Alicia Martinez is determined to keep a low profile. After a tough year, she deletes all of her social media and retreats to the small coastal town of St Andrews in the hopes of starting over - and avoiding her tumultuous past.
Oliver Hogarth is a...
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"He asked you out?"
Hattie slammed her hand down on the table, rattling the spread of salsa roja and feta chips, taquitos stuffed with grilled mushrooms, and absurdly cheap frozen margaritas. Alicia glanced around nervously.
"Hattie," she hissed. "Keep it down."
Fortunately, nobody else at the Mexican restaurant seemed all that interested in their conversation. But you could never be too careful; St Andrews was known as "The Bubble" for a reason. Hattie scowled.
"Let me get this straight." Hattie waved around her margarita. "A gorgeous English millionaire asked you out — while playing your favourite sport, I might add — and you turned him down?"
"I never said he was gorgeous."
"Well, is he?"
Alicia fiddled with a paper napkin. Well, yes, actually; Oliver was gorgeous. Strong arms, sharp cheekbones, eyes the colour of faded jeans... She was more partial to blonds than brunettes, but good lord — that man could have pink hair with goat horns and she'd still want to date him.
Alicia paused.
Hang on. Did she want to date him? That was news to her.
"It doesn't matter," she said briskly, picking up her margarita. "I can't go out with him. For obvious reasons."
Hattie took a sip of her drink, scrunching up her face.
"I don't see why not," Hattie said. "I know you've had issues with men in the past," she added quickly, seeing Alicia's face. "But that doesn't mean all of them are like that. God, this is so cliché, but you need to put yourself out there."
"Or I could die alone. With cats."
"You're allergic to cats."
"I'm allergic to men, too," Alicia pointed out. "And if I'm going to die of asphyxiation, I'd rather be holding on to a cat."
She took a bite of her taquito, and then winced. Yikes. Was it meant to taste so stale? Admittedly, Alicia was spoiled from visiting her cousins in Guadalajara most years, where the avocado was fresh, and the juicy limes made your lips pucker. This Mexican food wasn't that bad, she reasoned, by U.K. standards.
And the margaritas were cheap.
That was certainly a big selling point.
"Humour me." Hattie crossed her arms. "Let's say that Oliver is a genuinely nice man with honourable intentions. Would you go out with him?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I told you." Alicia stuffed another forkful of taquito into her mouth. "I can't do anything that could draw attention to me."
"And dating Oliver would?"
"It might."
Hattie waved her off. "He's probably some English lord that nobody's ever heard of. What are the odds that you wind up in a tabloid?"
