“Is it okay?” he asks again.

I nod quickly before I can change my mind. “Yes, you can call me your nuvia.”

He chuckles. “Not nuvia. Novia. With an o.”

“Yes, that too.”

He smiles as he steps toward me and takes my face in his strong hands. Then he lays a soft kiss on my forehead.

“You have so much to learn.” He lets go of my face and I feel short of breath as he looks me in the eye. “Come. I want to introduce you to everyone.”

As we walk up the front steps, a tall blonde throws the front screen door open, her eyes wide at the sight of Nick. “Nicolas!” she shouts in a gritty Spanish accent.

He smiles at the exuberant greeting as he leans in to hug her. She plants a loud kiss on his cheek and he looks a bit embarrassed as he pulls away.

“No seas tímido. No te he visto en casi ocho años!”

She turns to me and holds out her arms for a hug. I give her a limp squeeze and she eyes me warily when she pulls away.

“Y quien es esta chica?”

Nick looks at me, smiling apologetically. “She’s asking who you are.” He turns to the blonde. “Alyssa es mi novia. No habla español.” He turns back to me. “Alyssa, this is my cousin Veronica, but everyone calls her Vero.”

“Mucho gusto,” I say to Veronica with a nod. I do remember how to say nice to meet you.

She looks confused, and rightly so. If he’s been here three days, his family has probably already gone to see him in his cottage. And I wasn’t there.

We didn’t think this through. We’ll have to confess the truth soon or this lie is going to keep growing.

Veronica smiles and exchanges a short conversation with Nick in rapid-fire Spanish, then she heads off down the hillside. Nick opens the screen door for me and I step inside, feeling even more intimidated than I did before we arrived.

He closes the door as he enters behind me, then he leans in to whisper in my ear. “Don’t worry. My other cousin, Beto, speaks English.”

I shoot off a few more mucho gustos as we navigate through the crowded living room. Nick explains to everyone that I don’t speak Spanish and they all smile and nod at me while trying not to stare too long at my discolorations. I smile and nod back. It all feels so very awkward and forced, until we get to a small kitchen where a young guy is stirring a pot on the stove.

“Oye, pedo!” Nick shouts and the guy whips his head around and his eyes light up at the sight of Nick.

“Did you just call him a pedo?” I whisper to Nick.

He laughs and shakes his head. “That means fart in Spanish. It’s a nickname.”

“Fart?”

Nick and his friend embrace and, like Veronica, this guy kisses Nick on the cheek.

“Alyssa, this is my cousin, Beto.” Nick introduces us and Beto holds out his hand for a handshake. “Beto, this is my girlfriend, Alyssa.”

The lie sounds even worse this time than the last ten times he repeated it.

I shake Beto’s hand and he pulls me into a hug. He kisses me on the cheek, his warm lips lingering a bit too long, until Nick claps him on the back.

“Hey, hey. That’s enough.”

Beto lets go and winks at me. “Forgive me, Alyssa. It’s very rare that we get American women on this island.” His eyes quickly glance over every inch of my face and hair. “You’re quite exotic.”

With his dark eyes, messy brown hair, and fair skin, he reminds me a bit of the actor, James Franco. He’s gorgeous, though not as good looking as Nick. But the low timbre of his voice is quite mesmerizing. It reminds me a bit of—No! I must stop thinking of Daimon. I’m here to have fun.

“I’ve never been called exotic, but I’ll take it as a compliment. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Are you hungry? We have arepas and bacalao. And if you’re thirsty, my Tia Nancy made some delicious sangritos.”

“I have no idea what any of that stuff is, but I’ll have a drink.”

“Good choice!” Beto says, giving me a thumbs-up.

Apparently, a sangrito is sangria mixed with mojito: rose wine, white rum, crushed mint leaves, and fresh fruit combine to make a lethal cocktail. After one glass, my face is numb. But I haven’t thought of Daimon in at least thirty minutes. So I tell Beto to pour me another.

“How long are you staying on the island?” Beto asks me, handing over the freshly topped off glass of sangrito.

I should probably let Nick answer this question, but instead I blurt out, “As long as it takes!”

Beto laughs and glances at Nick. “As long as what takes?”

Nick looks concerned. “Alyssa, sweetheart, are you okay?”

I wave off his concern. “Pfft! I’m great.”

“Maybe I should take you outside to get some fresh air,” Beto offers, resting his warm hand on my bare shoulder.

Nick peels Beto’s hand off me and coils his arm around my neck. “I’ll take her.”

I assume he’s going to take me to the backyard, but he takes me back through the front door. Then we start off down the hillside.

“Are you taking me home?” I slur. “I don’t want to go home yet.”

“I think you should probably rest.”

My sandals slap against the pavement as gravity carries us down the hillside much faster than when we ascended. But Nick maintains a firm grip on my hand, and he yanks me back to stop me from plunging into the intersection. The small pickup truck that was about to run me over passes by and I giggle nervously.

“Oh, shit. That was close.”

“Too close,” he mutters, sounding a bit annoyed. “Come. I’m taking you home.”

“I don’t want to go home.”

I repeat this a few times, imagining it to be some sort of magic phrase, like there’s no place like home. Only this time, I won’t be whisked away to the false safety of my home. This time, I’ll be carried away to some place magical and adventurous.

Nick’s laughter gets my attention.

“What’s so funny?”

“You,” he replies, reaching up to brush a piece of hair out of my face. “I get it. You don’t want to go home. So I won’t take you home. I’ll take you somewhere else.”

We walk right past Nick’s house and my house until we reach a set of stairs that leads down to the harbor below. We pass a few shops and restaurants that are closed for the evening, though one bar remains open and quite lively. We cross through a small parking lot and Nick stops at a guard station near the entrance to the docks.

He carries on a short conversation with the guard, then he leads me down the dark dock. A flitter of movement on my right gets my attention, but when I turn my head all I find is a forty-foot sailboat. I laugh at my paranoia when I see one of the riggings fluttering in the soft evening breeze.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Right here,” Nick replies, stopping next to a small rowboat at the end of the dock.

My stomach vaults at the sight of the boat as horrible scenarios play out in my mind. I imagine us rowing out to sea and a storm sweeps us away. Or our boat overturns and we’re gobbled up by sharks. Or stung to death by jellyfish.

“No way. I’m not getting in there.”

“Don’t worry. It’s totally safe. I’ll get in first so I can help you in. Come.” He steps into the boat, then he holds both his hands out to me. “Come closer.”

I step forward until the toes of my sandals are hanging over the edge of the dock. Nick reaches up and clasps his large hands around my waist. Then, as if I weigh nothing, he picks me up and sets me down in the boat.

I immediately lose my footing when the boat rocks and I fall back onto my butt. Despite my embarrassment, I laugh harder than I have all night. Nick holds out his hand to help me up, but I wave off his offer of assistance.

“I think I’m much safer down here.”

He laughs as he unhooks the rope from the dock and tosses it onto the floor of the boat somewhere behind him. “I think you’re right. And I think I’ll join you.”