That night, in my room, she did what she always did and spoke favorably of my father. She said he was a good man, a revered businessman, and a man of whom my grandfather approved. It wasn’t until I was in high school that I realized she never mentioned the word love. Not in relation to her affection for my father or for Alton. The only time she mentioned love was to remind me that my father, Russell Collins, loved me.

For the first time I could recall, she admitted to wanting a different life. She confessed that when she was my age she wanted to leave Georgia and find a life away from Montague Manor. Holding tightly to my hands, with tears in her blue eyes, she told me to do what she couldn’t. She told me to go and discover life beyond Savannah.

My entire life, I’d been told that even though the Montague assets were now handled under the name of my stepfather, Alton Fitzgerald, and my name was Collins, one day I would be expected to take my rightful place. It was what my grandmother, grandfather, and mother had told me since I was old enough to remember—I was the heir to a prestigious name. Since my father was killed in a car crash while out of town when I was only three, I couldn’t remember him ever telling me about my future.

On a late August afternoon, when I stepped off the airplane in San Francisco, I chose to do what my mother never could: discover life—not Alexandria’s, but Alex’s. The blue sky was my encouragement. For the first time in my life, it seemed as though the clouds that loomed around Montague Manor couldn’t reach me. On the West Coast I could breathe.

As if being reborn at nearly nineteen years old, I put Alexandria behind me and became Alex Collins. Since my tuition was paid by my trust fund, neither the name Montague nor Fitzgerald was associated with the new me. I suppose if someone dug into the fine print my past could be found, but no one needed to do that. My grandparents’ law firm handled all my monetary needs. Even now, ascending the heights of the Del Mar Club and Spa in the glass elevator, it was only the law firm of Hamilton and Porter who knew my whereabouts. They’d been the ones to wire me the money for our excursion, not my mother or her husband.

For four years I was able to live a life free of anyone’s expectations but my own. I created the perfect persona with real personal edges. I put away the ghosts from the past and discovered what life had to offer. Though Alex was different than Alexandria, I sometimes wondered if either one was really me.

Who am I?

Maybe for one week, I could live without the pressures of my old or new life. Maybe I could experience life as others did—as Chelsea did—completely untethered from the monsters of my past or the aspirations of my future. Alexandria Charles Montague Collins had a perfect façade to maintain. Alex Collins had a future and a career to build. For one week, Charli—no last name—wanted to see what life could be like without a past or a future.

“LOOK… NO, DON’T,” Chelsea whispered as she covered her lips with the edge of a fashion magazine. Her sunglass-covered eyes scanned the deck around the large pool.

“How can I look and not look?” I asked playfully between sips of my strawberry-mango slushy.

“Do you see those guys over there?”

“You told me not to look,” I reminded her. Yet I had seen them. It was hard—no impossible—not to look. The patrons of the exclusive resort were beautiful. After all, the resort catered to the wealthy, and those people spent a lot of money to maintain their perfection.

“Just take a quick look.”

As I turned my head, I caught the stare of a man about our age. He was tan and blond and looking our direction, not even pretending to be looking elsewhere. With his sunglasses down, he peered over the frames, lifted his brows, and smiled. His closed-lip grin was both cocky and confident. My first instinct was to look down at my Kindle, but as pink filled my cheeks I remembered my mission. This was my week to live, to do what Alex wouldn’t and Alexandria couldn’t.

Lowering my sunglasses, I returned his grin.

“Oh shit,” I whispered. “He’s coming over here.”

Nearly dropping her magazine, Chelsea sat taller in her lounge chair. “I said look, not invite him over.”

I didn’t have time to reply before Mr. Tanned Surfer Dude and his equally attractive friend were at the foot of our chaise lounges.

“Hey, we haven’t seen you two around here before,” Mr. Surfer Dude said.

“We got in last night,” Chelsea replied.

Guy number two extended his hand. “Hi, I’m Shaun and this is my nosy friend, Max.”

“I’m Chelsea and this…” She looked my way. “…is Charli.”

Max lifted his brow. “You don’t look like any Charlie I’ve ever met.”

“It’s Charli with an i.”

He sat on the end of my chair. “Well, Charli with an i, would you like a drink or something?”

I turned toward my half-filled glass of slushy. “I’m good, thank you. Besides, it’s not even noon. Isn’t that a little early for drinks?”

Shaun laughed. “We’re on vacation, and if you haven’t heard, it’s always five o’clock somewhere.”

Chelsea swung her legs off the chair and offered her hand to Shaun. “I have heard that, and I’d love a drink.”

I tried to maintain my smile as Max settled onto Chelsea’s recently vacated seat. I loved Chelsea, but playing the field, and playing men for drinks and whatever else, was her specialty. Why hadn’t I realized that bringing her to an exclusive resort would be like taking a child to a candy store?

“We are having a nice time. Thanks for asking,” Max said with a grin.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was just thinking about my friend. As you can see, she has a hard time making new friends.”

He cocked his head to the side, his tanned torso absorbing the sunshine, and his long legs stretched out on the lounge chair. “I bet you don’t have any trouble making friends either.”

“I guess that only leaves one of us.”

His hand flew to his chest. “You wound me! First you don’t listen to a word I’m saying, and then you send me back to second grade.”

“Second grade?”

“You know, when I did have trouble making friends.”

I shook my head. “I doubt you ever had trouble. The thing is that this week is supposed to be about my friend and me. We’ll be going different directions soon. I thought she might, I don’t know, hang around with me for more than breakfast.”

“Where are you going? Or is it her?”

“It’s both of us. Tell me about you.”

“Oh,” Max said, “I get it. We’re being secretive. My guess is there’s a boyfriend…” He glanced at my hand. “…no ring. So it can’t be a fiancé. But there’s someone back wherever home is.”

“Guess again.”

“You’re an aspiring actress, and this is the week before you do a big shoot.”

I laughed. “Two strikes. One more and you’re—”

“Out.”

Max and I turned to the deep voice coming from beside Max’s chair. With the sun shining directly behind him, the source of the baritone command was partially hidden by shadows. But as my gaze lingered, allowing my eyes to adjust, my breathing hitched. The man beside us was tall and tan, with broad shoulders that cast a shadow over both Max’s and my legs. He wasn’t as young as Max, but then again, he wasn’t old. The longer we sat in stunned silence, the more visible the pulsating vein in his neck became. This man was obviously upset with Max.

When we didn’t speak, he repeated, “You’re out.”

“Excuse me?” Max asked. “Who the hell are you?”

I lowered my glasses and continued to appreciate one of the most perfect specimens of man I’d ever seen. Small droplets of water hung from his short dark hair and glistened against the cobalt blue sky. More evidence of his recent swim coated his defined abs and his wet swim trunks clung to his thick thighs…