Regina shot Tracy a dirty look. "Which means everybody will know all about it in a matter of minutes."

"No. I promise." Tracy shook her head furiously, trying to assure her friend.

"But I. Don't. Love him!" Rhees needed to make it clear, talking over her roommates. "I hate Paul's guts and if he thinks about me like that-I don't want to be anywhere near his filthy, rotten . . ." She shuddered. "The only thoughts he should be having of me at this point are thoughts of me murdering him in his sleep. I wish he would . . ." She broke into a sob and hopped up from the chair, making a break for her room. "Just leave me alone!"

Tracy tried to hug her, but Rhees pushed her away. "I'm sorry. I'm not feeling especially touchy-feely right now." She ran into her bedroom and slammed the door.

Chapter 10.

The next morning, it took every ounce of courage she had, but Rhees showed up at the office early, as usual. The doors were all unlocked, but she didn't see Paul anywhere, thank goodness. The tanks were already loaded on the boat and she rolled her eyes.

"If he thinks this makes up for everything . . . anything!"

She checked the schedule. Regina's report was indeed true. Her name stood out to her, clearer than all the others. She would, in fact, be going out to dive that morning-'Let's get wet', the words Paul often used when the boat pulled away from the dock, came to mind. The information jump started her nerves-no more excuses, no more blaming Paul-time to pull on her big-girl panties and finish what she'd set out to do. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

When the other divers showed up, she did what they did. She knew what to do, but her trembling body apparently shook her brain until it dimmed numb. She dragged her gear onto the boat, attached her buoyancy compensator to the tank, her regulator, made sure she actually had air in her tank. She checked and rechecked to make sure she had everything. She went down her body from head to toe, thinking, mask, snorkel, reg, BC, computer, tank, wetsuit, booties, fins . . . did she miss anything? She ran through the checklist again.

She still hadn't seen Paul. The other students were just starting to ask about him, too preoccupied with staring and gossiping about her to notice any sooner that he was missing.

"Anyone know where Paul is?" Dobbs asked. "It's time to go."

No one answered, so Mitch and Dobbs decided to split up and walked around the building, looking for him. Just as Dobbs reached the north side, Paul pulled up on one of the shop's two personal watercraft machines.

"Hey. What're you doing taking that out this early? We're diving today, eh?"

"I'll explain later." He moored the machine and headed toward the office through the tunnel.

Rhees boarded the boat with everyone else when someone announced Paul had returned, but he called her into the office over the speaker. She sighed. Facing him didn't rank high on her list of things to do at the moment. She took her time on purpose, hoping to annoy him.

Claire sat at her computer, alone in the office.

"You're here early today." It surprised Rhees to see her already.

"Yeah, I had some things I needed to do."

"Is everything okay?"

"You and your sixth sense, you always seem to be able to tell when I'm stressed out."

Rhees chuckled. "Sure that's all it is?"

"Of course, silly girl." Claire turned her attention to her computer.

"Um . . . where's Paul-as if I care?"

"I don't know." Claire didn't sound convincing.

"He called me in here and just left?" Rhees felt the urge to hit something. Claire shrugged.

"He'll never change." Rhees trudged out the door and saw Paul on the boat, talking to the divers. She growled under her breath with frustration. When he saw her coming, he stepped up onto the side of the boat, his usual spot, and the huddle broke up, everyone turning their attention to something else.

"Let's get wet, people!" Paul slapped the roof of the boat and the engine roared to life.

Rhees quickened her step to get on board just as they cast off. She shot Paul one frosty glare, and then refused to look at him again.

The boat headed north and Rhees closed her eyes and tried to meditate her trembling away. It helped some, but not completely. She felt sick.

They reached the tip of the island, but instead of heading around to the east side, Randy swung wide and came within a hundred feet of a deserted island called Duna Caye. The government maintained the tiny, pretty island as a park, a popular place for the mainlanders to visit on weekends and holidays.

