Island in the Sea by Anita Hughes

oval sunglasses. She glanced at the marble statues and trellises covered with roses and thought again she had never been anywhere so beautiful.
    She had left the Casa Rosa and returned to her room. She scanned an e-mail from Gideon asking when he would receive Lionel’s songs and felt a lump in her throat. She finally typed a note saying she was confident Lionel would fulfill his contract and pressed SEND . Then she changed into a red one-piece bathing suit and jumped into the pool.
    Now she inhaled the scent of jasmine and hibiscus and wondered why Gideon and Lionel had had a falling out. She thought of all the photos she had seen of them together: riding in Gideon’s white Bentley to the Grammys, arriving at the Montreux Jazz Festival, dining at Nobu with Chris Martin.
    Juliet remembered the articles she’d read about Lionel: Lionel at his Malibu beach house, displaying his framed Julian Schnabel. Lionel in his pied-à-terre in Manhattan, sitting at his Steinway baby grand piano. Lionel standing in front of his bookshelf in his flat in Chelsea, wearing a Gieves and Hawkes suit. She remembered his quote saying his two great indulgences were a library of signed first editions and a closet of Salvatore Ferragamo loafers.
    She pictured Lionel in his rumpled silk pajamas and John Lobb suede slippers. She saw his hair uncombed and his chin covered with stubble. She saw the filled ashtrays and empty shot glasses and brightly colored candy wrappers. She remembered the sudden pain in his eyes when he told his story and shivered.
    *   *   *
    â€œYou have the right idea,” a male voice said. “I spent the day getting heatstroke on the tennis court. My coach is Swedish and doesn’t believe in siestas. But he sits on the sidelines with a straw hat and a pitcher of lemonade.”
    Juliet looked up and saw Henry’s blond hair and thick chest. He wore a blue T-shirt and white shorts. He carried his tennis racquet in one hand and a water bottle in the other.
    â€œYou have the pool to yourself, I was just drying off.” Juliet blushed, instinctively wrapping herself in the towel. “I have to go upstairs and catch up on my e-mails.”
    â€œA friend of mine owns a restaurant in Palma,” Henry said. “It just was awarded a Michelin star, I wondered if you’d join me for dinner.”
    â€œI’d love to but I’m meeting a friend and her boyfriend.” Juliet hesitated. “She canceled last night because she had to work.”
    â€œPerhaps they could join us,” Henry suggested. “He makes a delicious tuna tartar and his passion fruit sorbet is famous.”
    â€œThat sounds wonderful.” Her face lit up in a smile. “I’d love to.”
    *   *   *
    Juliet stood in front of her closet and selected a turquoise chiffon dress. She fastened diamond earrings in her ears and spritzed her wrists with Estée Lauder Lovely.
    She glanced at the ceramic fruit bowl on the coffee table and realized she was starving. She hadn’t eaten all day except for Lionel’s blueberry muffins. She pictured him carrying a tray of orange juice and warm muffins and pots of butter. She wondered what he’d say when she told him she had a date and giggled. Then she grabbed her purse and ran down the wood staircase.
    *   *   *
    They drove in Henry’s yellow Fiat through the tunnel to Palma. Gabriella and Hugo sat in the back, chatting about his uncle’s hotel and Casa Isabella. Juliet gripped the dashboard and felt like she was on Space Mountain. When the car emerged into the Plaza Maya she gazed up at La Seu Cathedral and finally exhaled.
    Henry parked under an olive tree and they strolled along the Paseo del Borne. Juliet gazed at the wide promenade with its outdoor cafés and stone fountains and thought she was in Paris. She browsed in the windows of Céline and Gucci and felt light and young and