The Icelandian (Men Of The World Book

10) J.O Mantel

Visit to download the full and correct content document:
https://ebookmass.com/product/the-icelandian-men-of-the-world-book-10-j-o-mantel/
 The Icelandian
Men of the World – Book Ten
J.O Mantel
Copyright 2024 J.O Mantel
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, real people, and real places
are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the
author’s imagination and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events,
organizations or places is entirely coincidental.
All rights are reserved. This book is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,
graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any
information storage retrieval system, without the express written permission of the
author. All songs, song titles, and lyrics contained in this book are the property of the
respective songwriters and copyright holders.

Book design by Mantelpiece Creations

Cover design by Dana from Designs by Dana
Cover Image Copyright 2024
All Rights Reserved
For Sandra
 Dedication
Table Of Contents
A Note From The Author
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Acknowledgements
Stay Connected
About The Author
More By J.O Mantel
For full enjoyment of this series, it’s best to begin with Men of the World Book One – The Australian.

Reading Order:
The Santa Claus - Prequel
The Australian – Book One
The Frenchman – Book Two
The Italian – Book Three
The Venetian – Book 3.5
The Englishman – Book Four
The Scotsman – Book Five
The Grecian – Book Six
The Macedonian – Book Seven
The Austrian – Book Eight
The Brazilian – Book Nine
The Icelandian – Book Ten
 WHEN DEACON BRADY SIGNED up to play a single, eligible bachelor
who was traveling the world to win twelve million dollars, he had absolutely
no idea the challenges he would have to face or how difficult it would be to not
screw every single walking penis he laid eyes on.
After a pandemic and severe food poisoning in Salzburg, Austria, all Deacon wants is for the rest of
his journey to be smooth sailing. And that’s exactly where he finds himself in Rio De Janeiro, on a cruise ship,
setting sail across the sea with bachelor number nine, José. But like all reality shows, there is most certainly
more drama than Deacon bargains for, and things are far from what they seem with the sexy Brazilian.
Finding himself in hot water, Deacon puts not only his life but also Dante’s in serious danger when
they’re faced with a life-or-death situation. With no escape, things look bleak for the dynamic duo, and Deacon
begins to question whether or not he has what it takes to continue playing the game of eligible bachelor.
Exposing José’s secrets and plot, Deacon and Dante have twelve million reasons to get themselves out of
trouble as they fight to save the future of Tainted Love.
Deacon reminds himself that he needs to stay focused, dedicated, and committed to the show if he
has any chance of making it through to the end, no matter what the cost. It’s the only way he can regain control
of his life and give himself the new start he’s been so desperately hoping for.
With the homestretch now in sight, Deacon continues his journey around the world for another
potential bachelor. Only this time, instead of heating things up, he finds himself surrounded by ice. Lots and
lots of ice to be exact, this time, in Reykjavik, Iceland.
 AFTER A LENGTHY LAYOVER in London, we’re finally here. Iceland.
Again, not exactly a location I would have placed on my top five list of places to visit in the world. But
who am I to complain about a free working vacation, right? It takes us a while to get through customs due to
the large number of passengers on board and very strict screening measures in place. When we’re finally
done and our bags are scanned, Dante and I proceed through the terminal and step outside into the sunshine.
There are only a few clouds in the sky, but, oh my god, it’s cold as fuck! I’m seriously starting to question my
manhood right now because my balls are frozen as fuck. I try to unzip my suitcase with freezing fingers and
quickly fumble through my clothing, then pull out a leather jacket before zipping up my case again. I swing the
jacket over my shoulders and shrug into it, then shiver my way to the curb where Dante’s standing and looking
around. He checks his watch, then pulls his phone from his pocket, and I watch him tap the screen and then lift
it to his ear.
“Stefan? It’s Dante. We’ve just arrived at the airport, and there’s no car waiting for us.” There’s a
brief pause and he nods, then speaks again. “Great, thank you. We’re waiting out the front.”
He ends the call and slides the phone back into his pocket, then angles his head up at me. “Sorry
about this, Deacon. Usually, I’m much more organized. I don’t know what the delay is, but our driver will be
here shortly.”
“That’s okay, Dante, it’s the first time it’s happened all year,” I reply.
He lets out a long sigh, then lowers the handle on his suitcase and sits down on it. I do the same and
then pull out my phone, turn off airplane mode, and wait for it to register, then immediately check for any
messages from Kate or my parents. I open my email and search through those, and lastly, I scroll through my
socials.
There’s nothing.
 Normally, I’d be relieved at the thought of no notifications or phone calls from my snooping sister
and welcome the peacefulness. However, knowing that she was due to have her new boobs at Thanksgiving, I
can’t help but feel anxious. I open a new text message to Kate and start typing.

Are you okay? How did the procedure go?

I stare at the sentence, reading it back several times with my thumb hovering over the blue arrow. I
hesitate for several long seconds and then convince myself not to send it. If Kate received a message from me,
she’d give me a hard time and then a lecture, telling me that I shouldn’t be worrying about her and to
concentrate on the show. Except, I can’t help but worry about her and wonder if everything is okay. I only hope
Mom and Dad haven’t told her about what happened with José because that would really set her off.
With my mind made up, I quit second-guessing myself, send the text, and then quickly check my
socials again. Other than being tagged in a few videos of the show on Facebook, my news feed remains pretty
quiet. And the same goes for Instagram and TikTok, meaning that Dante has successfully managed, once
again, to keep our names out of the media following the shit storm in Brazil. I look up to see a black limousine
pulling up at the curb, then when Dante gets to his feet and walks toward it, I figure it’s for us. I stand, too, slide
my phone into my back pocket, and move toward the vehicle. A rather tall middle-aged man in a black suit and
hat steps out of the driver’s side and meets us at the back of the limousine. He does his thing with the luggage
as Dante and I get into the backseat. When he gets back in the car, Dante introduces him.
“Deacon, this is Stefan, our driver for the next few weeks.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Stefan,” I say, stretching out my hand.
He shakes my hand with a smile. “Welcome to Iceland, Mr. Brady.”
As we’re pulling out of the airport, I stare out the window and admire the gorgeous scenery. When
Dante handed me the envelope with my next destination, and I read that I was headed to Iceland, the first
thing I pictured was lots of ice. Instead, I’m surrounded by spectacular mountains, trees, and crystal-clear
waters, with less ice than I expected. I know Iceland is famous for its Blue Lagoon, volcanoes, and lava fields,
and as I sit here admiring the view, it certainly does not disappoint.
Stefan continues the drive, I turn toward Dante and see that he’s busy scrolling through his phone, a
gesture that has become a custom whenever we arrive in a new country. My own phone alerts me to a
message, so I slide it out of my pocket and look down at the screen. I unlock it and open the text.

KATE: The procedure went well. Very well, actually. There’s no sign of infection and my new tits
look amazing, even if I do say so myself. Wanna see a pic?

I love that, even in her almost darkest hour, my sister still hasn’t lost her incredible, yet very
inappropriate, sense of humor. And I say inappropriate because even though I’m her brother and we’re very
close, some things are just not meant to be shared. Namely, the body parts of a sibling.

And traumatize me while I’m trying to shoot a reality show?

KATE: Asshole!

Bitch!

KATE: So, what’s Iceland like?

We’re still in the car heading to our destination. But from what I can see outside, the view is
splendid.

KATE: Splendid? I can’t imagine ice being that splendid.

 There’s actually not that much ice around. It’s freezing, but the sun is out, and the sky is blue, and all
that surrounds us is mountains. I think if I have a proper chance to explore this place, I’m going to go and check
out the famous Blue Lagoon.

“Deacon?”
“Huh?” I lift my head and turn to face Dante.
“I just got an email from Nicolette with an update on our schedule. We will start shooting on
Monday, which means you have the entire weekend to settle into the hotel and enjoy the scenery of Iceland.
I’m not going to lie; this is going to be the busiest and most intense filming we’ve ever had. We have a lot to get
through in two weeks. I can’t afford any screw-ups or tardiness.”
“Hold up, two weeks?” I gasp.
“We’re taking a production break for Christmas. Most of the crew want to fly back home to spend
time with their families for the holidays. When we return in the New Year, we will film the remaining scenes
here before traveling to the next location. But in order for that to happen, I really need you to be on the ball at
all times. No lateness, no late nights, no––”
“No fucking around. I get it, Dante.” I know the guy has a point, Christ, he’s been making a point for
the last fucking twelve months. I just wish he’d give it a rest already. “But won’t a break put us behind
schedule?” I continue.
“No. The show will also take a break on air for a few weeks, and when production resumes, so will
the episodes. That’ll put us back in sync with the schedule, and production will wrap up in mid-March, early
April.”
“Whatever you say, Dante.”
If the schedule is going to be as intense as he claims, I’m definitely going to need a vacation. And it
will be great to go home and spend time with the family again. As I sit here, thinking about the prospect of
seeing them again, a smile sweeps over my face as I reminisce about someone else back in New York. Someone
who I had a lot of fun with when my life was spiraling out of control and being flushed down the toilet. A man
who I haven’t thought about until now.
Kris Kringle.
I still don’t believe that’s his real name, but what the heck, who am I to question a man with such an
extraordinarily … huge talent? Not to mention the way we both came in spectacular fashion all over the floor
after fucking on top of the washing machine during the spin cycle.
Fuck, that was hot.
But all that’s in the past now, and all that remains are the memories of a life I once had before I
started this wild, crazy adventure with Mr. Dante Blaze. I know I’ve been here many times, at the point where
I keep telling myself that from now on, I’m going to be nothing but a saint. No more sex, commitments, no
strings attached. Zero. Zilch. Zip. But somehow, no matter how hard I try, someone always manages to sweep
me off my feet and make me orgasm in spectacular fashion. Well, no, not anymore. This ends here. Now!
My phone buzzes with another message, and I see Kate’s text on the screen.

KATE: Do you think we’ll get to see you for Christmas?

Funny you should mention that, Dante and I were just discussing Christmas vacation. Apparently,
we’re going to take a production break so that everyone can go home for Christmas and be with their families.

KATE: Yay! This is great news. The girls and Thomas are going to be so happy to see you. And I can’t
wait to catch up with you, too. I miss you, little brother.

And I miss you too.

KATE: Hey, you know what? You could always hook up with Mr. Hottie from last Christmas. God,
what was his name again?

Kris Kringle.

KATE: Yes! That’s him.

Okay, that’s weird.

KATE: What is?

I was literally just thinking about him before you messaged me.

KATE: That just goes to show that I have great taste in men.

And a perverted mind.

KATE:

KATE: So, does this mean you’re going to hook up with him again?

Typical of Kate to steer this conversation in the direction of a porno. So, I do what I always do
whenever she starts talking about sex: I make up a distraction.

Sorry, about to pull into the hotel. I’ll message you once I’m settled in.

KATE: Hmmm, you’re just lucky I have no idea where you really are. So, I’m just going to take your
word for it.

Love you, sis.

KATE: Love you too.