Rhees still sat, deep in thought, trying to focus on her training. She didn't want to forget anything. She dreaded doing something to embarrass herself . . . or dying a horrible death.

"Man overboard!"

It brought her back to the present and she looked around to see who was in trouble. Before she spotted the victim in the water, Dobbs yelled at her to save him.

"Me? I'm not even certified. I haven't been trained for rescue."

"It's all good. You need to do it," he said.

No one else made a move to save whoever had fallen off the boat. She panicked. She'd seen the drill before, but she wasn't supposed to have to do it. She scanned the water and finally found the victim floundering in the water, yelling for someone to save him. Paul.

She rolled her eyes. "No way! He can drown before I lift a finger to save him."

"Be a sport, Rhees. You have to do this."

"No! I don't! I don't need a rescue to get certified. Someone else will have to do it."

Dobbs finally pulled her aside. "Paul told everyone on the boat that if anyone besides you jumps in to save him, he'd make their lives miserable. You have to."

She couldn't believe it, but she didn't want someone else to be punished because of her. She shook her head in defeat and started undoing her BC from the tank.

"What are you doing?" Dobbs asked.

"I'm not getting in the water without a floatation device." She finally got it free and put it on. She leisurely reached down and grabbed her fins. She sat down to put them on. When she stood again, she squeezed some viz goo into her mask and spread it around with her fingers.

"Rhees, you have to be faster than this." Dobbs prodded.

She tried to make her way to the water bucket to rinse her mask, but her fins were harder to move in than she realized. Dobbs finally grabbed her mask and rinsed it for her and handed it back. "Hurry! Please."

He helped her to the side of the boat and then helped her get up on the side.

"Shoot! I've never jumped off a boat into the ocean before. I'm scared."

Dobbs had finally had enough. He pushed her and she toppled into the water. She came up gasping. "Dobbs!" Her mask came off on impact, and she struggled to get it back on while trying to kick and stay upright, all at the same time.

"The victim is dead by now," someone shouted. Everyone on the boat laughed.

"I really don't care!" Rhees yelled back.

She finally situated herself and made her way to Paul who, when he saw her coming-finally-slipped under the water, slowing sinking away.

She made it to him and tried to dive down to get to him, but she couldn't break the surface. She let the air out of her BC and tried again to no avail.

Paul watched her struggle and moved closer, grateful he could hold his breath for nearly four minutes. She finally made it under, but instead of getting to him and bringing him to the surface, she used her powerful split fins to swim as fast as she could, and she rammed him in the stomach with her head. It knocked what little breath he still had, out of his lungs. She moved behind him and grabbed him by his hair, giving a sharp yank before kicking upward with him in tow.

When they broke the surface, the boat was gone. She looked around, panicked a little when she spotted it a mile away, headed off without them.

"What?" she shrieked. "They left us!" She talked to herself because she refused to speak to Paul. "Are you kidding me?"

"Ow," he mouthed while feigning unconsciousness, but she yanked his hair again and headed for the beach on Duna Caye.

She finally made it and dragged him out of the water as far as she could, but then just left him and walked onto the sand.

"You'll die before I do CPR on you, so if you were hoping for some mouth-to-mouth, forget it."

He rolled over onto his stomach and watched her. She removed her BC, sat down and got both fins off while looking out over the water, watching the boat become a tiny speck before heading to the other side of the island.

"I'm not getting certified, am I?" She refused to look at him.

"We still have time."

She shot him a fiery glance. "I'll be on a plane in two days. Considering a no fly day, I'm done."

"I'm running another boat this afternoon. I'll get you wet, I promise."

She stared at him, unbelieving. "You only do that when we have guests."

". . . And for you."

He stood up. "I'm sorry I sprung this on you, but I needed a chance to talk to you, alone."

"You planned this? Why?"

"Yes." He walked over to one of the picnic tables and grabbed a backpack, which just happened to be there. He pulled a blanket from the pack and laid it down on the sand next to her.

