Page 19

As she headed toward the door, Marcus called after her, "Just remember, ice queens can give frostbite if you get too close!"

Lila waved him off without turning, but his words followed her down the path.

The truth was, something about Serena Frost had gotten under her skin in a way that felt distinctly unprofessional.

That tiny moment of vulnerability during the massage—the unexpected sigh, the softening around her eyes —had awakened something in Lila that she'd carefully kept dormant since Sophie.

The realization was uncomfortable enough that she pushed it aside, focusing instead on the practical aspects of her job.

A quick check-in with Mr. Peterson (mild sunburn, nothing serious), paperwork for tomorrow's new arrivals, and a staff meeting about the upcoming full moon celebration would fill her afternoon with welcome distraction.

But as she moved through her tasks, her mind kept drifting back to that moment on the beach. The weight of Serena's unexpected confession about Vivienne Blackwood. The way her perfect mask had slipped, just for a heartbeat, revealing something raw and wounded beneath.

By late afternoon, Lila had completed her duties and found herself drawn to the quiet of her office in the wellness center.

The small space overlooked a garden of native plants, their vibrant colors intensified by the golden light of approaching sunset.

She settled at her desk, opening Serena's file with the intention of updating her notes from their morning sessions.

Her pen hovered over the blank page. How to capture what had transpired in clinical terms?

The notes were meant to track progress, highlight concerns, and shape future sessions.

Yet the simple facts—"Client participated in yoga and massage, showed physical relief, briefly mentioned professional conflict"—failed to capture the subtle shifts she'd witnessed.

A knock at her door interrupted her thoughts. Lila looked up to find Elara Silver standing in the doorway, elegant as always in flowing linen pants and a simple tunic, her silver pendant catching the late afternoon light.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you," Elara said, though her presence in the doorway suggested she expected admittance regardless.

"Not at all." Lila set down her pen, gesturing to the chair across from her desk. "Just updating client notes."

Elara entered with her characteristic graceful authority, settling into the offered seat. Though technically the resort owner, she moved through Solara with the ease of someone who considered herself more steward than ruler.

"I understand Ms. Frost attended both yoga and massage this morning," she said, getting straight to the point. "An unexpected development, given her initial resistance."

Lila smiled. "News travels fast."

"Small island." Elara's expression remained neutral, but her eyes held keen interest. "How would you assess her openness to the process?"

The question demanded careful consideration. Professional discretion required Lila to protect her client's privacy, yet Elara's personal interest in Serena's case created a complex dynamic.

"She's more receptive than she'd care to admit," Lila finally said. "Her body responds naturally to the practices, even when her mind resists."

Elara nodded, seeming unsurprised. "The mind often follows where the body leads, especially for those who live so completely in their heads." She tapped her fingers lightly against the arm of the chair. "And her general demeanor?"

"Guarded but not hostile, and she’s skeptical but willing to try." Lila chose her words carefully. "She's someone who needs evidence before she buys into an idea."

"Very diplomatic." A smile touched Elara's lips. "Let me be more direct. Did she mention Vivienne Blackwood?"

The question caught Lila off guard. "Briefly. May I ask why that's significant?"

Elara's gaze grew distant. "Vivienne and I have a history. Complicated, as most histories are. I've watched this conflict between them unfold with... particular interest."

"Because you see yourself in Serena?" Lila ventured, remembering Elara's earlier comments.

"Perhaps." Elara refocused, her expression sharpening. "Or perhaps because I recognize a pattern I've seen play out before. Powerful women locked in mutual destruction often destroy themselves more thoroughly than they damage each other."

Lila considered this cryptic statement. "You seem to have a personal stake in Serena's healing."

"We all have personal stakes in each other's healing," Elara replied smoothly. "Some connections are just more visible than others." She rose, signaling the end of their conversation. "Continue as you have been. Your approach appears to be working."

At the door, she paused, turning back with an expression Lila couldn't quite decipher. "One piece of advice, if I may? Remember that helping someone heal doesn't require carrying their wounds."