As much as I enjoy talking to my sister, my sex life is something that I would rather not discuss with
her. Especially when I just convinced myself that I was going to be a saint this month. Well … I can only try,
can’t I?
I glance over at Dante beside me; he’s still scrolling through both his phones, then I turn my
attention outside the window and continue to enjoy the beautiful scenery. I know the man is full of secrets and
surprises, and normally I’d know better than to ask Dante any questions about the next bachelor. But, given
what we’ve just been through, I feel that, for my own peace of mind and safety, it’s worth the risk of getting my
head bitten off.
“Dante?”
“Mmmm?” he replies, not looking up at me.
“I know I’m not supposed to ask questions because everything is supposed to be top secret. But
under the circumstances and given everything that you and I have been through, I think I have a right to know
what I’m getting myself into with this next bachelor.”
Good, Brady. Firm, direct, and straight to the point.
 “I agree,” he responds.
“Now, I know you have all these rules and regulations etcetera, etcetera, but I—” I turn to face him.
“Huh?”
He puts both phones away in his pocket, then turns to face me.
“I totally agree. I think you should know everything about Isak.”
Okay, that was completely unexpected.
“Isak? So that’s his name.”
“Yes. And I can honestly tell you, Deacon, that he is nothing like any of the other bachelors you’ve
met.”
“You mean a homicidal maniac or a drug trafficker?” He glares at me wide-eyed. “Sorry. That was
totally uncalled for.”
“Isak is … different.”
“Different? How?” I inquire.
“Well, he’s unique.”
Unique?
“And what the hell does that mean?”
“Like I said, he’s not like any other contestant we’ve had on the show. And yes, before you ask, he
has a clean background. No psychotic traits or history of drugs, no criminal charges. In fact, he’s never even
had a parking ticket. He’s completely clean.”
“Okay, so what makes him unique, exactly?”
“We’ll be at our destination in five minutes, Mr. Blaze,” Stefan interrupts from the front seat.
“Thank you, Stefan. Okay, so Isak is thirty-five and works as a teacher’s aide at a special school. He’s
single, gay, and lives on his own.”
I think I missed the part about him being unique.
“I don’t see how any of that makes him unique. He sounds pretty ordinary if you ask me.”
“Isak’s deaf.”
Okay, I didn’t see that one coming. Not in a million years.
“Oh,” is all I manage to say.
“Is that going to be a problem for you?” he asks.
“Not in the slightest.”
“Isak was born deaf. Being a teacher’s aide for many years, Isak has become accustomed to reading
lips. He’s also had some very intense speech therapy, so he speaks very fluent and clear English.”
By the way Dante is describing Isak, it’s obvious that he’s taken a very serious liking to the guy. I
only say this because out of all the bachelors he’s spoken of and introduced me to thus far, he’s never spoken
about them with such passion and sincerity. Normally, I’d get the usual “You’ll find out” or “You know the
rules” comment and then he’d shrug me off. But I’m not getting that from him this time. It’s as if this new
bachelor has somehow given Dante a change of heart. Now, of course, I may be reading way too much into this,
and it’s probably just the fact that Dante and I escaped a near-death experience that has completely shaken us
both. Either way, I’ll take this new attitude as a win while it lasts.
“He sounds special,” I answer.
“That he is. He auditioned really well. The producers and I were blown away and we needed
something unique and different in this competition. And when we met Isak, he ticked all the boxes, and we
knew he was exactly what we wanted.”
Stefan makes a left turn, and as we drive down the new patch of road, the scenery changes from
lakes and mountains to a lot of grass and hills. It’s still a very smooth and rather relaxing drive, and the view is
still breathtaking. I hold my phone up against the window and take a few photos, then place it on my lap and
sit quietly while we continue our journey.
 “Since we’re on the subject of bachelors and auditions,” I begin with caution.
“Mmmm?” Dante inquires, not looking at me.
“What exactly do they know about me?”
“What do you mean?”
“When they auditioned and asked you about the show and who the bachelor is, what did you tell
them about me?”
He smirks and then arches both his brows. “My, aren’t we an inquisitive one today?”
“Okay, so you don’t want to answer that. I just thought, seeing as I was on a roll and all, that I might
swindle that one out of you.”
This time he laughs. “I didn’t say that. I just find it amusing that you’re asking me all these questions
now.”
“It’s never made a difference before, no matter how many times I’ve tried.”
“Yes, that’s true. But it is almost the end of the game and you’ve come this far. Not to mention
everything we’ve been through. I think it’s time I cut you a break. For now, anyway.”
I’m not entirely sure what “for now” means. Probably, that I should count my lucky stars that he’s in
a good mood and we’re not shooting, therefore he can’t be an asshole and embarrass me in front of other
people. That’s usually what Dante does best: making it known to everyone that he’s in charge. The car comes to
a halt at the top of the hill. I look out the window and see a large area of grass, then a dirt road and a brick
building just in front of where we’ve parked. Stefan turns off the ignition, then steps out and pops the trunk.
Dante is already out of the car before I’ve even unclipped my seatbelt, and when I step outside, a cool gust of
wind brushes across my face. Stefan deposits my suitcase and backpack on the ground in front of my feet, then
he closes the trunk and turns to address me.
“Enjoy your stay, Mr. Brady. I will be available to pick you up whenever you need.”
Enjoy my stay? What the?
Before I have a chance to say anything, he’s back in the driver’s seat. I reach down to my suitcase
and pull up the handle, then throw my backpack over my shoulders and look at Dante.
“What about your bags?” I ask.
“I’m staying downtown, about ten minutes from here. I’m sure you and Isak will find your
accommodation very accommodating and … cozy.”
“Cozy? What’s—actually, I know better than to ask. But where exactly am I staying? There’s nothing
here except grass and gravel.”
He gives that same wicked smile he always gives me whenever he’s hiding the answer to a question.
It’s almost like he’s scored a victory goal or something. He steps away from the car and wanders past me, so I
turn around and follow, carrying my suitcase. We hike up the grassy hill, and when we get to the top, we both
stop. The first thing I notice is a large mountain, bracketed by several smaller ones, that create a spectacular
view.
“That mountain right there in the middle, that’s Mt. Esja. They call it the queen of Reykjavik’s
mountain range,” Dante says, pointing straight ahead.
“I can see why. It’s breathtaking.”
“It sure is. The mountain provides a beautiful snowcapped backdrop to the north.”
It certainly is a magnificent piece of nature, and the snow surrounding it completes the background.
This is definitely a sight I wouldn’t mind waking up to every morning if I lived here. A little farther down the
hill, I notice three dome-like structures, each one slightly larger than the other.
“What are they?” I ask.
“That is where you’ll be staying,” Dante replies.
“Huh?”
But he’s walking down the hill toward the domes without giving me an answer, leaving me no option
but to follow him. I pull my suitcase behind me and when we get to the bottom of the hill, Dante moves toward
the largest of the three domes. They look, well … they look exactly as they sound: like a dome. They’re a half
circle with a white roof that has a chimney flue going through it. The front section of the dome features clear,
plastic-like material for a window, with diamond-shaped sections through it. Each dome sits on a wooden
deck, complete with deck chairs, and is fenced off from the others. However, it’s the small, square wooden hot
tub resting just outside the deck, beside the steps, that captures my attention.
“A hot tub! Wow!” I gasp.
“Great, isn’t it?” Dante says.
“It’s spectacular. I can’t believe this stuff exists in the snow.”
“The way I see it, if you’re going to spend time in the snow, you may as well live in an igloo. Well,
almost,” Dante explains.
I walk up to the hot tub, run my hand against the perfectly stained timber, and then slip my hand
inside the water. It’s just the perfect temperature, not too hot, and not too cold. As I turn around, I see a man
standing on the deck behind Dante. Dante then spins around to face the man.
“Ah, Isak, you’ve arrived.”
Dante walks up the steps and over to Isak. He stretches out his hand and Isak takes it for a
handshake.
“Isak, it’s great to see you again. I’d like you to meet Deacon, your bachelor and roommate for the
next couple of weeks,” Dante annunciates carefully.
Isak takes a step forward and holds out his hand, then slowly says, “Mr. Brady, it’s an absolute
pleasure to meet you. I’ve been a big fan of Mind Crimes for many years.”
Dante was right, the guy speaks perfect and clear English. And he even gets bonus points for being a
fan of the show. I look at Isak and then raise my hands, and using sign language, I say, “Isak, do you
understand American sign language?”
He nods.
“It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you,” I continue. “Dante tells me you’re a teacher’s aide.”
There are a few seconds of silence, and I notice something on the side of Isak’s head that looks like
an external hearing aid. Isak and Dante look at one another in shock and then Isak raises his hands and
responds, “You know sign language?”
“Yes. It’s been a hobby of mine for a while now.” I perform the signs as I speak the words.
“You never told me you knew sign language,” Dante says from behind me.
“You never asked,” I reply.
I look back at Isak, who has a huge smile on his face, and then Dante clears his throat.
“Well, I think now is as good a time as any for me to leave the two of you alone and get better
acquainted. I’ll be staying at a hotel downtown, so if you need anything, you can reach me on my cell. I’ve
already checked you both in online; you’ll find your key by the door. Enjoy your weekend.”
He shakes Isak’s hand and then gives me a smile before he turns and leaves. Once he’s over the hill,
I hear the distant sound of a door closing and then a car engine, so I turn back to Isak, who’s still standing
outside the dome with a suitcase by his side.
“Well! Shall we go inside?” I offer.
Isak nods. He lifts his suitcase and then walks around the dome, so I grab my bags and follow him.
We reach the back where there is a white door, which would almost be completely camouflaged if it weren’t
for two glass panels. On a hook by the doorknob, two keys are dangling. Isak grabs them then hands one to me
and places the other one inside the keyhole to unlock the door. He pulls the door open, then steps over the
threshold, and as I walk in behind him, my mouth falls open at the stunning interior features.
 I PLACE MY SUITCASE just inside the door and move forward, making my way to the center of the
dome. Deacon appears beside me, hands in his pockets. I’ve never stayed here before, though I know a lot
about the domes because they’re a very popular choice for accommodation among tourists.
Polished timber flooring leads to a large, black wood heater that occupies one section of the dome,
complete with a basket of neatly stacked logs beside it. A king-sized bed takes up the space in front of the
window and is adorned with a grey sheepskin across the top of the duvet. Aligned strategically with the
window is a long wooden coffee table, with a desk lamp on one end and a second sheepskin on the other. A
gold-plated ice bucket, filled with ice and a bottle of champagne, rests neatly in the center of the table. Brown
drapes are gathered to the sides of the clear film that creates the window, and the crème-colored fabric above
us has been carefully pinned together and looks more like a spider’s web than a ceiling.
The tall, dark chocolate-brown headboard has been designed to look distinctly like a mattress.
There’s a bedside table with a lamp on either side of the bed and a small dining table near the heater. I circle
the bed past the table and discover a fully functioning kitchen. At the other end of the kitchen, there’s a
passage that leads back past the front door to a leather armchair against the wall, a sheepskin draped across
the armrest. Deacon stops and arches his back to look up. I follow his gaze to a light hanging from the ceiling;
the globe is nestled inside a basket-like structure made from soft black timber.
I move toward the window and look out at the green scenery and small number of trees. Deacon
wanders over to the armchair, and I hear him gasp, “Wow.” When I turn around to face him, he’s brushing his
hand across the sheepskin.
I walk over and follow the direction of his eyes, and I’m in complete awe when I notice what he’s
looking at. There’s a black iron ladder mounted beside a sliding door that reveals a private ensuite. Curious, I
grab onto the ladder rail and carefully climb up, and when I reach the top, my eyes widen.
 “Holy shit.”
I look down at Deacon, who’s using sign language to ask, “What?”
I climb down the ladder slowly and then turn to face him. With my hands, I say, “There’s another
king-sized bed on top of this ensuite.”
“No way,” he replies.
I nod.
The two of us make our way back to the front of the room and sit down on the foot of the bed.
“This place is incredible,” Deacon says. “I can’t believe they’ve crammed all this stuff into this one
tiny dome. Well, obviously, it's not that tiny if it has all this stuff in it. This is unbelievable.”
It truly is a magnificent piece of architecture, and it’s quite easy to see why it’s so popular. I’ve only
ever read about these domes on the internet, and clearly the images online don’t do it justice. In real life, this
truly is breathtaking. Something else that is breathtaking, or someone rather, is Deacon Brady. He most
definitely is better looking in real life, and I didn’t expect to find myself breathing the same air as the guy,
much less sharing this large, cozy bed with him.
“I bet you didn’t think you’d ever find yourself in Iceland, did you?” I ask.
“After watching documentaries in the little spare time that I have, it’s a destination that hasn’t been
on my radar. But I must say, now that I’m here, I’m definitely glad Dante chose to film here. I mean, I haven’t
seen anything else, of course, but if these domes are anything to go by, then I don’t think I’ll be disappointed.”
I hear the excitement in his voice. I’m sure, as an actor, Deacon has had the opportunity to visit
many locations, but no doubt, there are places that he’s probably never been to before either.
“Do you mind if I ask you a question?”
“Not at all,” Deacon responds with sign language.
“Did you freak out when Dante told you I was deaf?”
“To be honest, I didn’t really have a lot of time to process the information.”
I look at him, confused. “What do you mean?”
“I only found out you were deaf about ten minutes before I met you. Dante told me in the car on the
way over here.”
“He did?”
“Yeah. And under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have found out anything about you until we
met; it’s a clause in my contract. I’m not supposed to know anything about the man I’m going to meet until
we’ve spent time getting to know one another on and off set.”
“But that’s almost like that show Married at First Sight, where the bride and groom don’t meet until
their wedding day.”
“Yeah, I guess it is in a way.”
“But Tainted Love is like The Bachelor or The Bachelorette with a gay twist.”
There’s this look in Deacon’s eyes as he sits beside me. A look of … I don’t know, perhaps I’m missing
something, and there is more to this than what I think I know.
“Why do you look so disappointed?” Deacon asks.
“Do I? I don’t mean to. It’s just, well, when I met Dante at my audition, and the way he was trying to
sell this show to me, it sounded as though it was a brand-new idea. A new, unique concept that he’d come up
with. But from the sounds of it now, he’s just ripped off ideas from other shows.”
There’s a moment’s pause, and the room fills with that awkwardness that occurs in almost every
conversation that suddenly becomes awkward very quickly. I have to wonder if maybe I have said too much
too quickly. I really need to think before I speak—it gets me into trouble almost all the time, but it’s a habit I
can’t help. Being a teacher’s aide and working with a lot of children has helped with my speech because I’m
able to talk a lot. Most of the time, I talk so fast I don’t even know I’m doing it, therefore sometimes, when I
speak, I probably don’t make sense because I haven’t really thought the words through in my head, I just say
them.
 “Dante wouldn’t rip off an idea. He’s a smart businessman who knows what he wants and goes for it.
Tainted Love is his original idea. And yes, maybe he got the concept from a high-rating show, but he’s put his own
spin on it, and that’s why it’s been so successful.”
“Original? I wouldn’t exactly call building a replica of the Titanic original. And I’ve seen the shorts
for your upcoming scenes in Greece. Mamma Mia! Seriously? That’s definitely being really original.”
Okay, so maybe I’m being a total smart-ass right now, but I’m just trying to prove a point. And
judging by the way Deacon raises his eyebrows and widens his eyes, I’ve obviously succeeded.
“Touché.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so forward, I have a habit of just rambling on without thinking.”
“You’re right though,” Deacon tells me.
“I am?”
“Yeah. Dante’s a great director, and he has an obvious obsession with remaking, or rather
reimagining movies. Even then, he still puts his own spin on it, and it’s enough to make it his. I’ll admit, he took
the Titanic obsession a tad too far, and luckily we got through it mostly unharmed. But no matter what
obstacles are thrown our way, we’ve always managed to work through them, together.”
It’s obvious Deacon has a great relationship with the director, and I suppose that’s what has made
this show such a success. I’m certainly no actor, but I’d imagine it would be much like any other job. You would
still have to get along with the people you work with to make your job, or in this case, series, a success. He
speaks very highly of the man, and I can tell that he’s very passionate about his job. He wouldn’t be here
otherwise.
“You really care about him, don’t you?”
“What makes you say that?”
“For one thing, the way you talk so passionately about him and the way your eyes light up at the
mention of his name.”
He blushes and quickly turns his head away. Then he gets to his feet and wanders over to the
window, folds his arms across his chest, and stares outside for a few long seconds before turning back to face
me.
“Dante and I have … some history. And that history has made things a little weird between us, but
I’m trying to put it behind me and concentrate on my job.”
“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”
Okay, so maybe that’s a little too forward and way too personal. But this is what I’m talking about:
the words just come out of my mouth without me thinking.
“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I was out of line. I apologize.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about. Honestly, I don’t know how I feel about the guy. It was just one
night, and one stupid mistake. I know that sounds totally cliché, but it’s the truth, and honestly, I don’t
remember a whole lot of what happened.”
This meet and greet has become a heart-to-heart very quickly. It sounds like Deacon Brady is a very
intriguing man, and I have a lot to learn about him.
“You know what’s funny?” he continues.
“What?”
“We’re supposed to spend the days leading up to filming our first scenes together, getting to know
one another, and so far, you’ve learned a hell of a lot about me, and I know basically nothing about you.”
That may be his very subtle and polite way of changing the subject, and he would have every right,
considering he makes a valid point. We’ve been here almost an hour already, and all I’ve done is practically
chew the guy’s ear off with questions about his private life. He could have easily told me to fuck off and mind
my own business, but instead, he continued to answer all my questions. That tells me that maybe he was in
need of someone to talk to and express his feelings. Or, once again, I could be reading this all completely
wrong, and I’m just blabbering.
“Yeah, I’m doing that thing again where I ramble on and on without thinking. I apologize.”
 He stares at me with that dreaded look I get from most people when they’re about to say something
that might offend me. It’s that awkward stare that feels like an eternity, but in reality, we know it’s nothing
more than a few long seconds.
“Can you please do me a favor?”
“If I can,” I respond.
“Please stop saying you’re sorry. You haven’t done anything to be sorry about. And as for the whole
talk before you think, yeah, I’m an expert at that, just ask my sister.”
I smile, and relief washes over me. The more time I spend with this guy, the more I’m beginning to
like him. We both get lost in thought for a moment, but that quickly changes when both our phones ping.
“Okay, that’s weird,” I say.
The two of us simultaneously reach for our phones.
“Dante,” we both say in unison.
I open the email that’s just dropped into my inbox and read the contents. Then when I’m finished, I
