Sailing With Destiny

A Night in Ibiza

I hated suspense, I was the type of person who read the last page of a book first and then started the story. It was one of my pet peeves and when someone kept me in suspense, I got anxious and could barely sit still.

"Stop," Mitchell warned under his breath and gripped my leg from under the table. "It's annoying."

"Then tell me what awaits us," I insisted.

"Do you have no patience?"

"I haven't even begun my residence yet, smartass. How can I have patients?" I retorted.

"Funny," Mitchell sarcastically responded.

We were to spend the night in one of the elegant Clarke hotels instead of the yacht. So, from the port, we took a cab to the five-star resort that had the most beautiful view of the ocean and checked into a suite.

After freshening up and washing off the seawater, evening graced us and we made our way down to a restaurant at the poolside. Mitchell still hadn't told me what he had up his sleeve and I doubted it had anything to do with dinner but he insisted we have a good meal before anything else.

The sky was a beautiful hue of golden with hints of orange as dusk approached and with the ocean in the background, the entire setting was nothing short of romantic. I sighed and took a sip of iced tea before I spoke, "I am as stuffed as a pinata, can you tell me this mastermind plan of yours?"

Mitchell leaned back on his chair and amusement flickered in his eyes as he mindlessly rubbed over his stubble-covered chin. "You look like a fish out of water."

I narrowed my eyes, "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

The corners of his mouth tilted upwards and he shamelessly nodded, "A little."

"Whatever," I pretended not to care. "I'm over it anyway."

Mitchell's smirk grew into a grin, he leaned forward and placed his hand over mine. "It's really not that big of a deal."

"I trust you," I flashed him a tight lipped smile.

Mitchell opened his mouth to respond but our waiter disturbed him and placed a neat, double whiskey on the rocks on the table. I arched a brow because when I wanted to order a sangria, Mitchell said we should steer clear of alcohol for the night. I would've argued but I didn't want to meet my grandparents the next day with a hangover so I obliged.

"Hipócrita," I murmured under my breath.

Mitchell appeared confused as he glanced between the glass and the waiter. "I didn't order this."

"It was a request from la señora," the waiter pointed to the bar area where two women sat. One had very dark hair and the other a deep auburn. The auburn-haired girl grinned at Mitchell and took a very seductive sip of her drink.

Am I invisible?

The waiter placed a napkin in front of Mitchell and informed him about the little note at the back before he walked off. Mitchell appeared a little confused while I continued to stare at him with an arched brow.

"Well," Mitchell cleared his throat and combed his fingers through his hair. "I should, uh, send this back."

"Are you asking or telling?" I leaned back in my chair and scrutinized him.

Without a fail, Mitchell was hit on in every country we visited. It was like I was really invisible; women and men would openly check him out, some passed flirtatious comments, others suggestive looks while others were decent enough to only look. I understood why, Mitchell was very attractive, from his face, his height, strong physique, those bright, enticing eyes, his intoxicating scent, and even his broody stance was an attractive trait.