Bear Meets Bride (R) - Amy Star Page 0,5
I guess,” he said. Sarah’s portrait looked up at him from his lap, her face still frozen in that enigmatic Mona Lisa expression. “I think… I think her.”
Chris took a moment to peruse the picture and profile, rubbing his chin with his thumb. “Not bad. Mind if I ask you what the deciding factor was?”
“I do mind,” Dylan answered back, “but if this is the way it has to be… I want it to be her.”
That was good enough for Chris and he tramped back into the cabin. Dylan heard him checking the battery on the satellite phone, it seemed to work only intermittently, which only increased the feeling of isolation. Dylan stood up and stretched. It was another sunny day, but autumn was fast approaching and he could feel a slight tang in the wind, the first signal of winter, pushing south.
“Well, she’ll be here the day after tomorrow,” Chris announced. He still had on his sleeveless red shirt from the day before. “In the meantime, I think you promised me some salmon. Good a breakfast as any, eh?”
Dylan rubbed his head and appreciated Chris’ attempt to lessen his anxiety about meeting Sarah. A number of fears quickly ran through his mind: was she anything like her profile described; what if she didn’t like him at all; how was he even supposed to act around her? There was something unnatural about this way of meeting someone. It seemed too planned, too regimented, not organic at all. No doubt she has an equally detailed profile about me, he realized, and that only caused a fresh surge of fear to swell in him as he wondered what sorts of illicit or embarrassing details were included.
He shook his head and tried to keep up with Chris as the big man took off at a sprint, which for Dylan, was close enough to full-on running. Guess all I can do is wait and see, he said, submitting to the turn of events. That was part of his training as well, he figured. Learning to accept certain things that would always be beyond his control.
CHAPTER TWO
Sarah gripped the strap on her backpack nestled between her legs and glanced uneasily out of the plane window. The engines droned tirelessly as she readjusted the navy green bandana across her forehead. Her silky black hair, piled behind her like an ebon turret, caught a glint of sunshine as the pilot banked hard, preparing to land. Below, she could make out the island: it was oblong, with a varied topography seeming to account for most of it. She could see a central knoll or hill in the center, as well as a number of beaches and several tributaries that ran into the blue ocean.
Home away from home, she thought sardonically. In the top of her backpack, she still had Dylan Clover’s profile. She took one last look at his close-lipped smile and the shrugging handsome arc of his eyes, as if he were bemused by something. She puffed out her cheeks, noticing that her leg was twitching, one of her many nervous tics. She consciously planted the heel of her hiking boot to stop it. Her legs felt stiff from the long train ride, and then the early morning flight. Even though she considered herself quite fit, she felt her hamstrings cramping up. The tight black tank-top stretched across her small breasts as she rubbed her flat stomach to try and settle the butterflies and the mixture of nausea she always got when flying.
“Coming in,” the pilot said, “best hold on.”
“How long am I going to be here?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
“As long as the training takes. Usually, it’s only a month or so. Dylan’s been on the island for six already though,” the pilot said and flashed a smile. “Don’t worry. Time flies, believe me.”
She gave him another tight-lipped smile in response, only half believing him. In reality, she resented the idea of being dragged from her own clan and forced onto an island with a man she had never met. An outdated tradition, she thought to herself. Sure, Dylan looked fine on paper but she couldn’t escape the fact that she was being forced to marry someone without even having ever shook his hand. A knot of fear wrapped itself like a snake-pit in her stomach as the plane descended, its pontoons touching down on the waves.
Dylan and another man, Chris, she remembered, were already waiting on the makeshift quay as the plane burbled