look up at Deacon who sighs and slides the phone back into his pocket.
“I suppose you’re used to those kinds of emails, huh?”
“Yeah. That’s a shooting schedule. Although, this one is quite in-depth compared to the others.
There’s so much he wants us to fit in before we break for Christmas vacation. It’s going to be a very long and
exhausting two weeks.”
“Have you worked to this kind of a deadline before?” I ask.
“I had a demanding schedule on Mind Crimes, but it was nothing like this. Six long days of filming,
sometimes eight to ten hours of back-to-back filming. And if we were shooting a wedding scene, those were
usually the longest because it’s one of the very few times the entire cast is in the same room filming together.
Lots of extras and people running around everywhere.”
“He’s only given us this weekend to look around. That doesn’t give me much time to give you a
proper tour of Iceland,” I tell him.
“We’ll be spending time together, getting to know one another, so that’s something. And I am sure
there are a lot of interesting facts about you that I’m yet to discover.”
“I wouldn’t call my life interesting,” I answer.
“Well, I find you very interesting. I’ve never had the opportunity to work with anyone who is
hearing impaired before.”
“And I have to say, I’ve never had the chance to work with someone as famous as you before.”
He scoffs.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. You’d be surprised how many times I’ve heard that.”
I would imagine many people would probably call him hot, sexy, a spunk, Mr. Dreamy, luscious,
delicious, fantastic, and every other form of endearment they could think of. For now, I think I’ll just stick with
calling him Deacon until I can get a proper assessment of his character.
“Well, seeing as we only have a few hours of daylight left, what do you say we get started on the
tour?”
He looks at his watch, then raises his head and looks at me, confused.
“It’s just after 1:00 p.m., we still have plenty of time to explore this beautiful country.”
“Ah, see, that’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Brady.”
“Deacon, please. And what do you mean?”
“It’s December. Iceland only gets about four to five hours of daylight during this time of year. By
4:00 p.m., it’s almost completely pitch-black here. Oh, and very, very cold, too.”
He gives me a smile. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. The sun usually rises by about eleven, and most people head out for brunch by noon and do
all their extracurricular activities, then head downtown for a peaceful and relaxing night out.”
Iceland is famous for its cold nights and entertainment through the months of November to January.
Every year there are a lot of celebrations going on and many tourists come to visit. The streets are filled with
markets and snow activities, and I guess for a guy like Deacon Brady who has likely had the opportunity to
travel to many corners of the globe, it’s probably nothing new to him. I’ve lived here my whole life and I still
find it fascinating. And then, of course, there are the Christmas displays—tall trees covered in tinsel and
lighting that give a spectacular display every night until New Year’s Eve.
“So how early does everyone go to bed here?” he asks.
I chuckle. “It may get dark very early, but as that saying goes, the night is still very young. Like I said,
there’s a lot to do downtown, and during the holidays, a lot of the stores stay open pretty late, so the streets are
usually filled with shoppers, tourists, and a lot of children.”
“Children?”
“Yeah, all lining up to see Santa, of course,” I reply with a smile.
“Of course,” Deacon responds.
I wander over to the window, pop my hands in my pockets, and look outside. The sky is clear, with
only a few clouds around, and there’s a light breeze, judging by how slowly the tree branches are swaying
from side to side. These domes must be very well insulated because I should be freezing right now, and I’m
not. I turn around and see Deacon put his suitcase down on the bed. He flips open the lid, and I get a glimpse of
the contents, not that I’m snooping at all, I mean, it’s open right there in front of me for anyone to see.
Everything’s lined up neatly—underwear, tees, socks—and he takes out sleepwear as I peer over his shoulder
for a closer look.
Deciding that I’ve stared at him for longer than anyone would deem appropriate, I step around him
to the opposite side of the bed and reach for my suitcase. I place my case on the mattress and flip open the lid,
revealing all my belongings neatly folded and strategically sorted. Finally, I place my boxers and black pajama
tee on the mattress, then I close my suitcase and slide it under the bed.
“Light packer?” Deacon asks.
“You could say that. I like to leave enough room in my bags for souvenirs. I live in this country, but I
am a fair few hours away from here and it’s a decent car ride. I think I’ve only ever been here once when I was
a little kid, but I don’t remember anything. So, I guess I could say that I will be experiencing it for the first
time.”
“Okay, well, let me change my clothes and then I’ll give Stefan a call to come and pick us up.”
“Stefan?”
“Our driver. Dante organizes a driver in each country so that we have means of transportation to get
around. I’ll give him a call.”
He slides his phone out of his pocket and begins pressing on the screen. “Hold on,” I interrupt.
He lowers the phone and angles his head up at me. “Something wrong?”
“No. I was just thinking it would be much nicer if we hired a snowmobile.”
“Oh, one of those sleigh things that are pulled by huskies?” Deacon laughs.
“Yeah, except these ones are fully motorized and don’t require huskies. They’re one of the most
popular forms of transportation in Iceland, and very easy to operate, I might add.”
He looks at me, impressed, then pushes his phone into his pants pocket. I take my own phone out
and dial the number for the snowmobile hire. I organize to have a two-seater snowmobile ready for us in
thirty minutes, and then another one in the morning. The operator advises that she can only give me a single-
seater for tomorrow, but it will have enough room at the back for someone else to sit. After finalizing all the
details, I thank her and disconnect the call.
“Um, what’s going on?” Deacon questions.
“I thought we’d go to the Jökulsárlón Glacial Lagoon tomorrow. It’s a very popular destination for
tourists, and I’ve always wanted to see it. It’ll be dark when we leave in the morning, but there will be enough
daylight to explore the lagoon. It’ll be too dark by the time we’re done, so I figure we could spend the night. On
the way back here, we can detour via the world-famous Blue Lagoon. The waters are amazingly warm this
time of year.”
He quirks an eyebrow and his mouth curves into a wide smile.
“It sounds like you’ve got this all figured out,” he answers.
“What can I say? I work with kids, so I’m a great organizer. And besides, after looking at our
schedules, it doesn’t seem like we have a lot of free time. This will be the perfect opportunity to get to know
one another, don’t you think?”
He nods.
I’m not normally this casual around strangers, or people I’ve only just met. Usually, my palms
sweat, I get really nervous and stumble to find my words, and I find myself resorting to sign language because
it’s easier. But somehow, Deacon has made me feel very comfortable: he’s been very welcoming, not to
mention a great listener. I don’t exactly know what’s in store for me these next two weeks, since I’ve never
done anything like this before, but I can only imagine that working with him is going to be really intense. And
I’m not that type of person who gushes over a celebrity crush—they’re just ordinary people like me. Okay, so
they may have a little more money, which would make their lives a bit easier, but fame isn’t everything. I turn
my head to Deacon and notice he’s clutching his stomach.
“What’s wrong? Are you sick?”
“No, I’m starving. I haven’t eaten anything since the plane.”
“Then we need to go downtown and get some food into you,” I say.
“That sounds like a plan. Let me just get ready and we can get out of here.”
He bends over and pulls out clothes from his suitcase, and as he lifts up one of his shirts, his eyes
connect with mine. I smile as he places it on the bed, then he hesitates for a moment and is about to say
something with his hands again, when I speak.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course,” he replies.
“Does using sign language bother you?”
There’s a rather long pause, and he doesn’t break eye contact. Then he looks down at his hands, and
back up at me. Now there’s a look of worry in his eyes.
“Not at all. Why would you say that?”
“I didn’t mean for it to come out the way it sounded. What I meant was, do you find it difficult using
sign language to communicate?”
“Absolutely not. I enjoy it, actually?”
“Oh?” I inquire.
“Yeah. I find it quite fascinating.”
That puts a smile on my face.
“Does it bother you?” he asks.
“No.”
His face lights up with a smile. “So, would it be okay with you if I continue to speak using sign
language? I’d really like to broaden my knowledge.”
“As long as you promise to let me answer you verbally. I, too, want to broaden my skills. I know
there are more words out there in the English language that I still haven’t learned, and I would really like it a
lot if you would help me discover them.”
There’s that beautiful smile again.
“I would be honored,” he replies.
Reciprocating with a smile of my own, I grab my clothes, then turn and head for the bathroom to
change for our dinner date. Well, okay … so maybe it’s not a date. But not everyone can say that they’ve had
dinner with the one and only Deacon Brady.
 IT’S EXTREMELY EARLY, BUT I’ve managed to shower, shave, and
dress in under thirty minutes, and right now we’re standing outside the
waiting area of the snowmobile hire depot. It’s so cold, and even with two
pairs of underwear, I still can’t feel my balls. When Isak said it was going to be
an early start, I didn’t think he meant 4:00 a.m. Did he not get the memo that
I’m not a morning person?
The snowmobile is booked for 4:15 a.m., then it will take us to the bus stop, where a tour bus will
pick us up and drive approximately five hours to our destination. I did a bit of Googling last night, researching
the location, and it is indeed a rather remarkable place. However, I didn’t research too far because I didn’t
want to spoil the experience of witnessing it in real life.
The snowmobile pulls up beside where we’re standing. The woman driving steps off the machine
and comes over to us. She removes her helmet and stops in front of Isak. He hands over his driver’s license and
a credit card, and the woman makes note of the numbers in a little book. After handing them back to Isak, she
thanks him, gives a smile, and then heads toward the nearby building. Isak turns to face me, giving me a wide
smile, but he says nothing. Then he gestures for me to follow him to the snowmobile.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
He leans over the back of the mobile and grabs a helmet. He hands one to me and orders me to put it
on. I take it from him as he grabs the second helmet. When it’s on and he’s buckled it up and adjusted the
strap, he places his backpack in one of the side compartments, swings one foot over the snowmobile, sits
down, and turns to me.
“Do you intend on standing there all day, freezing your nuts off?” he asks.
 I place the helmet on my head and buckle the strap tightly. I hesitantly move toward Isak and the
snowmobile.
“And just where do you propose I sit?” I inquire.
He twists his body slightly, then pats the space at the back of his seat.
“You’re not suggesting I ride on the back of that thing, are you?”
“What’s the matter, are you afraid?”
I’m fucking terrified. I’ve never even ridden on the back of a motorcycle, or a horse, or anything with less than
two wheels for that matter.
“I … ah—”
“You weren’t complaining last night.”
“That’s because there was another seat beside you for me to sit in.”
“What’s the difference?”
“The fact that I have nothing to hold onto except …”
Ohhh.
I struggle to find my words, and that’s an absolute first for me, especially when it’s not immediately
after sex or having my dick sucked.
“You can just sit behind me, slide up as close as possible, and wrap your arms around my waist. It’s
not a very long drive to the bus stop.”
Smooth, Isak. Very smooth!
I stare at him and try to think of the many reasons as to why I shouldn’t hop on the back of that
thing.
But not a single damn thing comes to mind.
“Of course, if you continue to just stand there, we may miss the bus altogether, and then we’ll never
get an opportunity to explore.”
Receiving his message loud and clear, I force my feet to move, then I swing my leg over the back of
his seat and maneuver myself forward until my crotch is pressed against the base of his spine.
“Comfortable?” he asks.
I lean forward and then move my head so that it’s beside him, almost brushing against his cheek,
and close enough so he can read my lips as I say, “No. Not really. I just need to check my wallet for ID. I don’t
want to be named John Doe in the morgue.”
He chuckles. “Just wrap your arms around my waist and hold on tight. We’ll be there before you
know it.”
I hesitate for a moment and then do as he requests. Frankly, I don’t like flying and I also don’t like
riding on the back of something that’s not enclosed and leaves me completely exposed to the open air. There
are a lot of things that scare me—I’m only human after all. With my arms wrapped firmly around his waist,
Isak starts the snowmobile and lets it idle for a few seconds. I squeeze my eyes shut, startling when we start to
move. Immediately, my heart starts racing a million miles an hour, and it pounds so loudly I swear it’s about to
rip right out of my chest. Isak drives at a relatively slow pace, and with the cool morning air brushing against
my face, I lean in closer until my helmet touches the back of his. When I turn my head to the side and peel open
my eyes, there’s not a whole lot to see, just mountains, trees, lights, and lots of ice. As we cruise along, Isak
slowly increases speed and I continue to watch the changing scenery around me. With my arms wrapped
securely around his waist and my chest pressed to his back, I feel more than hear him call out to me.
“What?” I sign.
“Are you okay back there?” he asks.
I give him a thumbs up, acknowledging that I’m fine.
We continue driving, or riding, rather, across the thick ice until some ten minutes later, we come to a
complete stop. When the engine is off, Isak removes his helmet and then twists his body around. I unclip the
buckle, then pull the helmet off my head and place it down on the hook resting above the back tread.
 “See? Nothing to worry about. We made it here in one piece.”
“How do you know how to drive one of these things?”
“I used to ride them all the time as a kid. I’ve had lots of practice.”
“So, you can drive a vehicle, even though you’re deaf?”
“I wear a cochlear.” He touches the wire-looking thing on his head. “This here is a transmitter, and
on the inside of my skin, there is a receiver. I can hear just as well with this on. But sometimes it’s not always
quite clear. The way I hear things isn’t necessarily how you might hear them. They sound very different to
anyone with a cochlear or who is hearing impaired, and I’ve learned to adjust to all the sounds over the years.
Working with children every day has also helped me recognize a lot of sounds that I’ve become used to. It’s
also the reason why I can speak so clearly but also with the help of intense speech therapy. It’s not a
permanent fix. I have to be very careful not to damage or lose it.”
“Is that why you’re not wearing it now?” I ask, through sign.
“Wearing a helmet puts a lot of pressure against my head and it gets a little painful, and I didn’t
want to risk losing or damaging it during our tour today.”
I’m learning a lot of interesting things about this guy, not to mention getting heavily educated about
the hearing impaired. Once we’re both off the bike, we proceed on foot toward the bus stop, and as we
approach, I notice several people standing there wearing jackets, scarves, gloves, and beanies. The bus pulls
up a few minutes later and slowly, everyone makes their way on. Isak and I find a vacant seat at the back and
sit down. When the last of the passengers’ board the bus, the driver closes the doors and we’re on our way.
I look around the bus—most people have headphones in their ears, some have books in their hands
and then there are others who are on their phones. I turn to Isak who’s looking out the window, and I figure
this is the perfect opportunity to have a proper talk with the guy.
“You said this was going to be a long journey, right?”
“About five or so hours, yes.”
“I think this would be as good an opportunity as any to get to know one another, don’t you think?”
He smiles. “Yes, I suppose it would.”
We stare at each other for a few very long seconds, and now that I have his attention, I can’t for the
life of me think of a conversation starter. This is definitely a first for me; normally, I have a lot to say about
something, but for reasons I can’t explain, I can’t think of a single damn thing to say to this guy.
“This is usually the part when one of us asks a question,” Isak says.
“Yes, except I don’t really know where to start,” I answer truthfully.
He raises his eyebrows, then gives me another smile and finally asks, “So, how long have you been
an actor?”
“From a very young age, actually. I played Joesph in the school play in elementary school, and then I
featured in a lot of commercials. I also had some small extra roles, appearing in background scenes of many
shows.”
“Really?”
I nod.
“What about when you got older?” Isak asks.
“I pretty much focused on school after that and didn’t really do much more acting. With the little
money I got paid from my acting gigs, my parents used it to fund my tuition. Then I went through college and
focused on my studies, and once I graduated, I started looking for proper acting roles. This went on for several
years until finally, at the age of twenty-six, I landed my big break in Mind Crimes. And the rest, as they say, is
history.”
“Wow. That sounds like a pretty impressive resume if you ask me,” Isak says.
“I’ve been around,” I say with a chuckle.
“So, Mind Crimes was the last thing you worked on before Tainted Love?”
I nod. “Although, I did briefly feature in the musical, Mamma Mia! I stepped in for Domenic Cooper to
film the dance sequences and loaned my voice for some of the musical numbers also.”
“No kidding?”
“Nope.”
There’s chatter on the bus as it continues on its journey. There’s not a whole lot to see outside
because it’s still dark, and the sun isn’t due to rise for a few more hours. Although I did manage to get to bed
relatively early last night, I’m extremely tired this morning. I don’t know if it’s delayed jet lag, or just pure
exhaustion from all the traveling I’ve been doing these past ten months. The constant changing of time zones
and seasons has most likely caught up with me and this is my body’s way of reacting to it. I can feel my eyelids
getting heavy, and I know that unless I keep this conversation going, I’m going to fall asleep very soon.
“So, what about you?” I ask, turning to look at Isak. “How long have you been a teacher’s aide?”
“After finishing high school, I studied a course online and attended a few classes in person. After
five-and-a-half years of intense speech therapy and studies, I found a job as a teacher’s aide a year later. I had
just turned twenty-five when I got the job, I’ve been there ever since.”
“And how old are you now?” I ask, intrigued.
“I’ll be thirty-six on February twenty-nine.”
“So, you’re a leap-year baby?”
“Yes. And don’t even get me started on all that technicality of me not really being thirty-six years
old.” He laughs.
“I’m not very good with numbers, I almost failed math class, so I wouldn’t even try to get into the
logistics of it all.”
That has us both laughing. I still don’t know a hell of a lot about this guy, but the more time I spend
getting to know him, the more fascinated I become with him. I don’t usually become this attached to someone
so early on in the competition, especially when there’s been no flirting or foreplay going on. And although I
happen to find this guy incredibly cute, I’m also not drawn to him sexually, which is a first.
Wait, did I just call him cute?
What the hell has come over you, Brady? That’s the first time you’ve ever referred to a guy as cute.
Shit!
“There’s a lot more I want to ask you, but we have to save some of this conversation for when we
shoot the show.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. The first couple of episodes mainly focus on the two of us getting to know one another. And I
know what you must think, why spend all this time getting to know someone when we have to do it all over
again anyway.”
“I wasn’t thinking that at all. I don’t know how these things work, but I’m sure there’s always some
logical explanation for how these film producers work. I guess that’s why they’re great at what they do, right?”
“Yes. Dante certainly knows what he’s doing, and I never question his work. No, wait, that’s not
entirely true, I’ve questioned him a lot recently. But at the end of the day, I’m still here doing this job.”
My phone pings from inside my pocket, the tone telling me I have a text message. I look at my watch
and it’s almost 5:00 a.m. Who on earth would be messaging me at this ungodly hour? I slide it out of my pocket
and see Kate’s name on the screen. I unlock the phone and read her message.

