Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
At twenty-six, Isabel De Vere already has her whole life mapped out. With a degree from a good school and a closet full of blazers, she is climbing the corporate ladder in her family business, knowing everything will fall into place from there. But Isabel’s paint-by-numbers life falls apart when her vivacious and beloved sister dies, leaving behind an unfinished bucket list.
Isabel escapes to Ibiza for the summer where she becomes free spirited Elle, working at a club by night, checking off items on the bucket list by day. Surfing? Check. Dance till dawn? Check. Get a tattoo? Check. Fall in love? Working on it.
Enter millionaire club owner Cristiano Moreno Winthrop…Isabel's boss. Handsome face permanently marred by his scowl, she can't quite manage to stay away from him. And soon, between late night talks and afternoons on his yacht, Isabel discovers there's more under the surface than she expected…and she might have found the way to finish this bucket list after all.
Equal parts swoony destination romance and a celebration of life after loss, this sun-soaked story is a perfect summertime getaway
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter One
Isabel
Everyone in the crowded bar has a cold drink and a group of friends. I’m the only one sitting alone, though I might not be for long. A handsome stranger has been trying to catch my eye for the last few minutes. His gaze slips down my slinky black dress with unabashed interest, and I try not to get my hopes up. This is my third night out on the town since arriving on Ibiza, and so far I have nothing to show for it. No hookups, no oh-god-don’t-stops, not even a measly kiss. But something has to happen soon. I’m growing desperate; “wild sex” is on the bucket list, after all.
But tonight? Do I really have it in me?
I reach for my sangría as the stranger approaches, and I barely contain my wince when he launches into a string of Spanish. It’s unfortunate considering yo no hablo español.
Ibiza is a tiny island off the coast of Spain. Everyone here speaks Spanish and Catalan. The fact that I didn’t Duolingo my life away for the last few weeks before my arrival was a complete oversight on my part.
“¿Inglés?” I ask, offering up a tentative smile.
The guy shakes his head with a disappointed frown, but he doesn’t back away. He’s not going to let a little thing like a language barrier block his shot. “No.”
Okay. Time to metaphorically crack my knuckles and dig deep—all the way back to that half a year of Spanish I took in seventh grade.
“¿Cómo te llamas?” Thank you, Shakira, for incorporating conversational Spanish in your 2000s hits.
“Luis.”
He holds his hand out for me to take; it’s a little moist, but I can’t blame the guy. Ibiza is having an unusually warm start to summer. It’s half past ten, the sun set hours ago, and yet the bar is stifling. There’s no AC and the body heat alone is enough to make me want to pour an ice bucket over my head.
“I’m Isabel,” I tell him with an easygoing smile.
Luis withdraws his hand, we each take a swig of our cold drinks, and what follows is nothing short of the most hilarious form of flirting that’s ever existed. Over the span of ten minutes we gesticulate wildly with our hands while cobbling together a rudimentary conversation.
“Do you live here?” becomes “Doooo youuuu liiiivvve heeerrre?”
I’m not translating my English into Spanish so much as into whale-ish. Following up the question by pointing down to the ground proves fruitless.
Luis looks down, following my finger. Then he grimaces. “No… entiendo.”
It’s clear we’re not going to Rosetta Stone our way into romance here. If he were a little more tempting, I’d just cut to the chase and gesture between our lips, but alas, Luis doesn’t really do it for me. He’s cute, sure, but unfortunately there’s no spark.
It’s not long before Luis’s friends come over to collect him, no doubt sensing his failure from across the room. I assume they’re heading off to the next bar. There are many, many more along this strip of road, and countless more multilingual partners for him to pick from. Luis gives me an apologetic look before cutting his losses and making a break for it.
When he’s gone, I deflate and glance down at the antique ring on my right hand.
“Sorry, Winnie,” I whisper under my breath before downing the last of my sangría and slipping off the barstool.
Oh well. So night three in paradise didn’t go as planned. No problema.