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Thomas has it all: nobility, money, the girl, and a position waiting for him at the family business. But when he thinks about the life ahead of him, he can't breathe. So he takes a gap year backpacking.
Nadia...
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The common room was packed. Only fragments of the apricot modular were visible beneath tightly squeezed bottoms; mismatched chairs had been commandeered from about the hostel; bottles of beer, rum and Coca-Cola cluttered the coffee table; and voices bounced off the walls, blending into a stew of noise. Everyone was young, free and filled with the buzz of excitement preceding a night out.
Thomas observed the crowd, not quite apart, but not a part either. He leaned against the archway dividing the common room from the study, glass nursed in hand. Just like back home. He had plenty of friends and acquaintances, but never quite fit in. Always the observer, never truly a participator.
Ice-cubes clinked as he sipped. He sucked air through his teeth — the Cuba Libre was damned strong. Might as well drink it neat and save the hassle.
Khai had insisted on repaying Thomas' "legendaryness" — a term earned after his purchase of more beers and a supersized bottle of rum — by making the cocktails. Unfortunately, the man had been deaf to his request for a diluted one.
When the man in question flicked him a glance, Thomas raised his glass in acknowledgement. He received a flash of teeth in return. It didn't reach the eyes.
Khai returned his attention to the attractive woman next to him. Savannah, was it? The pair had been conversing for the past hour or so — ever since Nadia left for a nap.
His head thrummed. Not wanting to combine a hangover with the blur of jetlag, he resolved that his next drinks would be water based.
Khai poured a generous dollop of rum into his glass, offered a smaller one to Savannah, followed by dashes of coke and slices of lime.
Thomas shrugged to himself. They were welcome to it, though a frisson of unease tickled down his spine as he comprehended the amount of alcohol the woman was consuming. With any luck, her height would counteract it.
The thought didn't capture him for long.
Nadia consumed him. They had spoken. Not only that, they had spent at least half an hour alone. She hadn't been what he expected to begin with. He'd been dismayed by her sharp words and quick temper. Then she apologised — to him. People didn't do that. He realised there wasn't any malice and he'd rather take heated words over mean behaviour any day.
He took another sip, grimaced and continued his observation of Khai's heart-to-heart with the woman, noting the particulars. The way the man demanded eye contact and smiled at her as if she were the only woman in the room.
Yes, he understood Nadia's mood swings.
He felt for her. Well, just a bit — because deep down he didn't want Khai to be likeable. A selfish part of him found this behaviour suited him just fine.
He frowned when Khai brushed back a strand of the woman's hair. Was the man without respect? Hadn't he heard of Caesar's wife? Obviously not.
Indignation bloomed hot in his blood, and his stomach clenched, then it tingled as his thoughts turned to the memory of Nadia smiling at him, welcoming him in her mercurial way. He smiled.
