CHAPTER 2
Prosperous Max Weller, who made his fortune in generic drugs and medical patents, read the invitation twice and thought, weird, but interesting. He did not even attempt to guess how his wife, Alexa, would react. After four years together he should have been able to read her, but she remained a puzzle to him. Their marriage was on shaky grounds as of late, which made things even more complicated. He mulled over their issues, then shook off the eerie feeling that suddenly struck him and went online to do a bit of research.
Meanwhile, Alexa Weller was stuck on the 134 Freeway, homebound from her Westside law office to their home in South Pasadena. Even at 7:30 in the evening, traffic was still heavy. The 37-year-old defense attorney was a brunette with striking light-blue eyes that contrasted with her dark-brown hair. She was of medium height and slender, but her practice of wearing three-inch heals during trials made her look tall and imposing. Like all successful trial lawyers, she had a way with words and a knack for convincing people of her point of view. Her most compelling attribute to her professional triumphs was her low, commanding voice. Jurors had no choice but to take notice.
On that end-of-day commute, Alexa’s mind was first in work-mode, dwelling on her current case, but when the traffic jam eased and she got closer to South Pasadena, her thoughts drifted to what awaited her at home. What had gone wrong in her marriage? she wondered. Even before her little unimportant fling, things had no longer been harmonious between her and Max. They hardly talked to one another, each absorbed with their career. And when they did spend time together, they treaded on egg shells, careful not to broach the subject that was at the core of their dispute. He wanted children, and she definitely did not. She had made it clear before tying the knot that she neither had time nor patience to raise kids. Max, seven years her senior, seemed to have forgotten about that agreement and was now pressuring her into changing her mind.
To her surprise, she found Max waiting for her in the foyer when she got home.
He asked, “Have you had dinner?”
“No, I’m starved.”
“Maria prepared a chicken dish before she left. I ate mine and you may reheat yours in the microwave.”
Alexa thought, our housekeeper is a gem. Aloud she said sardonically, “Is there a reason you’re greeting me at the door?”
“I’ll tell you after you’ve eaten.”
He followed her into the kitchen, waited until she was done with her meal, then sat down on a stool next to hers at the center aisle. He handed her the Nobels’ invitation, saying, “This came with today’s mail.”
She read the sheet of paper, then laughed out loud.
“You find this amusing?”
“Highly! It is typical of the egomaniac to exhibit his singer trophy wife on his vacation paradise.”
“His bride is a singer?”
“You must have heard of her; she’s called ‘Barbie.’”
“I may have, but I don’t pay attention to pop music.”
She asked, “Where is this Isle of Ease? I’m aware that Kurt owned a hotel on some island, but was never curious as to its location.”
Max said, “I did some research before you got home. Isle of Ease is a tiny island, approximately 30 nautical miles southwest of the Hawaiian Islands. In fact, Kurt Nobel owns the entire island. It is too small to be drawn on any map and belongs to the jurisdiction of the US. The place is totally isolated with no population to speak of. The hotel was basically the only thing on it; no wonder it wasn’t a success. The spot may be a tropical paradise, but who wants to be excluded from civilization in our day and age? Also, I can imagine that all supplies had to be hauled by boat or helicopter, which could hardly contribute to a profitable venture.”
Then he said, “Did you read the guest list?”
“Oh, is there a second page?” She reached for it, then chuckled again as she read it.
“Do you know any of these people personally?”
She nodded, “Some, and others I’ve heard of. Kim is Kurt’s sister and Evie is her daughter. Evie must be around eight by now. We know who Neal Victor is, of course.”
Max put in, “Yep. He’s our congressman and Kurt Nobel ran against him and lost, making it one of the rare occasions in politics when integrity won over money.”
“Exactly. They were opponents and ran a nasty campaign with Neal Victor being the victor. How hilarious!”
Alexa continued with her finger on the guest list, “Sidney Ross is Kurt’s CFO, and the names Mike and Beatrice Triest sound familiar, but I can’t place them at the moment. I don’t know who Hope De Luca is, nor have I heard of Rafi or Kate Simonian.”
He said, “I googled these people and your recollection is correct. Heather, the wife of Sidney Ross, is a librarian. As for the Simonians, Rafi is listed as entrepreneur and his spouse, Kate, writes mystery novels. Mike Triest and Kurt are colleagues in real estate development. I take that back, colleagues is not the right term; they are rivals. Triest’s wife is a homemaker who volunteers at high-end charitable events. I could not find any information on Hope De Luca.”
Neither spoke for several seconds. Max finally said, “You never told me the reason you broke up with Kurt only days before the wedding.”
“I got cold feet,” she replied, “but my main issue was that he tried to run me.”
“I see. Nobody could ever “run you” and that’s a fact.”
Alexa tagged him with an intense stare, checking for sarcasm, but his features remained expressionless.
He asked, “Why do you think he invited us?”
“That’s easy. He wants to show me, and everyone else on his crazy guest list, his dish of a wife, while at the same time flaunting his exotic island.”
There was another pause. Then Max probed, “Do you feel the urge to spend a week with a bunch of unconnected people who may or may not hate their host’s guts?”
She took her time before she answered, “My first impulse was to decline the invitation. No way was I going to obey his summons and take part in his childish power game. On second thought, though, I’m curious. The weird trip might turn into a satisfying adventure.”
She checked her calendar on the smart phone and mumbled, “April 8 to April 14 is the week before Easter. My current case goes to trial on March 7 and will last no more than three weeks. I was thinking of taking some time off after it is over to go somewhere to relax.” She grinned and added, “This would be a paid vacation.”
For the first time since their conversation started, a slight smile appeared on Max’s face, making him look younger and less grim. A brief realization crossed Alexa’s mind. This is the face I fell in love with: dark, handsome, and kind.
He said, “A relaxing trip to a peaceful, exotic island may even salvage our marriage.”
“We’ll see. I’m making no promises,” she replied.
“So, are we going?”
“Yes, let’s find out what millionaire Kurt and his teenage bride have planned for their guests.”
“Is she really still in her teens?”
“I don’t know, but she looks it. He should have no trouble ‘running’ her.”
Max got up and was already at the kitchen door when Alexa called, “I have a condition about the outlandish trip, though.”
As he turned to face her, she stated in her low, commanding voice, “There will be no mention of my little fling, nor any discussion about having kids.”
“Understood,”