KATE: So, have you met your Icelandian yet?

Ignoring her question I quickly change the subject.

What are you doing awake at this hour? Isn’t it late there?

KATE: I can’t sleep. I got up to make myself some warm milk and was about to go back to bed when I
decided to message you.
 It’s not like Kate to not be able to sleep; she’s always been a heavy sleeper. There’s obviously
something on her mind, or something going on. I know better than to ask because she will tell me that there’s
absolutely nothing wrong with her and to stop worrying. Already knowing her reply, I ask anyway.

Kate, what’s wrong?

The bubble with three dots appears on my screen, and then a few seconds later, her reply comes
through.

KATE: Deacon, I’m fine. When are you going to learn to believe me?

Never!

KATE: Honestly, I’m fine. I promise, if there was anything wrong, I would tell you. So, what is your
new bachelor like?

This is not really a suitable time or place to be having this conversation with my sister, considering
the subject of this text is sitting right next to me.

Not a good time to discuss this right now, Kate. I’m on a bus on my way to some huge-ass frozen lake
and Mr. Iceland is sitting right beside me.

The dots appear on the screen again, and then her message.

KATE: Okay fine. But make sure you tell me every single dirty detail when you get a free second.

Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to happen.

Goodnight, sis. Try to get some sleep. Love you.

KATE: Love you too. Night xx

I lock my phone and slide it back into my pocket before resting my head against the back of the seat,
still trying to keep my eyes open. Isak opens the backpack he’s been carrying since we left the dome and
retrieves a small case. He pulls out a pair of glasses and slides them over his nose, then he swaps the case for a
rather large hardcover book.
“Heavy reading?” I ask.
“I love books. This one is really good so far.”
“What’s it about?”
“It’s an enemies-to-lovers story. I’m only about a third of the way through it and seeing as though we
still have a long drive ahead of us and neither one of us wants to ask too many questions about the other, I
figured this would be a good time to continue reading. Unless, of course, there’s something else you wanted to
know?”
“No. I can wait until we’re filming. I’m really keen to explore this lagoon, that’ll surely be enough
excitement for one day. I’m rather tired, so would you mind if I got some shut-eye while you read?”
“Not at all. I can wake you when we arrive.”
“Thanks.”
He opens the book at the place where the bookmark is inserted and begins reading. I adjust myself
in my seat until I’m as comfortable as can be, then tilt my head to the left and stare out the window. As the
scenery glides by, my eyes slowly start to close, and it doesn’t take long before I’m fast asleep.
 When the bus comes to a halt, I open my eyes to find that it’s now daylight outside and Isak is sound
asleep beside me. He still has his glasses on, and the book is open in his lap. The bus driver turns off the engine
and the chattering on the bus gets louder. Isak stirs beside me and sits up in his seat. He closes the book and
removes his glasses to rub his eyes, then places both items in his backpack. We get to our feet and slowly
shuffle with the other passengers off the bus. Everyone follows the signs that lead us to the tourist box office.
We join the long line of people waiting to purchase their tickets, and a cold gust of wind brushes across my
face, making me shiver.
The line moves rather quickly, and in no time at all, Isak and I are at the window purchasing our
tickets. I hand the woman behind the counter my credit card, and Isak places his hand on the back of mine.
“Wait, please, allow me,” he says.
“No, really, I insist,” I tell him.
I smile at the woman, who reciprocates with a smile of her own and then asks, “Would you like to
hire some Glaciers?”
“Glaciers?” I ask.
“It’s just a fancy name for snow boots. They keep your feet dry and warm and will make it so much
easier to walk on the ice and through the lagoon,” Isak says.
“Two pairs of Glaciers it is,” I tell the woman.
She types away on her keyboard before taking my credit card to finalize the transaction.
“What shoe sizes do you require?” she asks.
“About a ten and a half,” I say.
“An eight,” Isak tells her.
She reaches below the counter and then places a pair of black snow boots on top. “Ten and a half,”
she says, looking at me, and then grabs another pair. Looking at Isak, she says, “Size eight,” and places his
boots on the counter. We grab our gear and then move away to change into the boots. Isak offers to carry our
shoes in his backpack, along with my sleepwear and other minimal clothing we’ve packed, then we join the
line of people waiting for our tour guide.
 THE LAKE IS FREEZING. LUCKILY, I packed an extra pair of gloves and my snow jacket. I pull the
beanie down further so it’s covering my ears, then put on the second pair of gloves. Deacon throws the fluffy
scarf over his shoulders, tucks his jeans inside the Glacier boots and puts on a second pair of gloves. I smile as
he puts one beanie on, followed by a second over the top.
“Just a little cold, huh?” I ask.
“Freezing. It gets cold in New York but nothing like this. Even when we have heavy snowfall,” he
says.
“I’d say you get used to it but it’s not like you ever have to live here. So, all I can say is, try to rug up
as best you can and stay warm.”
“I feel like a damn marshmallow man.” He chuckles.
Well, he certainly looks the part as I’m sure I do also. I’d rather look like a marshmallow than catch
pneumonia or my death of cold. We proceed with the crowd of people to where a few snow jeeps are lined up
in a row. There’s a woman standing in front of one of them, collecting tickets from the tourists, and four people
get into each jeep. Deacon and I climb into the last one and take a seat. Deacon pulls out his phone and begins
taking photos out the window. I pull my Polaroid from my backpack and take some photos also. Once
everyone is on board, the driver starts the vehicle, and we traverse the icy road.
It’s only a very short trip to the entrance of the Jökulsárlón Glacier Lagoon. Once we’re out of the
jeep, the group walk toward another section where a different tour guide is waiting for us. One by one, he
checks tickets and when everyone arrives, he gives us a quick briefing. Then he motions to a boat that’s
docked at the edge of the lagoon. A few people step in first, then we take a seat in the middle. Once everyone is
on board, someone dressed in a uniform with a lanyard around their neck steps onto the boat. They introduce
themselves as Hank, a certified Glacier tour guide. I take my phone from my backpack and place it safely in
my lap as the boat starts moving through the lagoon. We move at a slow pace as Hank talks about the history of
the lagoon, and many of the tourists take photos.
The boat takes us on a journey through a crystal-clear lagoon. As Hank begins the presentation, I
notice Deacon fumbling through the small satchel bag he’s wearing over his shoulder. He pulls out a rather
thick book with a leather cover and a pen, places it on his lap, then opens it to where it’s marked with a
bookmark. When he flips open the page, I can see it’s filled with neat handwriting.
“You’re a novelist, too?” I ask inquisitively.
That has him laughing, “Me? A novelist? Yeah right! I can barely put two sentences together. No, this
is my journal, I’ve written in it every day since I started on Tainted Love.”
For some reason, this information has me very intrigued. The guy keeps a journal. I wonder what
things he puts in it.
Jesus, stop it. I sound like a goddamn stalker.
“What sort of things do you write in it?”
Immediately after the words leave my mouth, I want to slap myself in the face. I quickly turn away
and focus on the breathtaking ice display and try desperately not to look awkward right now. But when I hear
him start speaking, I turn to face him so I can read his lips.
“Not anything really interesting. I just document all the places I’ve been, things I’ve seen, and the
people I’ve met.”
The last part of his sentence comes out fully emphasized and I know he’s referring to all the
bachelors. But I also know he’s referring to me in this particular moment because out of the corner of my eye, I
notice him staring at me. I stop observing the ice display surrounding the boat and turn to look at him.
“I’m sorry, I had no right to ask you that. It’s none of my business.”
“Hey, it’s not like it’s a secret or anything. And it’s actually not something I used to ever do.”
“Oh?” I inquire.
“No. Right after I was fi— laid off from Mind Crimes, my life pretty much got flushed down the toilet.
Then I met Dante and was cast in Tainted Love. When Dante told me that I would be traveling to various
countries around the world, I figured it would be a great opportunity to document my travels. At least it’s
something I can look back on later in life.”
The boat continues its slow journey. Hank is still standing at the front of the boat, and I read his lips
as he begins talking about the history of the lagoon but zone out at the point when I get distracted by Deacon’s
journal again. And as Hank continues his talk, Deacon’s head suddenly turns in the man’s direction.
I watch Hank’s lips as he goes on to say, “The films A View to A Kill and Die Another Day both featured
scenes that were filmed here in Jökulsárlón. Star Wars: Rogue One, Game of Thrones, Tomb Raider, Batman Begins,
Oblivion, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, Interstellar, The Fate of the Furious, Thor: The Dark World, Captain America:
Civil War, and the Netflix series Katla were also filmed in various locations across Iceland.”
The boat turns slightly and we find ourselves drifting through an ice cave, where icebergs tower
over us, giving us breathtaking, intricate details of their shapes and colors. I shift my glance to Deacon’s
direction and find him writing in his journal. I must say, meeting him hasn’t been anything like I thought it
would be. People say you should never judge a book by its cover. But seriously, are you trying to tell me that if
you saw a book on a shelf that had a catchy title, and a naked torso of a man on the cover, you wouldn’t be the
slightest bit interested to pick it up, flip it over, and read the blurb? I know I certainly would be. And that’s
exactly how I felt about meeting Deacon for the first time. I work long hours during the day, and most times
when I get home, I’m caught up with corrections on student assignments. It’s not part of my job, but when I
started, I told Annabelle, the teacher who I aide, that I wanted to help. Usually, by the time I’m done, it’s time
for dinner, and that’s often the only time I have to watch television. When I came across Mind Crimes through
cable, that’s how I was introduced to Deacon Brady.
There was all the heavy media surrounding this man. He was stereotyped as the “heartbreaker,” a
selfish, self-centered man who thought of no one but himself and would always break your heart. Then of
course, there was his much-publicized break-up with his boyfriend, Brodie, who ended up robbing him right
under his nose. Sure, the guy may have made some seriously bad financial choices and was perhaps more
concerned about where to shove his dick, but does that make him self-centered and heartless? I know I
haven’t known him that long, but if you ask me, my first impression is that people have seriously
misunderstood him. Okay, so it’s early days yet and maybe this will come back to bite me in the butt, but how
bad can he possibly be?
Deacon waves his hand in front of my face, and I turn my head in his direction.
“A penny for your thoughts?” he asks.
“Sorry. I was just thinking.”
“What about?”
“How much I think people have seriously misjudged you.”
He raises his eyebrows, and his eyes widen.
“Care to elaborate on that?” he asks, closing his journal and giving me his full attention.
“Well, I just mean that … I think people are quick to judge others by what they read about them. I
believe that people need to meet someone in real life before they can pass judgment.”
Now I’m starting to sound like a guidance counselor.
Deacon chuckles then shifts in his seat, twisting so his body faces mine. The boat continues slowly
upstream, and all of a sudden, it’s as though all the ice around us has caved in because my surroundings seem
very tiny at the moment.
“I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me before,” Deacon says.
“Have I offended you?”
“Not at all. I guess I’m just not used to hearing it because every single person I’ve met or worked
with has always judged me based on what they’ve read in the tabloids. As a Hollywood actor, you kind of get
used to the shit that people write about you.”
“But that doesn’t make it right though,” I add.
“No, it doesn’t. But I can’t change what people say or write about me. Nor can I make them change
their perception of me.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?” I ask him.
“I can’t say it’s been easy. I mean, it has certainly made this competition a lot harder.”
“This? You mean Tainted Love?”
He nods.
“How so?” I inquire.
The boat comes to a stop. Deacon and I shift our gaze from one another and look around. We’re now
inside a large cave, totally surrounded by ice. I focus my attention on the front of the boat and try to read
Hank’s lips but miss a few words. I then turn to Deacon who looks at me.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch everything he said. He was talking too fast.”
“We can step off the boat and wander around to explore the cave. He’s saying that we’re allowed to
actually touch and taste the ice.”
Jökulsárlón is very popular among tourists. Aside from the breathtaking boat tour, the best part of
the experience is when you get the opportunity to touch and eat the ice. I know, it doesn’t quite sound right,
does it? But believe it or not, the ice is actually a magnificent creation and quite safe to eat. One by one, we all
step off the boat, and Deacon and I remove our gloves, then press our palms against the huge frozen wall.
Instead of the ice feeling hard and prickly, it’s actually soft and smooth beneath the fingers. I look around at
the other tourists as they scoop tiny patches of ice into the palms of their hands and then bring it to their lips.
Some poke out their tongues, while others take tiny bites out of it. Deacon looks at me, raising his eyebrows
and I return my glance at him, both of us obviously thinking the same thing: whether or not we actually eat this
stuff. Seeing as though there doesn’t appear to be any concerning reactions from the others, Deacon and I
scoop a small amount into our palms and take tiny bites. It’s freezing cold as it touches my tongue and melts
quickly enough that it can slide down my throat like cold water.
“It has a distinctive taste to it,” Deacon says, using his hands.
It does have a rather unique taste to it, something I can’t quite explain, it’s a combination of water
and a slight hint of sugar, almost like a glucose or sugary drink. After everyone has finished tasting the cave
wall, Hank tells us all to form a straight line, and he stands ahead of us. Deacon and I join the line of people and
put our gloves back on. We proceed to walk through the cave, and being this close to the ice as it towers over
us, everyone can really see and appreciate the exquisite detail. A lake runs downstream alongside us but what
makes this tour extraordinary is the spectacular crystal blue ice that now surrounds us.
As we walk further, Hank continues to explain the history of the cave, how it came to become so
popular, and the way it is today. We stop for a moment when Hank points to a section of the wall beside us, so
the group gathers in a circle and we all look closely, trying to work out what Hank is pointing to. I move a little
closer and squint my eyes, then notice the small crevasse, which is a rather distinctive crack in the ice, but it’s
not a crack that indicates the ice is breaking apart. The crevasse is a feature appearing in the ice structure
itself and rather magnificent, I might add.
Hank constantly reminds us to follow his instructions and directions at all times and makes sure
we’re always safe before moving forward. The further inside we get, we find ourselves in some very tight
places, and it’s a good thing I’m not claustrophobic, or I would most certainly freak the fuck out right now.
The guide takes us through another cave, much smaller than the one we’ve just come from, and not
surrounded by as much ice. However, it is still a remarkable sight all around. There aren’t as many rocks
through this one, and the lake seems to have somehow vanished, replaced by more rocks and large chunks of
ice. The amount of people standing in front of us makes it a little difficult to work out what Hank’s saying, so I
turn to Deacon.
“I can’t read his lips, there are too many people ahead of us. Is he saying anything interesting?”
“He’s just mentioned that this particular glacier takes up about twenty percent of the country.
That’s a pretty cool fact,” he says with his hands.
And yeah, that actually is pretty cool. Even as a local, I didn’t know that information.
We move along, then stop at another section of the glacier. This time, people huddle in a small circle
around a tiny lake that seems to have just appeared out of nowhere. Hank kneels down toward the front of the
group, then scoops his hand into the crystal-clear water. He assures us that the water is very safe to drink and
insists it’s the best we’ll ever taste. After he then brings his hands to his lips and sips from them, the rest of the
group follow suit, including Deacon and me.
Damn, this is good.
Hank wasn’t kidding. This is the best water I’ve ever tasted in my life, and it doesn’t even have a hint
of salt. Nothing but pure, fresh, clean water. Once we’re done sipping from the lake, Hank insists that this is the
best location in the entire cave to capture perfect photographs. Deacon pulls out his phone, while I grab my
Polaroid from my backpack, and the rest of the tourists take out their devices. One by one, we walk around the
lake, stopping to take photos from various angles. Hank breaks everyone up into pairs, then tells us that in
order to get the full experience of this tour, it’s best to visit the other two caves. But because they are much
smaller than this one, small groups of people are needed so there is room for everyone to move around easily.
