Chapter 3

The next morning, Yvette knocked on my door and asked, "Jasmine, could you pass me the hair dryer?"

She had changed into a white dress. Her wet hair was draped loosely over her shoulders. She had no makeup on, and her eyes were still rimmed with red.

Her dress' waistline just so happened to sit right above her abdomen. It was neither too loose nor too tight, which very handily drew attention to her stomach.

She stood in the doorway with her hands clasped together.

"The hotel's hair dryer isn't working well. I can't seem to get my hair dry, and the dampness is giving me a headache."

I let her in.

She sat on a chair by the bedside while I stood behind her, blowdrying her hair for her. As the hot air blew against her hair, I could smell the lemon-scented hotel shampoo she'd used.

"Jasmine, are you angry with me?" Yvette asked abruptly.

The hair dryer was loud, but I could hear her clearly anyway.

She continued, "I couldn't sleep at all last night because I kept thinking about how to approach the subject with you."

She looked at me through the mirror, her eyes starting to tear up again.

"Actually, when Shawn walked onto the balcony that night, I really thought he'd come looking for you. The room was so dark…"

"So, you both thought that everything would be fine as long as you kept it a secret?" I asked.

Yvette shrank back slightly as the hot air from the hair dryer blew against the back of her head. She said timidly, "I know I'm in no position to say this, but I really didn't do it on purpose."

She turned to look at me, tears falling steadily onto her white dress.

"You've always treated me well. My mother passed away early in my childhood, and you were the first person to share your allowance with me. How could I possibly hurt you on purpose?"

I turned off the hair dryer.

"What about Chester, then? Was that also an accident?"

She lowered her head. "That day we did the deed was the night before your wedding with Shawn. Chester was drinking at the bar all alone. I was worried he'd do something rash, so I went looking for him.

"He'd had too much to drink and was clinging to me while crying. Your name was on his lips…"

"So, in order to comfort him, you slept with him," I concluded.

She jerked her head up. "That's not it! I was drunk too. I also had no idea how—"

The door opened, revealing Shawn standing in the doorway, still in yesterday's clothes. When he saw Yvette crying, his expression darkened immediately.

"Jasmine, what are you doing?" he asked accusingly.

"I'm helping Yvette dry her hair," I replied.

He walked in and glanced at Yvette's teary face. "Yvette, are you alright?"

Yvette shook her head and wiped a hand over her face. "I'm alright. I just started crying on my own. Jasmine didn't do anything to me."

Shawn shot me a look. He softened his tone, but it still carried a hint of impatience. "Jasmine, you can ask me anything, but don't put Yvette on the spot. She's currently pregnant and can't afford to get too emotional."

"Did I put her on the spot?" I asked.

"Your tone—"

"What about my tone?"

Shawn paused, likely realizing that I certainly hadn't said anything out of line.

"Fine. I stand corrected."

He paused before asking, "But can you please hold off on your questioning for now? After we get back, I'll take you for a comprehensive—"

"A comprehensive what? Physical examination? Or psychological counseling session?"

My retort left him speechless.

Chester's voice drifted in from the corridor. "What's going on?"

He'd also arrived. He had two cups of milk in his hand. He handed one to Yvette and placed the other one on the table.

"Jasmine, this one is yours," he said.

I didn't move.

Yvette held her cup of milk in both hands and took small sips from it. Tears still clung to her lashes.

With the four of us squeezed into the standard room, the tension felt so thick that it was stifling.

Chester was the first to break the silence. He said reasonably, "Jasmine, I know you can't stand the situation right now. You're free to hit and yell at Shawn and me, but whatever you do, don't take your anger out on Yvette. She's a victim here."

Victim. I turned the word over and over in my mind.

"If she's a victim, then what am I?" I asked at last.

Chester opened his mouth, but no words came to him.

Shawn replied, "Of course, you're a victim too. That's why I told you I'd make it up to you upon our return."

"How exactly?"

"I'll do whatever you want."

How generous of him.

Yet, as those words left his mouth, his hands were resting on the back of Yvette's chair, his fingertips less than an inch from her shoulders.

Yvette suddenly covered her mouth and started dry heaving.

Shawn and Chester both tensed up at the same time. Shawn crouched down to put a steadying hand on her back while Chester went to pour her some warm water.

Yvette retched a few times, but nothing came up her throat. She then curled up in her chair, her face pale.

"Take it easy, Yvette. Would you like to go to the hospital?" Shawn asked anxiously.

Yvette waved a dismissive hand. She took the glass Chester offered her and took a sip, then looked up at me with tear-filled eyes.

"I'm sorry for causing you trouble, Jasmine."

I stood aside with the hair dryer still in my grasp, its wire coiled on the floor.

Both Shawn and Chester were hovering around Yvette.

I placed the hair dryer on the table and announced, 'You two take care of her. I'm going out for a walk."

"Jasmine," Shawn called out.

I closed the door on him.

A dark blue carpet covered the corridor, slightly masking my footsteps.

My phone vibrated. My mother, Dahlia Green, had texted me.

"Jas, are you having fun on your honeymoon?"

Her question was followed by a string of smiley faces.

Even though I called her Mom, Dahlia wasn't my biological mother. My biological mother passed away when I was three years old.

My father, James Shea, married Dahlia later in life, but she treated me better than she did her own children. When I asked if I could call her "Mom" as a child, she agreed immediately.

I typed in reply, "I'm having quite a good time. I'm by the sea, so the signal isn't the best. I'll have a proper chat with you once I'm back."

After sending the message, I held my phone in the palm of my hand, which was covered in sweat.

I went downstairs and walked out of the hotel, where I was greeted by the sea breeze.

The island looked especially bright in the mornings, sunlight painting the beach a dazzling white. What a beautiful sight.

I stood there for a long time, taking in the scenery alone.