The comment lingered in the air like the scent of jasmine—subtle but persistent, impossible to ignore. Elara departed as gracefully as she'd arrived, leaving Lila with the unsettled feeling that the resort owner saw more than she revealed.

Alone again, Lila returned to her notes, but the blank page seemed even more challenging than before. Elara's parting words echoed uncomfortably, hitting too close to the pattern Marcus had pointed out earlier.

Did she have a tendency to overinvest in wounded brilliance? To find purpose in others' healing rather than her own wholeness?

Through her window, Lila could see guests returning from afternoon activities, staff preparing for evening service, and the everyday rhythm of resort life continuing around her private contemplation.

She closed the file without adding a single note. Sometimes clarity required distance, and at this moment, her thoughts about Serena seemed too tangled.

Rising from her desk, Lila moved to the window, watching as the island prepared for evening.

Somewhere in one of those private villas, Serena was likely working through emails, rebuilding her walls after the morning's brief surrender.

Tomorrow they would meet again, continuing this dance of approach and retreat, opening and closing.

The question Lila couldn't quite answer was whether her fascination stemmed from professional interest or something more personal. And if it was the latter, whether she was prepared for the complications that might follow.

As the first stars appeared in the darkening sky, Lila made a decision.

She would join Marcus for dinner at the staff beach after all.

His teasing might be annoying, but his friendship was grounding, a reminder of her life beyond this intriguing assignment and the pull of ice-blue eyes and unexpected vulnerability.

Whatever was happening with Serena—whatever complicated feelings were stirring beneath Lila's professional surface—perspective would help. And perspective, like healing, often came from unexpected sources.

With that thought, she gathered her things and headed toward the staff quarters, the island breeze cool against her skin as day surrendered to evening. Tomorrow would bring new opportunities, new challenges, and perhaps new revelations.

But tonight, she would focus on being simply Lila, not the healer, not the guide, but herself—something she occasionally needed reminding of, especially when drawn into the orbit of someone as compelling as Serena Frost.

Laughter and firelight greeted Lila as she approached the staff beach, a small crescent of sand tucked away from the guest areas.

Unlike the manicured perfection of the resort's main beaches, this spot retained a wilder charm.

Driftwood was scattered along the shoreline, coconut husks were piled near the tree line, and a fire pit was dug directly into the sand.

Marcus waved enthusiastically when he spotted her, patting the empty space on the driftwood log beside him. A dozen or so staff members clustered around the crackling fire, passing plates of grilled fish and tropical fruit, bottles of local beer nestled in a cooler of ice.

"She emerges from her professional cave!" Marcus announced as Lila settled beside him. "I was betting you'd skip to prepare color-coded wellness charts for tomorrow."

"Very funny." Lila accepted the plate he offered, the aroma of fresh-caught fish and lime making her stomach rumble. She hadn't realized how hungry she was until now. "Some of us take our responsibilities seriously."

"Says the woman who paddle-boarded during her lunch break yesterday." He clinked his beer bottle against hers with a grin.

The easy camaraderie of the staff gathering wrapped around Lila like a comfortable blanket.

Here, away from the perfect polish of the resort's guest areas, the island's workers could relax into their true selves—joking, storytelling, occasionally griping about demanding visitors or administrative hassles.

Nanise, the villa caretaker, was in the middle of recounting a story about a celebrity guest who had thrown a fit over finding a gecko in her bathroom. Her impression of the panicked socialite had everyone howling with laughter.

"—and then she says, 'I'm not paying sixteen thousand dollars a night to share my shower with wildlife!'" Nanise pitched her voice into a perfect imitation of entitled outrage.

"What did you tell her?" one of the younger staff members asked.

"That the gecko was actually paying eighteen thousand and had complained about her first." Nanise's deadpan delivery sent a fresh wave of laughter around the circle.

Lila felt the day's tension easing from her shoulders as she ate and laughed with her friends. This was the side of Solara tourists rarely saw—the authentic community that kept the resort running, people from around the world who had found connection on this remote island.