It takes us about thirty minutes to fully explore the other two caves, and when we’re done, Hank
declares it’s the end of the tour and time to return to the bus for our journey back.
Once we’re out of the cave, Deacon and I return our Glaciers to the woman at the counter, and then
make our way toward the bus stop.
 After getting off the bus, I hire a snow jeep to take us to the Airbnb I rented for the night. Thankfully
it’s a short trip because I’m extremely exhausted from our adventures today. I thank the man on the snow
jeep, then Deacon and I glide over the pristine white landscape to the Airbnb and knock on the door. A woman
greets us when the door opens, and after checking in, she shows Deacon and me to our room. Although it’s still
early, it’s now dark outside, and I’m glad I prearranged some sandwiches to be delivered soon. I remove
Deacon’s boxers and tee from my backpack and lay them on the sofa bed, then take out my pajamas and place
them on the king-single bed.
“Do you mind if I shower first? I’m really tired and I’ll probably just crash once we eat. I’ve
organized for some food to be delivered shortly,” I say.
“No, of course, go right ahead.
Returning from my shower, I find Deacon sitting on the sofa bed, writing in his journal. I stay quiet
while he finishes writing, but when he looks up and notices me standing nearby, I inform him, “The shower’s
free.”
“Thanks.”
He closes his journal and tosses it to the side of the sofa bed, then gets to his feet, grabs his
sleepwear, and heads to the bathroom. I place my phone on the nightstand to charge, then pull the covers
down and slowly crawl under before tugging them back up to my chin. My eyelids get heavy, and it doesn’t
take long before I slowly drift off to sleep.
 WE’RE UP THE EARLY AGAIN the following morning, and it’s the last day Isak and I will spend
together exploring before we start shooting for the show. Although I’m used to these early mornings by now, it
would have been nice to enjoy a few more hours in bed. Knowing how hectic the filming schedule is going to be
for the next two weeks, it would have been nice to get some more rest so I’m fully relaxed for tomorrow. But I
realize that with the limited daylight hours in Iceland this time of year, we have to be up early so we can enjoy
the sun when it does come out. The last day and a half have been, well, in a word … uneventful. I say
uneventful because it hasn’t been filled with the usual drama and trouble I somehow manage to find myself in
after I first meet each bachelor. I don’t know what it is, but something about this just feels different. I can’t
quite explain it, but Isak is nothing like any of the others. I know it’s still very early days, but I have a very
good feeling in my gut about this one.
After checking us out of the Airbnb, Isak and I step outside to where there is a snow jeep waiting to
get us back to the bus. A few more passengers board and then we’re on our way. I turn my head, roll it against
the headrest and then look at Isak. He pulls out his Polaroid and places it in his lap, and it reminds me to take
out my phone and journal. The one thing I am annoyed at myself with is the fact that during these past ten or
so months, I haven’t taken nearly enough photos of my travels. This is the experience of a lifetime, traveling
around the globe, seeing all the great wonders of the world, and meeting new people. If I want to look back on
all this one day, I’m going to need to make some memories I’ll remember.
“So, we never got to finish our conversation,” Isak tells me.
“And what conversation is that?” I reply, turning to look at him.
“Back at the cave, you mentioned that everything said about you in the tabloids hasn’t made being
on Tainted Love easy. What did you mean by that?”
“Like I said, I can’t make people change their perception of me. When I came into this competition,
the world had already heard everything about Deacon Brady thanks to Mind Crimes and my much-publicized
break-up with Brodie.”
Yep, that still hurts!
 “I don’t get the opportunity to watch copious amounts of television, and to be honest, my service
provider isn’t up to scratch, so the reception can be a bit sketchy at times. So, I don’t really know a whole lot
about your personal life, and frankly, I don’t care for it. I like to make my own opinion of a person based on
what I see in them. I don’t need to read the papers or listen to what some entertainment reporter has to say
about it.”
My heart skips a beat, maybe even three, and I can feel my eyes well up with tears; that’s something
that hasn’t happened before, well, not for these reasons anyway. I’m the one who is known for breaking
people’s hearts, and somehow, Isak, this beautiful creation sitting beside me, has made me feel … appreciated
for the first time in a very long time. If this show has taught me anything, it’s that people certainly aren’t what
they seem to be. I’ve been screwed over, multiple times, and been screwed even more. And why? Because I’m
Deacon fucking Brady, the man who is known for thinking with his cock and not his heart, and thanks to that
reputation, it’s why people think of me as this obnoxious, self-centered, and heartless bastard. And I have to
tell you, it’s taken me this long to realize that I really don’t like it.
“For a guy who claims to not watch much television or know a lot about me, I’d say on the contrary.
You seem to have me down to a T.”
“I do?”
“Well, in a perfect world anyway, before my life spiraled out of control. I was just like you, a normal
person. Okay, so I wouldn’t say I was totally normal. Yes, I was a celebrity with a very high-profile reputation,
but I tried to live my life like any other ordinary person. I know you have no idea what it’s like to be a
celebrity, but what you have to understand is that we’re not the people the tabloids make us out to be.”
“I know, that’s why I told you that I would rather make my own opinion of people.”
“You’d be the first. Magazines and television stations jump at the opportunity to make a buck while
tarnishing celebrities. With all the lies and bullshit, they should cut us all checks for the number of papers we
help them sell.”
I take a look out the window, and although it’s still dark, I can see the mountain range in the
distance. The whole journey so far has been smooth, peaceful, and except for the very few people I can see
wandering the streets, it’s a pretty quiet day, with most people choosing to stay indoors while it’s dark.
“You travel the world to meet all these random strangers that you know absolutely nothing about.
That must be really daunting for you.”
That’s certainly one way to put it.
“That’s actually a very appropriate word for it. It is very daunting, actually. Not knowing where
you’re going until literally the last moment when you get to the airport, or who you’re going to meet at the
other end. It’s kind of like a blind date, you know? You agree to meet up with someone, not knowing what they
look like, and then you sit down and have a conversation with them and try to learn everything you can about
them in a few short hours. Dante was very … specific with his choice of candidates, and I’ve definitely had my
fair share of problems with some of the contestants on the show. And I’ve found myself in more trouble than
I’d like to admit.”
I feel his eyes on me, so I angle my head in his direction, and our eyes connect. Those piercing baby
blue eyes are so vibrant and sweet. I’ve done this competition long enough now to know when you meet the
right one. That sounds totally stupid, like I’m seriously committing the rest of my life to this guy, and we know
that’s not going to happen because I’m not allowed to fall in love. And to be perfectly honest, after everything
I’ve been through, I don’t think I’m ready to fall in love again. Not for a very long time anyway.
But Isak’s different. And I’m not just talking about the fact that he has a hearing impairment; it’s
something else. The way he looks at me, talks to me, and just the warm feeling I get whenever I’m around him.
He sends a tingle down my spine, and not in an erotic way like with all the others. He’s just, I don’t know,
special and unique in the best possible way.
“The audition process was certainly very scary for me.”
“It was? I’ve always wondered what exactly it was that you all had to do. I can’t imagine it would be
anything like an audition for a television show. You’re given a script and have maybe a few days to learn the
scene and the lines, and then you’re called into the studio to act in front of a camera with the person you’re in
the scene with.”
 “Really? That’s all it is?” he questions.
“Not always. Sometimes you’re only given a few hours and no information about what the scene is
about or who you’re shooting with. They just give you the script with a bunch of lines that you have to
remember and then you’re in a room with a camera and a random person, and you just have to wing it.”
“Is that how it was for Mind Crimes?”
“Not really, no. I saw the advertisement that they were looking for an actor to play the lead role. I
contacted my agent, and she said I should go for it. So, I arrived at CBS Studios, where Mind Crimes was filmed,
and went into this tiny room that was almost completely empty except for a small table, a chair, the camera, a
cameraman, Lloyd, and Tessa, the actress who played my on-screen wife.”
“That sounds super exciting,” Isak replies.
“At the time it was actually very daunting. It was the first major paid acting job I was auditioning
for.”
It’s definitely a vivid memory and one that will stay with me for many years, along with many other
moments from Mind Crimes. Thankfully I still have my awards for all the memories. Yawning, I place my hand
over my mouth, and rest my head back against the headrest but try not to close my eyes.
It’s been a couple of hours now on our journey to the Blue Lagoon. I don’t exactly know what to
expect, or what Isak has planned, for that matter. By the time we get there, the sun will be up, so I guess we’ll
be able to explore the lagoon.
I pull out my phone, then open Google and search for things to do there. It brings up some
breathtaking images and a list of what to do. The first thing I do is read through the reviews and see what
other people have to say before I begin scrolling through the search results. The most commonly mentioned
thing in the reviews is the Northern Lights, which are best viewed in the evening and predominant during the
months of October through to March. There are even guided tours that run during these times.
“You said your audition was scary. I’m sorry, I interrupted earlier and didn’t give you a chance to
explain your experience,” I prompt Isak, trying to engage in another conversation so I don’t fall asleep.
“Well, it was about a year ago. This ad came up on my Facebook feed, a new reality TV show was in
the works, and they marketed it as a gay-type bachelor show. It was an open casting call, and we had to upload
a video of ourselves. And the two major requirements were that we had to be over the age of eighteen and had
a valid passport.”
“A video?”
“Yeah. We had to say why we wanted to be on the show and pretty much sell ourselves to the
producers. I remember sitting in my office at home and recording my audition on my iPad. I then uploaded it
and hit Submit. Honestly, I didn’t really think anything of it at the time. You know, sometimes you just think
‘fuck it, I’ll upload it just for fun, what have I got to lose?’ and you convince yourself that you’ll never get
accepted anyway. Yeah, well about two weeks later, I received an email telling me I’d been accepted into the
next stage. I was flown to New York the following week and taken to a hotel room in Manhattan where I was
told to wait. I can honestly tell you, it felt like the longest wait of my life. At around 11:30 a.m., there was a
knock on my door, and when I opened it, the man standing out in the corridor introduced himself as Dante
Blaze. Said he was the creator of the new upcoming show.
“He came into my room, sat down and the two of us had a discussion. He briefly explained that I
would be taken to a private room somewhere in the hotel where it would be myself, Dante, the cameraman,
and one other person. That was really all the information I was given. He gave me two hours to prepare and
said to meet him on the ground level. Just after one-thirty that afternoon, I went to the lobby as instructed and
was escorted to a private room. It was quite big, actually, with lots of open space and a huge stage. Dante was
sitting behind a trestle table beside some other man. He told me to get up on the stage and sit down on one of
the provided chairs. I could see the two men were talking but couldn’t make out what they were saying.
“The next thing I knew, a random guy walked into the room, then up on the stage and sat in the
vacant seat beside me. When I looked down at Dante and the other man, he told me to ‘flirt and act like I was in
love with the man sitting beside me.’”
“What did you do?” I ask.
“Exactly what he asked. I turned and faced the man, stared lustfully into his eyes, and then just
went for it.”
“Went for it? You mean you kissed him?”
“Kissed, rubbed my hand up and down the inside of his thigh, tilted his head backward, then ran my
hands all over his body and practically tore his shirt off.”
Okay, now this piece of information has me twisting in my seat to face him. I’ve known this guy for
less than two days and not once in that time have I ever got the impression that he is one to make sexual
advances. Nope, even though he’s said it, I still can’t picture the guy tearing off another man’s shirt and
rubbing his hands all over him.
“That’s it?” I ask, now extremely curious as to what else Dante made these men do. I’ve never asked
him about the audition process, probably because he’s always been so secretive about the whole show. Then
there’s also the fact that he changes the subject every single time I ask about what country we’re off to next, or
what the next bachelor is like. But seeing as though Isak and I are on the subject, I figure it’s the perfect
opportunity to get some inside info.
“Well, he didn’t make us have sex on stage, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“No, that’s definitely not what I’m asking, and I can’t imagine Dante making anyone do anything like
that. Not in an audition anyway.”
“So, what can you tell me about the show?” Isak asks.
“Um, not a whole lot, actually. I mean, I’ve signed a contract and a confidentiality clause and all that
legal stuff, so I can’t say much.”
My eyes immediately scan the bus, like I’m expecting Dante or one of the crew to pop out of
nowhere and punch me for even saying this much. I think for a moment. After we finish filming in Iceland, we
only have another two destinations before the show ends. We’ve managed to keep everything confidential up
until this point, so would it really hurt to tell Isak a little?
“I actually don’t want you to say too much either, that would spoil the surprise. All I meant was does
what we see on television really happen, or is it heavily edited for the ratings?”
“Oh, believe me, everything is real. The only time there are heavy edits is when—”
I stop myself from finishing the sentence, not knowing how much Isak knows. But if my calculations
are correct, my episodes in Greece should air sometime this month, and the news about Adonis’s death has
already made headlines, so it wouldn’t be news to him.
“You heard about what happened in Greece?” I ask.
He nods. “I think so. There was this crazed fan who stabbed you and the bachelor on set. I
remember hearing about it all over the news. He was captured sometime later.”
I nod. “That’s right. Well, Adonis, the other bachelor, was tragically killed by that crazed man. We
were rushed to hospital and Dante wasn’t sure whether he should shut down production temporarily or cancel
the show. After meeting with Adonis’s family, they gave Dante their blessing to continue the show and recast
Adonis’s identical twin brother, Apollo, to finish the final scenes so that the show could still go to air as
planned. To the naked eye, you couldn’t tell them apart. But I’d already spent a lot of time with Adonis, so I
knew his qualities and differences. It was perhaps the hardest episode I’ve had to film. I was fresh out of
hospital, my wounds still healing, and Dante had the two of us film the final scenes in a lighthouse, sitting on
chairs and overlooking the ocean. It was the only way we could finish filming without making it too strenuous
for me, and not fall further behind schedule. I wouldn’t say it was a heavy edit, but it was the only time where
Dante had to do some trick camera work to make it look authentic enough so that viewers couldn’t tell that
Apollo had taken Adonis’s place.”
I still recall that moment like it was yesterday. Sitting in that lighthouse with Apollo, filming those
final moments, and trying desperately not to break down and just get through it. I remember when we
finished the farewell breakfast, I went to Adonis’s grave and left the rose on his tombstone.
The hairs on my body stand up, and I get a shiver down my spine at the memory of that horrific
ordeal.
“That must have been really hard for you all.”
“It was. But we got through it, and as they say, ‘the show must go on,’ and it certainly did.”
 The bus continues its journey and Isak and I don’t really say much else, and the longer I stay quiet,
the heavier my eyelids get. With the gentle vibration beneath my butt and feet, I tilt my head back, and soon
enough, I’m fast asleep.
We come to a halt sometime later. I slowly open my eyes, blinking several times, and then yawn.
The driver opens the doors and one by one, people start to disembark. Once outside, Isak and I find ourselves
standing on a stone path, and directly in front of us is a white sign with ‘Blue Lagoon, Iceland’ printed in blue
lettering. I reach for my phone and take a few photos from different angles. Then Isak takes my phone and
tells me to stand under the sign so he can get a photo. We then switch, and I use his camera to take some of
him. When I’m done, Isak stops a woman walking past us and asks her to take our picture. She grabs the
camera from him, and we stand underneath the sign. As I look at the woman, I feel Isak wrap his arm around
my waist, and he pulls himself closer. Relaxing my stance, I wrap my arm around his waist and snuggle up next