She jumped up and away from him with her fins in her hands. She held them up like a weapon, not taking her eyes off of him. He saw her reaction and it didn't take long to figure out the thoughts running through her mind.

"Hey! No. It's not what you think." He stepped closer, but she swung her fins at him and whacked him across the arm. "Ouch!" He looked at her like she was insane.

"Stay away from me. This is so not happening. I'll hit you again, I swear."

He stood stunned. He never anticipated her response and stood gaping. He finally shook his head, sat down on the blanket, and reached into the pack. He pulled out a thermos and two mugs and set them on the blanket, manipulating the sand beneath so they were stable. He reached back into the pack and pulled out a couple of bananas and a brown paper sack stained with oil.

"The boat won't be back for about three hours. I have breakfast if you're hungry." He pulled a fried scone from the bag and took a bite.

Holding her fins, she looked out across the channel to the main island, trying to rally the courage to make the swim.

"The current from the middle of the channel, see where it gets dark?" Paul pointed at the water, directing her attention to what he wanted her to see. "From there, all the way to the tip of the island on the other side, is a killer. I've seen you swim. I could probably make it if I had those fins of yours, but you'd be swept out to sea for sure."

She glared at him.

"I'm not just saying that to keep you here and I didn't go to all the trouble to get you here in hopes of having my way with you. I swear."

She gave in and plopped down on the blanket, but she sat as far on the opposite side as she could. He poured coffee into one of the mugs and handed it to her. "I hope you like cream and sugar." She accepted it. "Donut? Randy's mom makes these. They're more like what we Americans call a scone, but they're pretty tasty."

"Randy's mom? You mean Aunt Miranda, don't you?"

"That's right, you and Randy are cousins." He chuckled.

They ate without talking, and when they finished, Paul put their garbage and the used mugs back into the pack. "Danarya, I wanted a chance to tell you how sorry I am."

"If you were really sorry, you wouldn't have started an apology by calling me Danarya." She sighed. "How are you not embarrassed by all this-by what happened yesterday? I would be so embarrassed-I am embarrassed, and I didn't do anything! I wouldn't want to face you again, let alone go through all the trouble . . . to set it up so I'd have to spend three hours alone with you."

"I'm sorry . . . Rhees." He looked out over the ocean and gathered his thoughts. "I think Danarya is a very pretty name."

"What about Princess, why do you call me Princess Danarya? I'm not a spoiled brat."

He took a second. "In the States, people have conjured up a wrong impression about the title, but I don't think a princess is a spoiled brat who gets her way whenever she throws a tantrum. A real princess has to constantly sacrifice what she really wants for the good of her people. I think you have a regal quality about you. I've noticed you sacrifice yourself, your own feelings, for everyone else. That's why I called you Princess."

"Pfft," she rolled her eyes.

". . . And I'm embarrassed. I get embarrassed when I fuck up. I have regrets, a lot of them, but it doesn't change anything. There are no second chances, no do-overs. What's done is done, so what's the point of letting the past rule the present? I'm sorry."

"You're saying that a lot." She seemed riled up again. "You should only say you're sorry if you mean it, and you can't really mean it if you don't even know what you're saying it for. Do you even know what you're saying it for?"

He deadpanned for a second, frustrated, trying to keep his temper in check. "Do you always have to be such a ball buster? I'm trying to apologize."

"Just what are you sorry for? I'm going to need to know exactly . . . because my list is probably a lot longer than yours."

"I know. I'm sorry."

She glared at him for saying it again.

He closed his eyes and sighed. "Do I really have to list everything?"

"You are, without a doubt, the meanest person I have ever known. No one has ever treated me as cruelly as you have. I'm not going to write you a blank check of forgiveness for things you probably don't really feel sorry about. I'll think about the things you mention. The rest will burn in my craw till I die."

One side of his mouth smirked up. "Somehow I don't believe you're the grudge holding type."