages. Oh sheesh. Mia blushed as she read some of the other headings. I have led a sheltered life. Then she grinned at the thought of some of the things she had got up to in her younger days, before . . . her mind shied away from the after . . . that was well over and done with. Although before, there was that Arabian third son of a sheik, and . . . Okay, well, not that sheltered, and now I remember where this kidnapping stuff came from. Amal was choice. But really, Maid and Master . . . please. Mia sniggered and rolled her eyes as she looked at the next heading.
Thank goodness they had all been given their own suites. There was no way on earth she could read this in front of her sister. It was one thing knowing what you had or hadn't done in the past, or would like to do in the future, but another thing for your family, or even friends for that matter, to know. Obviously a good reason to guarantee each guest total privacy from anyone whenever it was wanted.
Though that could prove difficult if everyone wanted to use the gothic castle at the same time , or decided they wanted their own personal shapeshifter. Mia's mind wandered off into the logistical nightmares she imagined could be caused, before returning to the leaflet she held. A thought hit her like a brick in her back. Meryl had muttered something about bloody shifters. At the time, Mia had thought her sister had meant removal men, but now, seeing the brochure, Mia wondered. Not that they existed, of course. What mushrooms do they give you to make you believe in all that rubbish?
The room shook. Damn, not an earthquake, please. She grabbed hold of the bedhead, and decided she was imagining the "wait and see" she fancied she heard. Once she was sure there were no aftershocks, Mia returned to the information sheets.
Ah, this bit looked better, 'Our wish is your command'. Nice . I command peace and quiet. Champagne and books. And, well, I wouldn't mind a nice hunky waiter to bring me the champagne and kinda—for goodness sake, stop it already . Mia mentally shook her head, and looked at her watch. Enough of the silliness, it was time to join the rest of the group in the lounge for the last formal get-together of the week.
She put her now empty glass on an ornate table, and wriggled her feet into a pair of flip-flops. No stilettos or wedges
They were all young, pretty and confident, and judging by their chat on the boat, all successful. There had been a mix of languages, and even without the age difference, that had set Mia apart. She didn't speak half their languages, just a bit of tourist French. Well, I can say please and thank you, can I have a beer, where's the toilet, and may I please have the bill, in a few more, but don't think that really counts.
Mia decided there and then that no doubt she'd be the party pooper without even trying. Whilst the others all went off and did their thing, she'd decline gracefully to participate in a dream or a fantasy or whatever, and spend the week reading and sunbathing. That thought hit her like a sledgehammer, and she almost dropped her glass. Add in a couple of glasses of good champagne every day, chocolate and rich tea biscuits, and she had it. Her dream and her fantasy. What about the kidnapped by a hot bod and riding off into the sunset?
With an inward snigger, Mia scrabbled around for the sheet of paper she'd been sent before she'd left home. She'd taken a quick look at it, blanched, giggled, shoved it in her suitcase, and promptly forgotten about it. There was one heading 'Dream Desires', and another 'Fantasy Fulfillment', and then several paragraphs outlining some of the themes that were catered for. Damn, there is a kidnapping one. I'm not even going to look at that page. Or the shapeshifter one. Good grief, tell people to get a life.
She opened the slim booklet and turned the pages. Oh sheesh. Mia blushed as she read some of the other headings. I have led a sheltered life. Then she grinned at the thought of some of the things she had got up to in her younger days, before . . . her mind shied away from the after . . . that was well over and done with. Although before, there was that Arabian third son of a sheik, and . . . Okay, well, not that sheltered, and now I remember where this kidnapping stuff came from. Amal was choice. But really, Maid and Master . . . please. Mia sniggered and rolled her eyes as she looked at the next heading.
Thank goodness they had all been given their own suites. There was no way on earth she could read this in front of her sister. It was one thing knowing what you had or hadn't done in the past, or would like to do in the future, but another thing for your family, or even friends for that matter, to know. Obviously a good reason to guarantee each guest total privacy from anyone whenever it was wanted.
Though that could prove difficult if everyone wanted to use the gothic castle at the same time , or decided they wanted their own personal shapeshifter. Mia's mind wandered off into the logistical nightmares she imagined could be caused, before returning to the leaflet she held. A thought hit her like a brick in her back. Meryl had muttered something about bloody shifters. At the time, Mia had thought her sister had meant removal men, but now, seeing the brochure, Mia wondered. Not that they existed, of course. What mushrooms do they give you to make you believe in all that rubbish?
The room shook. Damn, not an earthquake, please. She grabbed hold of the bedhead, and decided she was imagining the "wait and see" she fancied she heard. Once she was sure there were no aftershocks, Mia returned to the information sheets.
Ah, this bit looked better, 'Our wish is your command'. Nice . I command peace and quiet. Champagne and books. And, well, I wouldn't mind a nice hunky waiter to bring me the champagne and kinda—for goodness sake, stop it already . Mia mentally shook her head, and looked at her watch. Enough of the silliness, it was time to join the rest of the group in the lounge for the last formal get-together of the week.
She put her now empty glass on an ornate table, and wriggled her feet into a pair of flip-flops. No stilettos or wedges
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