to him. We both smile at the camera and the woman takes a few snaps for us. Isak thanks her as she passes the
camera back.
Slowly, we make our way up a path toward the entrance of the lagoon, and I take some photos of the
surroundings. The sun is out, but it is very cold, and I lift the collar of my shirt as we continue walking up the
path. When we get to the end of the path, there is a line of people waiting by the entrance. The line moves
rather quickly and before long, we are inside one of the buildings. The sign by the reception desk reads The
Retreat Hotel, and there is a man standing on the other side of the counter.
“Reservation?” he asks.
“No, we don’t have a reservation. Do you have any rooms available for the night?” Isak asks.
The man types at the keyboard and then looks up at us with a smile. “I have a double room
available.”
“Perfect. Thank you,” Isak acknowledges. “Could we please purchase two of your Premium
packages?”
When the man acknowledges the request with a smile, Isak hands him identification, and we wait
until the paperwork is placed on the counter for Isak to sign. We are handed two cards, wristbands, and a
coupon each. I flip the coupon over and see that it’s for the Lava Restaurant, offering us a three-course meal
each.
“What are the wristbands for?” I ask.
“You wear them until we leave. They give access to the lockers, the changing rooms, and you can use
them to purchase additional drinks and other things.”
After declining the offer of a bellboy, we’re pointed in the direction of our room and head toward it.
“The Premium package? That sounds expensive,” I say, putting on the wristband.
“When you’re on vacation, there is no such thing as expensive. There’s no limit to living a luxurious
life and sparing no expense. And besides, Dante told me to keep all my receipts and I would be fully
reimbursed, so technically he’s paying for this.” Isak secures his own wristband.
“Oh, he did, did he?”
And that’s typical of Dante, always paying for everything. I mean, we are here because of him, so it
would make sense that he pays. It’s not long before we reach our suite. Isak places his card in the reader and
the door unlocks. As we step inside, my eyes immediately widen at the phenomenal view.
“Wow,” I say, walking toward the floor-to-ceiling window and staring. Blue waters surround the
entire hotel, occupied by a spectacular rock display, traveling the length of the waters around the hotel. This is
magnificent on another level. I tear my eyes from it for a moment as Isak places his backpack down on the
king-sized bed, which dominates the center of the room.
“Do you like it?”
“Like? Like isn’t the word I’d use; this is incredible.”
“Well, we only have one night here, so I figure we could make the most of everything this resort has
to offer before we have to leave.”
“Oh?” I wander over to him and sit on the bed. “And what exactly did you have in mind?” I ask.
He moves toward the bathroom, then switches on the light and disappears inside. He emerges a few
seconds later, holding two bathrobes, and blue flip-flops, then he places them on the bed.
“I think the naked swim-up bar would be a good place to start.”
“Naked?” I ask, horrified.
“Well … yes. It’s very common here. And besides, we haven’t packed any swimwear.”
My eyes widen. However, he does have a point about not having packed any swimwear.
“I guess I’m up for that challenge, as long as you don’t feel uncomfortable being naked around me?”
“It’s a naked spa, everyone is going to be naked. Then afterward we could head to either the volcano
scrub or the silica mud mask for some pampering before lunch.”
“Mud mask? You mean where you actually cover your face with mud?” I say.
“Yeah. You’ve never seen one of those before?”
“Not in real life, no. I’ve never been to one, I mean. I’ve only ever seen them advertised on the
television.”
“Oh well, I can assure you they are much more fun in person.” He smiles.
“Sounds like a plan,” I tell him.
I collect one of the robes and a pair of flip-flops, then make my way to the bathroom and shut the
door behind me. I strip out of everything except my boxers, then put on the robe and secure it with a tight
knot. When I step out of the bathroom, I find Isak already in his robe and flip-flops, sitting on the bed.
“I figured I’d just change out here. No use wasting precious time.”
Yes, time is certainly precious, indeed.
“Shall we get going then?” I ask him.
He gets off the bed, then we each grab a towel from the closet and fling it over our shoulders.
Outside, we follow the timber decking until we come to the area where people are enjoying the luxurious spa.
Two women greet us, then lead us to a pair of massage tables. We’re told to remove our robes and lie down
with our heads facing the hole. The women then get to work on our backs. My muscles are stiff all over from
being seated for so long, and the pressure of her hands and fingers massaging deep into my skin is a welcome
relief.
After our soothing massages, Isak and I head to the waterfall area where the silica mud mask is kept
in wooden barrels. We can apply the mud ourselves with ladles, however, we are also given the option if we
want someone else to do it for us. Inside one of the buildings, we are immediately greeted by a man and a
woman who take us to a room where several chairs are lined up in a row, each with a small table beside it. On
each table there are two buckets, the first filled with mud, and the second with water with a cloth beside it.
The woman takes Isak to the first vacant chair, while the man leads me to the one next to Isak. I make myself
comfortable, then turn my head and watch Isak positioning himself in his chair. The woman washes her hands
in the sink, then makes her way over to Isak and sits in the empty seat next to him. The man who escorted me
mirrors her actions and settles in the chair beside me. He picks up the cloth, soaks it in the bucket of water,
then wrings it out and gently wipes my face. They tell us this part is for cleaning the skin in preparation for the
mud treatment.
After my face is cleansed with water, the man, who has now introduced himself as William, places
his hands inside the bucket and scoops out a handful of mud. He carefully smears it across my face, making
sure to get every bit of exposed skin, then he tells me to close my eyes and my eyelids are covered with mud. I
have to keep them closed for a few minutes while he plasters the rest of my face with mud. I tilt my head
backward, resting it against the chair, and when he tells me to open my eyes a few minutes later, I turn to my
right where the woman is finishing off covering Isak’s face. He rests his head back against the chair and then
opens his eyes. He quickly turns to face me and when our eyes connect, we can’t help but chuckle. When we’re
done, we’re advised to let the mud harden to ensure the best possible result, and only then can we clean it off.
William tells us that if we wish to have a spa treatment or use the pool, our heads are to stay above water until
the mud hardens.
Isak and I head to the swim-up bar, remove our robes, and boxers, then lower into the pool. It’s
literally what it sounds like: a bar that’s inside a pool, and you can swim up to it, place your order, then enjoy
your drink while relaxing in the water. I order two cocktails for us, and once they’re done, the bartender
places them on the bar adjacent to the pool. I hand one to Isak and grab the other one for myself. I raise the
glass in cheers, then take a sip through the straw.
“Ahhh, this is the life. I could certainly get used to this,” I say, leaning against the bar.
“I take it you don’t get the opportunity to relax much?”
“With my demanding schedule, I don’t have the opportunity to do much at all. And if I’m being
perfectly honest, this is probably the most relaxing I’ve done since starting the show.”
That’s certainly the truth. For the past twelve months, it has just been country after country, city
after city, and drama after drama. I haven’t felt so free and relaxed in a very long time. I never even got this
sort of an opportunity on Mind Crimes because I was working six days a week, with long hours and late nights.
By the time I got home, if I wasn’t having sex with Brodie, I usually crashed the minute I stepped out of the
shower and crawled into bed. And, given recent events, I’ve successfully managed to secure the title of
manwhore, and that’s no thanks to myself. Yet, the minute I lay eyes on this guy standing next to me, every
sexual desire is erased from my mind.
Jesus, Brady, what the fuck is wrong with you? Am I seriously broken?
“Do you ever watch yourself?” Isak asks.
“On television?”
He nods.
“Not, recently, no. I only ever watched Mind Crimes every now and then when I was with—my ex. We
had this thing where—”
“What you do in your private time is your business, Deacon. I don’t need to know the details.”
Who is this guy?
“If you’re asking whether or not I’ve watched Tainted Love, I’ve seen a few episodes, yes. But I don’t
really like watching myself on television.”
“You don’t? Why not?”
“Because I don’t think I’m a very good actor.”
“But haven’t you won countless Emmys?”
“Touché, Isak. Touché.”
“Sorry, I don’t mean to be a smart-ass.”
“Isak?” I stare into his eyes. “I’m fucking with you,” I tell him and take another sip of my drink.
I have to say one thing, this is probably the longest conversation I’ve had with a contestant without a
cock in someone’s throat. Isak is so sweet and wonderfully different from the rest of them, and there’s no way
I could ever take advantage of him … I don’t want to take advantage of him. We continue sipping on our
cocktails, and when we’re done, the bartender tells us we can use our additional drink package to purchase
more alcohol. I can feel the mud hardening on my face and when I turn to look at Isak, I can see his mud has
changed to a slightly lighter brown.
It’s been an hour since we got in the pool, and after concluding that we don’t want anything more to
drink, Isak and I decide to head to the Lava Restaurant to enjoy a nice lunch. We make our way out of the pool
and back to our hotel where we clean the mud off our faces. I don’t have a spare pair of boxers with me, so I
quickly wash the ones I was wearing in the bathroom sink and wring them tight to squeeze out as much water
as I can, then hang them on the towel rack. I do the same with yesterday’s underwear, then after I’ve wrung as
much water out of them as I can, I put them back on. When I step out of the bathroom, securing my robe with a
tight knot at the front, I find Isak sitting on the bed again, running his fingers through his hair, giving it that
messy, but stylish look.
“Um, I don’t have a change of clothes to wear to the restaurant,” I say.
“You don’t need them.”
“Huh?” I look at him, confused.
“That’s the beauty of this place. The idea is that guests dine in the restaurant in their robes,” he tells
me.
 I look at him, horrified. “You’re joking, right?”
“No. It’s actually what all the tourists do. They wear their robes to the restaurant and enjoy their
meal. It adds to the entire experience.”
Okay, I can’t say I’ve done anything quite this spontaneous before. Isak does live here, so he would
know the place a whole lot better than me. And I can’t imagine that he would risk embarrassing both of us by
attending a restaurant in just our robes. It’s only a short walk from the hotel doors to the restaurant. One of
the wait staff greets us and escorts us to a seat near the window. From this angle, the amazing view of the
lagoon looks more like a valley of crystal-clear blue waters, but I’m guessing that’s kind of the point of the
entire experience.
We get through our two courses and then our dessert and coffee order is taken. With my gaze
focused on the beautiful crystal waters surrounding us, I place my hand under my chin, and rest my elbow on
the table.
“You’re very quiet, are you not enjoying yourself?” Isak asks from across the table.
“Hmm? Oh, sorry, I’m just admiring this gorgeous view and enjoying the company.”
“You didn’t say a word all through lunch. Is everything okay?”
For once, everything is actually perfect.
I turn away from the window and focus my attention on him. “Everything is … well, perfect, actually.
Probably the best it’s been in a really long time.”
“Oh?”
“Isak. I don’t exactly know how to say this without sounding, I don’t know, forward. But the truth of
the matter is, ever since I met you it’s like I’m a totally different person.”
“How so?”
“I don’t think you want me to answer that question,” I say, turning away to look back out the
window.
“Deacon. Something is clearly on your mind. I know we haven’t known each other very long, but I’d
at least hope you’d trust me enough by now.”
That’s just the problem. I find myself falling into a trap with each bachelor, right before we start
filming. Except for a couple of exceptions. I don’t exactly want to tell Isak that.
“Deacon?”
His voice cuts through my thoughts.
“Since I met you, I haven’t thought about sex or wanting to take serious advantage of you. I don’t
know how to say this but it’s like you’ve … changed me,” I tell him.
That sounds totally stupid, even to me. But there’s no simpler way to put it, it’s the truth. And it’s not
just Tainted Love; Isak is completely different to anyone I have ever worked with. Admittedly, I never had to
sleep with men on Mind Crimes, but that was because Tessa and I played a wealthy, married couple.
How the hell can a guy have that much power to completely change me?
“I guess I should take that as a compliment,” Isak replies, sounding unsure of himself.
“I guess you could. Seriously, Isak you’ve changed me. God, if only my sister could see me now.”
The thought of Kate, and the conversation we would be having right now swirls through my mind,
and I can practically see the look plastered all over her face.
“Why do you do that?” he asks.
“Do what?”
“Make yourself out to sound like an asshole.”
“Um, maybe because … I am.”
“Wasn’t I just saying to you yesterday that people have seriously misjudged you? That also includes
you, Deacon. You need to stop being so hard on yourself.”
“Being hard on myself? Isak, you’re the first guy I haven’t wanted to jump in bed with.”
 I love the fact that I can be so open and forward with this guy, but I wish he would also stop being so
damn nice and polite. I want him to tell me that I am who the whole world knows me to be. The heartbreaking
manwhore.
The waitress returns with our dessert and coffees, and she places them down on the table in front of
us. There were too many dessert options to choose from, so we settled for the carrot cake. And as I stare down
at the magnificent creation on my plate, I can’t wait to devour the decadent-looking thing I take a sip of my
coffee, then grab my dessert spoon and break off a piece of cake, scoop it through the vanilla ice cream and
blueberries, then place it into my mouth.
Holy shit, this is delicious.
“Can I be honest with you?” Isak suddenly says from across the table.
“You mean, you haven’t been honest with me since we’ve met?” I say, before putting more food into
my mouth.
He chuckles. “Now you are being a smart-ass. What I meant was, people already have this
perception of you. It’s wrong, but it’s there regardless. Don’t give people more of an opportunity to slander you
when there’s no need for it. Like I said, I don’t know much about your past, and I don’t care for it. But from
where I’m sitting, I see nothing but a kind and caring man who is dedicated to his job.”
I actually think I am going to cry. This is the nicest thing any of these contestants have said to me.
Even when I was having a serious heart-to-heart with Dante, he never complimented me like this. And I know
that situation was extremely awkward for both of us given what had happened, but honestly, I don’t think I’ve
ever heard so many nice things being said about me in … forever!
“You’re a pretty remarkable guy yourself, Isak.”
“Remarkable? I wouldn’t exactly say that.”
I certainly would.
We take our time with dessert and don’t say very much at all. Instead, we quietly enjoy each other’s
company. As I glance out the window, I can see that it is already starting to get dark. The display on my watch
reads just after 3:15 p.m. I hadn’t noticed just how quickly time slipped away from us today. But I guess that
happens when you’re in good company and thoroughly enjoying yourself.
“Somewhere you need to be?” Isak asks.
“No, not at all. I just didn’t realize how quickly the time has gone.”
“Yeah, time kind of flies by when you’re enjoying a view like this. The bus isn’t due to pick us up for
a few more hours, so I thought we could head back to the hotel, quickly change and then spend the evening
admiring the Northern Lights.”
I angle my head up at him and give him an inquisitive look. “Northern Lights?”
“Yeah, we also call them the aurora borealis. It’s a spectacular display, especially this time of year,
that lights up the night sky. The Blue Lagoon is actually the best place to observe it.”
The one thing I regret is never brushing up on my history, especially after visiting all the beautiful
places in the world, like Iceland. There are so many things that I’ve learned in my travels, but it would have
been better to know a little more about each place prior to visiting them so I had the opportunity to explore
more of their great wonders. Of course, it doesn’t help that Dante doesn’t tell me where we’re going until
literally the last second, when we’re at the airport and boarding the plane.
“Sounds amazing,” I say.
The waitress returns to the table. She clears our plates away, and I take one last sip of my drink,
then place the glass back on the table. Isak and I get to our feet and start heading toward the exit. I then scan
the restaurant and I realize how many people there are, all of them dressed in their white robes. And now it
doesn’t seem that weird being dressed like this. A few heads turn in my direction but not a single person gasps
or gives me the ‘That’s Deacon Brady’ look. And you know what? It’s actually a welcome relief being able to sit
and enjoy a meal without being accosted by fans wanting a photo or your autograph.
Once outside the restaurant, I notice it’s gotten rather cold since we entered, so I cinch the robe
around me a little tighter, making it snugger, and hold it shut. Once we’re back in the room, I let Isak use the
bathroom first and get comfortable on the bed. I pull my phone from my pocket and punch in Kate’s number to
send her a text.

