The Beach Club

16. Alvaro

     Poppy's hand feels like silk in mine. I feel like I'm holding onto a delicate piece of jewellery that, if I let slip even an inch, I'll forever be reaping the consequences.

     I also can't help but feel as if I'm holding onto my own fortune. My own rare diamond worth millions. For the first time in forever, the occasional glances of other boys in the direction of Poppy's body churns up a sensation of anger inside of me. It doesn't go unnoticed how they drag their eyes down her face and neck, eventually settling on the faint dip between her breasts or her toned stomach. I glare at them fiercely, and they quickly avert their gaze.

     Good. Don't dare even look at my property.

      "This place is truly beautiful," Poppy says, seemingly unaware of the attention she's receiving, her eyes trained on the horizon of sea and yellow-orange sky. The mild, warm air blows her curled hair against her bare shoulders and when I wrap my arm around her hip so that she's making contact with me, I notice how goosebumps pepper her arms.

     "And you are truly beautiful," I say matter-of-factly, my words coated with sincerity. "In fact, I don't think you realise how truly amazing you are, Poppy."

At this Poppy slows her movement. She doesn't turn but I catch how her lip turns up at its edge. I sense she's feeling flushed, so I wordlessly guide her the rest of the way until we reach the restaurant, a giddy smile etched into my cheeks.

     Bassi's Steakhouse is perhaps one of the most upmarket restaurants in Ibiza. The waitlist is often two weeks long (at the very least) and the clientele are those of high wealth and even higher standards. Of course a reservation was of no problem for me—given my uncle's status amongst the fellow businessmen and the fact that he has money—so Bassi himself hand picked a table on the veranda that overlooks the sea and picturesque cliffs.

      "This is so incredible," Poppy says in disbelief as a made up, tall and blonde skinny waitress shows us to our table. I pull out her chair and wait for her to sit, smiling with a hint of smugness when fellow guests eye up the most sought after table in the establishment being occupied. "Thank you," Poppy says to our waitress.

    I sit opposite Poppy and drink in the sight of her. Her white dress curves elegantly round each groove of her petite body. Her small breasts protrude from the low neckline and her red-white arms (victim of the unforgiving sun out here) rest nervously across the table. I lock my eyes to hers; beautiful and delicate. Against the sensational backdrop of a still sea, low sunset and gentle swaying palm trees, I start to contemplate how this is now my reality.

      "Only the best for you," I say warmly, my smile reassuring. "After all, you go home soon. Right?"

     Poppy smiles nervously. "Yeah, I just..." She looks down at her hands and her teeth nibble into her bottom lip.

I reach my hand across so that it covers the entirety of hers. "You just what?"

She takes a deep breath and smiles like she's hiding a secret. Maybe she is. But then she regains herself and releases a breath. "I just can't help but think that...you do this to a lot of girls. That your words are...you know...recycled and altered depending on who you're taking out." She swallows and drags in another breath, meanwhile my jaw tightens. "Anyway," she continues, shuffling about in her chair. "I don't mean to sound rude, but I don't get what's so different about me...so special. If that really is the case. Like, why me and Zara? What makes us so different? Surely you must do this to a lot of girls." Her words are almost silent by the time she finishes talking.

I retrieve my hand and sit up straight, adjusting the collar of my shirt. I lick my lip with a menacing smile and rest my chin upon my clasped hands. If only she knew. If only she really knew what made her different. Sure, Zara is neither here nor there and is just a pawn in this operation, but Poppy truly has no idea what she's worth. Already I'm treating her like a prized possession and already I'm experiencing feelings of jealousy and possessiveness, of which I have rarely felt before. Yet, quite shockingly, I can't help but notice the swelling of warmness in my stomach everytime I think of Poppy, let alone see her. I've been trying to dismiss it—to convince myself it's just a by-product of finally finding the right girl for Bruno—but something within me tells me it's much, much more than that.

"Look," I say, smiling as the waitress hands us some drinks and walks away. "Perhaps you're right in assuming I'm a player—and hell I've had my fair share of girls..." I trail off because Poppy shifts with awkwardness. "But listen, I don't do this with any girl. Believe me." I wave my hands about the open space of the exquisite beauty of Bassi's Steakhouse. "You're different Poppy. Anyone can see it. You don't have plastic or fake beauty and you certainly don't walk around as though you're for sale." Oh, the irony. "You hold yourself and you're careful. You don't throw yourself in the direction of males just because you have some kind of short-term pleasure to fulfill. Fucking hell Poppy. You're as pure as they come."

Poppy looks to me for a moment—a long moment at that—before she blushes and a fucking incredible smile works its way up her cheeks. "You really think that?" She asks nervously.

I lean in once more and take her hands in mine. "I mean it one hundred percent. You only have to look around this island to realise you're different."

"Thank you," she says without making eye contact. "And I know Zara; I know she just wants fun. But I care about her, I don't want her to get hurt either."

   I bring her hands even closer to me. "She won't get hurt. Diego may be a ladies man too, but he won't hurt her."

    Poppy nods with appreciation and I watch her eyes light up as a medium-rare fillet steak is placed in front of her, accompanied by honey glazed vegetables and patatas fritas.

    I dig my fork into my own food, and, for the first time in what feels forever, I regret having to lie so badly to a girl I've pursued.