Hey, I just wanted to send you a quick message and see how you are, and let you know that things
are going great. Message me when you get the chance.

I hit Send and place the phone down beside me on the bed. Almost instantly, I feel it buzzing, and
look down to see a FaceTime call from my sister. I pick up the phone and tap Accept.

“Do you just hold your phone tightly and pray that I call you?” I say with a chuckle.
“When you’re traveling the world and spending time with delicious looking men, absolutely. So, tell
me, what’s he like?”
“I can’t talk for long, he’s in the shower.”
“And you’re not in there joining him? Are you ill?”
“Very funny. Kate, there’s just something about this one that feels, I don’t know … different.”
“What do you mean different? He’s a guy with a dick, isn’t he?”
“Stop being such a perverted bitch. He’s not like any of the others I’ve met.”
“In what way?”
“He’s very unique and I’m finding myself increasingly intrigued by him the more time I spend with
him. And unlike all the others he’s the first guy I haven’t wanted to have sex with.”
I see her eyes practically pop out of their sockets, and her mouth drops open, her jaw almost falling
to the floor.
“Have you lost your mojo? You sound nothing like the Deacon Brady I know. A sex—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence. Kate, I’m telling you he’s—”
My conversation is cut short when I hear the water in the shower stop. “I have to go, he’s getting out
of the shower.”
“He’s deaf. He can’t hear our conversation.”
Bitch has a point.
“True. But it’s rude to speak on the phone when there’s someone else in the room,” I say, with a
quick comeback.
“Yeah, yeah. This conversation isn’t over, little brother. I want details. I want you to call me the
minute—no, the second you can talk.”
“Yeah, yeah. Bye, sis.”
“Bye.”
I end the video and place the phone on the nightstand, plugging it into the charger, then the
bathroom door opens and Isak steps outside. The towel is wrapped around his waist, water dripping from his
hair down his bare chest. I can see the steam coming from his body, and there’s a gold necklace around his
neck, something I haven’t noticed until now. Although not very defined, there’s definitely the outline of a six-
pack stretching down his torso. Small but noticeable biceps with that sexy hint of the veins protruding out of
them but not too much to make him look like an intense bodybuilder. And his pecs are very well defined with
perfectly shaped nipples on each. I lower my eyes to his belly button and explore the treasure trail from it that
disappears beneath the towel.
The guy definitely keeps in shape.
It’s the first time I’ve appraised him since arriving; granted, it’s the first time he’s ever walked into a
room wearing only a towel. In this situation, I would normally continue to ogle a man who is standing in front
of me, bare-chested and parading around in nothing but a towel. Instead, tonight, I simply look up at him, give
him my biggest smile and ask, “Are you done with the shower?”
He smiles in acknowledgment and nods, then walks to the other side of the bed and opens his
backpack. I get to my feet and quickly head into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. For several long
minutes, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I don’t say anything, I don’t even think anything. I just look at
the man staring back at me, and for the first time in my life, I do something that I’ve never done when I look at
myself in the mirror. Smile.

It’s almost dark by the time we leave the hotel suite. I’m dressed in my jeans, a shirt, sneakers,
gloves, and beanie, with a scarf hanging loosely around my neck. We’re both still full after a very satisfying
lunch, so we decide on two extra hot, hot chocolates for beverages as we make our way toward the Northern
Lights viewing area. As we walk, I can see the sparkling, emerald-green sky, and that’s literally what it looks
like: shining emeralds lit up in the sky. As we get closer to the viewing area, I look around and see moss-
covered lava fields and surprisingly, there is next to no light pollution.
“Wow. This is incredible,” I say.
“It most certainly is. It’s one of the most popular tourist attractions in Iceland.”
“I can definitely see why.”
There are a lot of people ahead of us, all standing around in small groups, staring up at the
magnificent sky. We find a place where we can sit and then make ourselves comfortable. As it gets darker, the
lights in the sky become brighter and brighter, putting on a tremendous exhibition for everyone to see.
“Are you cold?” I hear Isak ask.
“I guess I should be freezing, but I’m not,” I reply.
You certainly don’t see anything this beautiful back home, and again it’s one of the many wonders of
the world that I never even knew existed. I’ve spent a lot of my time in front of the camera, getting paid to be
someone I’m not. Yes, it’s a job, but when I’m missing out on opportunities like this, I have to ask myself is it all
even worth it? I don’t know, maybe I’m just saying all this because since starting this journey around the globe,
this is the first time I’m beginning to appreciate everything that I’m missing out on. And maybe that’s because
I’ve met this guy who has completely changed the dynamic of things.
We spend, I don’t know, a few hours admiring the display, and now I am finding myself getting
extremely tired. These past forty-eight hours have been jam-packed full of excitement, touring, and great
company, and I know that from tomorrow, the next two weeks are going to be just as crazy busy. As much as I
do miss being in front of the camera, I’m not ready to start filming intimate scenes with this guy, when I know
that they’re going to be fake. And normally, I wouldn’t care because it’s my job, but I’m not sure I want to put
Isak through all that or if he’s even ready for it.
 By 10:30 p.m. we’re back at the domes, and I’m so tired, I barely have the energy to take my clothes
off. But when I finally strip out of them and change into my boxers and a tee, Isak has already climbed the
ladder and is in the room on top of the ensuite. There’s a click when the lamp is switched off and I hear his
footsteps, and when all goes quiet, I can only assume he’s crawled into bed. Yawning, I crawl into my own bed
and pull up the covers, then place my phone on the nightstand and turn off the light.
“Goodnight, Deacon,” I hear Isak say in a loud whisper from above the ensuite.
“Sweet dreams, Isak,” I reply with a smile, even though I know he can’t hear me.
And within a few minutes, I’m fast asleep.
 I COULD NEVER UNDERSTAND HOW actors and celebrities looked so good on camera or the red
carpet whenever they appeared at premieres, until now. My face is covered in layers of foundation, my hair is
full of hairspray, and as for these clothes, well, it’s nice to have someone else dress me for a change. I really do
feel like a celebrity at the moment. Dante had us both up at four this morning, with the limited hours of
daylight this time of year, he wanted us ready so we could start filming as early as possible to make the most of
whatever daylight we have. I’ve had three people help dress me, put on my makeup, and fix my hair. That’s
when I knew shit was starting to get real. The crew have Deacon and I in separate rooms, and it’s probably
because they don’t want us to see what the other looks like before we go out in front of the camera.
Actors!
They’re all such perfectionists, and don’t get me wrong, I can definitely see why there’s all this hype
about everything being confidential, the secrecy and all these lengthy contracts and clauses that they make
you sign before you record anything. I’ve spent the last hour going over the briefing that Dante left in the
dressing room for me to read thoroughly, he told me to make some notes in case I had any questions for him
when he returned. There are a lot of thoughts running through my mind at the moment but surprisingly, the
one thing, more than anything, that I thought I would feel, I don’t.
Nervousness.
In fact, I actually feel kind of excited about all of this, and maybe that sounds kind of weird,
considering I’ve never even been in front of a camera before. The truth is though, after spending these past
couple of days with Deacon, I can honestly say he’s made this entire process stress-free. Other than the
occasional whisper from the makeup crew, there’s silence in the room, and all I can do is sit and nod in
appreciation as I let them beautify me. Although, I’m not sure how much of me there is left to beautify when
almost every part of my face is covered with foundation and other forms of cosmetics. We’re in a hotel at the
Blue Lagoon, where Dante’s booked a few of the rooms, and completely transformed them into a movie set.
Food, chairs, cameras, microphones, curtains, makeup, costumes, props, papers, and people in almost every
direction I look.
 I take the opportunity to read through the briefing one more time, and Dante certainly wasn’t
kidding when he said the next two weeks would be jam-packed with filming. Ten- and twelve-hour days of
straight shooting, and I can see that he has us back at the Jökulsárlón Glacier for filming. At least Deacon and I
had the opportunity to explore both places and get a feel for them, so I hope it will make filming our scenes
there a lot easier. According to the briefing, there are a lot of scenes that require Deacon and I to be all up close
and cozy with one another. And yeah, while I knew that sort of thing was possible, given the type of show this
is, I’m not sure how I feel about being all touchy-feely with him after spending two full days doing almost the
complete opposite. I know it’s only acting, and all a show for the cameras, and I will definitely do my absolute
best to make sure I am as convincing as he wants me to be. But I’m just not sure I can convince myself that I
have what it takes to fake it.
Deacon has been misrepresented as this … asshole guy, when instead, he has been nothing but a
sweet, charming, and caring man the last two days. He’s a professional and has been acting for many years, so
it’s natural for him to play any character. I don’t get what the big deal is though. Yes, I’ve had brief glimpses of
his body while watching him on television but is that all there is to a guy, his looks? The size of his … package? I
don’t think so. I’m most certainly no virgin but I also have no desire to jump into bed with this guy and fuck the
ever-loving daylights out of him. And he certainly hasn’t given me the indication that he wants to bend me
over a bed and fuck me doggy-style. Well, not that I’ve caught onto anyway. Perhaps I’m overthinking all this
and reading way too much into everything. Like I said, Deacon is a professional and I’m sure he knows his
boundaries. Maybe he doesn’t like boundaries, but he can do them, surely.
When the woman adjusting my hair gives me the all-clear to move, I get to my feet and wander
across to the other side of the room. There’s a row of trestle tables aligned in a single row, each of them draped
with a white cloth and covered with food. Lots and lots of food as far as the eye can see, as they say. Boy, the
catering department really ensures that you don’t starve while at work. I grab a bread roll, slice it in half, and
fill it with some cheese, ham, and tomato, then eat it as I pace up and down the room while reading through the
briefing. Most of it is pretty straight forward and easy to understand, and then there are other sections that I’m
not quite sure about.
“You look like I did on my first day on set.”
I jump in fright and turn around to find Deacon standing behind me. “Hi,” I say.
I lower the papers and I notice him eye me from head to foot.
“Wow! You look, absolutely incredible.”
“Thanks. These makeup artists and wardrobe department people really know what they’re doing.”
I’ll admit, it’s the most dressed up I’ve ever been for anything. And although it feels kind of weird, I
do like the attention I’m getting.
“You look great, too,” I say, observing his attire.
“This? Oh, it’s just something they threw together.” He chuckles, checking himself out.
I look at the time—there’s still about forty minutes before Dante comes knocking on the door.
Taking a bite of my roll, I look back down at the papers in my hand and then angle my eyes up at Deacon.
“I know that look, what is he making you do?”
“Hmm? Oh, it’s nothing, really.”
“Except it obviously is.”
I don’t want to cause a scene or make it appear like I’m not cooperative, but Deacon’s been doing
this a long time. He’ll be able to see all the signs. I look around the room, and most people have already left
except the cameraman and a couple of others wandering around, adjusting all the props in the room. I take a
seat in one of the chairs and place the papers on the table. Deacon takes the seat opposite and stares at me.
“What is it? You look so freaked out right now.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just—” I look down at the documents and spread them out. “It says here that we’re
supposed to kiss.”
I point to the section in question.
“Yeah, I read that. Is that going to be a problem for you?”
I’m not exactly sure problem is the right word to use in this situation. I knew there would be
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
corner with some object which Jane could not distinguish in the dim
light.
“What have you got there, dear?” she asked.
“Wah,” said little Braid, a child of few words, proceeding with his
activities.
Jane rose and walked across the room. A sudden feeling had
come to her, the remorseful feeling that for some time now she had
been neglecting the child. How seldom nowadays did she trouble to
join in his pastimes!
“Let mother play too,” she said, gently. “What are you playing?
Trains?”
“Golf.”
Jane uttered a sharp exclamation. With a keen pang she saw that
what the child had got hold of was William’s spare mashie. So he
had left it behind after all! Since the night of his departure it must
have been lying unnoticed behind some chair or sofa.
For a moment the only sensation Jane felt was an accentuation of
that desolate feeling which had been with her all day. How many a
time had she stood by William and watched him foozle with this club!
Inextricably associated with him it was, and her eyes filled with
sudden tears. And then she was abruptly conscious of a new, a more
violent emotion, something akin to panic fear. She blinked, hoping
against hope that she had been mistaken. But no. When she opened
her eyes and looked again she saw what she had seen before.
The child was holding the mashie all wrong.
“Braid!” gasped Jane in an agony.
All the mother-love in her was shrieking at her, reproaching her.
She realised now how paltry, how greedily self-centred she had
been. Thinking only of her own pleasures, how sorely she had
neglected her duty as a mother! Long ere this, had she been worthy
of that sacred relation, she would have been brooding over her child,
teaching him at her knee the correct Vardon grip, shielding him from
bad habits, seeing to it that he did not get his hands in front of the
ball, putting him on the right path as regarded the slow back-swing.
But, absorbed in herself, she had sacrificed him to her shallow
ambitions. And now there he was, grasping the club as if it had been
a spade and scooping with it like one of those twenty-four handicap
men whom the hot weather brings out on seaside links.
She shuddered to the very depths of her soul. Before her eyes
there rose a vision of her son, grown to manhood, reproaching her.
“If you had but taught me the facts of life when I was a child, mother,”
she seemed to hear him say, “I would not now be going round in a
hundred and twenty, rising to a hundred and forty in anything like a
high wind.”
She snatched the club from his hands with a passionate cry. And
at this precise moment in came Rodney Spelvin, all ready for tea.
“Ah, little one!” said Rodney Spelvin, gaily.
Something in her appearance must have startled him, for he
stopped and looked at her with concern.
“Are you ill?” he asked.
Jane pulled herself together with an effort.
“No, quite well. Ha, ha!” she replied, hysterically.
She stared at him wildly, as she might have stared at a caterpillar
in her salad. If it had not been for this man, she felt, she would have
been with William in their snug little cottage, a happy wife. If it had
not been for this man, her only child would have been laying the
foundations of a correct swing under the eyes of a conscientious pro.
If it had not been for this man—She waved him distractedly to the
door.
“Good-bye,” she said. “Thank you so much for calling.”
Rodney Spelvin gaped. This had been the quickest and most
tealess tea-party he had ever assisted at.
“You want me to go?” he said, incredulously.
“Yes, go! go!”
 Rodney Spelvin cast a wistful glance at the gate-leg table. He had
had a light lunch, and the sight of the seed-cake affected him deeply.
But there seemed nothing to be done. He moved reluctantly to the
door.
“Well, good-bye,” he said. “Thanks for a very pleasant afternoon.”
“So glad to have seen you,” said Jane, mechanically.
The door closed. Jane returned to her thoughts. But she was not
alone for long. A few minutes later there entered the female cubist
painter from downstairs, a manly young woman with whom she had
become fairly intimate.
“Oh, Bates, old chap!” said the cubist painter.
Jane looked up.
“Yes, Osbaldistone?”
“Just came in to borrow a cigarette. Used up all mine.”
“So have I, I’m afraid.”
“Too bad. Oh, well,” said Miss Osbaldistone, resignedly, “I suppose
I’ll have to go out and get wet. I wish I had had the sense to stop
Rodney Spelvin and send him. I met him on the stairs.”
“Yes, he was in here just now,” said Jane.
Miss Osbaldistone laughed in her hearty manly way.
“Good boy, Rodney,” she said, “but too smooth for my taste. A little
too ready with the salve.”
“Yes?” said Jane, absently.
“Has he pulled that one on you yet about your being the original of
the heroine of The Purple Fan?”
“Why, yes,” said Jane, surprised. “He did tell me that he had drawn
Eulalie from me.”
Her visitor emitted another laugh that shook the samovars.
“He tells every girl he meets the same thing.”
 “What!”
“Oh yes. It’s his first move. He actually had the nerve to try to
spring it on me. Mind you, I’m not saying it’s a bad stunt. Most girls
like it. You’re sure you’ve no cigarettes? No? Well, how about a shot
of cocaine? Out of that too? Oh, well, I’ll be going, then. Pip-pip,
Bates.”
“Toodle-oo, Osbaldistone,” said Jane, dizzily. Her brain was
reeling. She groped her way to the table, and in a sort of trance cut
herself a slice of cake.
“Wah!” said little Braid Vardon. He toddled forward, anxious to
count himself in on the share-out.
Jane gave him some cake. Having ruined his life, it was, she felt,
the least she could do. In a spasm of belated maternal love she also
slipped him a jam-sandwich. But how trivial and useless these things
seemed now.
“Braid!” she cried, suddenly.
“What?”
“Come here.”
“Why?”
“Let mother show you how to hold that mashie.”
“What’s a mashie?”
A new gash opened in Jane’s heart. Four years old, and he didn’t
know what a mashie was. And at only a slightly advanced age Bobby
Jones had been playing in the American Open Championship.
“This is a mashie,” she said, controlling her voice with difficulty.
“Why?”
“It is called a mashie.”
“What is?”
“This club.”
“Why?”
 The conversation was becoming too metaphysical for Jane. She
took the club from him and closed her hands over it.
“Now, look, dear,” she said, tenderly. “Watch how mother does it.
She puts the fingers—”
A voice spoke, a voice that had been absent all too long from
Jane’s life.
“You’ll pardon me, old girl, but you’ve got the right hand much too
far over. You’ll hook for a certainty.”
In the doorway, large and dripping, stood William. Jane stared at
him dumbly.
“William!” she gasped at length.
“Hullo, Jane!” said William. “Hullo, Braid! Thought I’d look in.”
There was a long silence.
“Beastly weather,” said William.
“Yes,” said Jane.
“Wet and all that,” said William.
“Yes,” said Jane.
There was another silence.
“Oh, by the way, Jane,” said William. “Knew there was something I
wanted to say. You know those violets?”
“Violets?”
“White violets. You remember those white violets I’ve been
sending you every year on our wedding anniversary? Well, what I
mean to say, our lives are parted and all that sort of thing, but you
won’t mind if I go on sending them—what? Won’t hurt you, what I’m
driving at, and’ll please me, see what I mean? So, well, to put the
thing in a nutshell, if you haven’t any objection, that’s that.”
Jane reeled against the gate-leg table.
“William! Was it you who sent those violets?”
 “Absolutely. Who did you think it was?”
“William!” cried Jane, and flung herself into his arms.
William scooped her up gratefully. This was the sort of thing he
had been wanting for weeks past. He could do with a lot of this. He
wouldn’t have suggested it himself, but, seeing that she felt that way,
he was all for it.
“William,” said Jane, “can you ever forgive me?”
“Oh, rather,” said William. “Like a shot. Though, I mean to say,
nothing to forgive, and all that sort of thing.”
“We’ll go back right away to our dear little cottage.”
“Fine!”
“We’ll never leave it again.”
“Topping!”
“I love you,” said Jane, “more than life itself.”
“Good egg!” said William.
Jane turned with shining eyes to little Braid Vardon.
“Braid, we’re going home with daddy!”
“Where?”
“Home. To our little cottage.”
“What’s a cottage?”
“The house where we used to be before we came here.”
“What’s here?”
“This is.”
“Which?”
“Where we are now.”
“Why?”
 “I’ll tell you what, old girl,” said William. “Just shove a green-baize
cloth over that kid, and then start in and brew me about five pints of
tea as strong and hot as you can jolly well make it. Otherwise I’m
going to get the cold of a lifetime.”
 CHAPTER IX
THE PURIFICATION OF RODNEY SPELVIN

It was an afternoon on which one would have said that all Nature
smiled. The air was soft and balmy; the links, fresh from the rains of
spring, glistened in the pleasant sunshine; and down on the second
tee young Clifford Wimple, in a new suit of plus-fours, had just sunk
two balls in the lake, and was about to sink a third. No element, in
short, was lacking that might be supposed to make for quiet
happiness.
And yet on the forehead of the Oldest Member, as he sat beneath
the chestnut tree on the terrace overlooking the ninth green, there
was a peevish frown; and his eye, gazing down at the rolling
expanse of turf, lacked its customary genial benevolence. His
favourite chair, consecrated to his private and personal use by
unwritten law, had been occupied by another. That is the worst of a
free country—liberty so often degenerates into licence.
The Oldest Member coughed.
“I trust,” he said, “you find that chair comfortable?”
The intruder, who was the club’s hitherto spotless secretary,
glanced up in a goofy manner.
“Eh?”
“That chair—you find it fits snugly to the figure?”
“Chair? Figure? Oh, you mean this chair? Oh yes.”
“I am gratified and relieved,” said the Oldest Member.
There was a silence.
“Look here,” said the secretary, “what would you do in a case like
this? You know I’m engaged?”
 “I do. And no doubt your fiancée is missing you. Why not go in
search of her?”
“She’s the sweetest girl on earth.”
“I should lose no time.”
“But jealous. And just now I was in my office, and that Mrs.
Pettigrew came in to ask if there was any news of the purse which
she lost a couple of days ago. It had just been brought to my office,
so I produced it; whereupon the infernal woman, in a most unsuitably
girlish manner, flung her arms round my neck and kissed me on my
bald spot. And at that moment Adela came in. Death,” said the
secretary, “where is thy sting?”
The Oldest Member’s pique melted. He had a feeling heart.
“Most unfortunate. What did you say?”
“I hadn’t time to say anything. She shot out too quick.”
The Oldest Member clicked his tongue sympathetically.
“These misunderstandings between young and ardent hearts are
very frequent,” he said. “I could tell you at least fifty cases of the
same kind. The one which I will select is the story of Jane Packard,
William Bates, and Rodney Spelvin.”
“You told me that the other day. Jane Packard got engaged to
Rodney Spelvin, the poet, but the madness passed and she married
William Bates, who was a golfer.”
“This is another story of the trio.”
“You told me that one, too. After Jane Packard married William
Bates she fell once more under the spell of Spelvin, but repented in
time.”
“This is still another story. Making three in all.”
The secretary buried his face in his hands.
“Oh, well,” he said, “go ahead. What does anything matter now?”
 “First,” said the Oldest Member, “let us make ourselves
comfortable. Take this chair. It is easier than the one in which you
are sitting.”
“No, thanks.”
“I insist.”
“Oh, all right.”
“Woof!” said the Oldest Member, settling himself luxuriously.
With an eye now full of kindly good-will, he watched young Clifford
Wimple play his fourth. Then, as the silver drops flashed up into the
sun, he nodded approvingly and began.
The story which I am about to relate (said the Oldest Member)
begins at a time when Jane and William had been married some
seven years. Jane’s handicap was eleven, William’s twelve, and their
little son, Braid Vardon, had just celebrated his sixth birthday.
Ever since that dreadful time, two years before, when, lured by the
glamour of Rodney Spelvin, she had taken a studio in the artistic
quarter, dropped her golf, and practically learned to play the ukelele,
Jane had been unremitting in her efforts to be a good mother and to
bring up her son on the strictest principles. And, in order that his
growing mind might have every chance, she had invited William’s
younger sister, Anastatia, to spend a week or two with them and put
the child right on the true functions of the mashie. For Anastatia had
reached the semi-finals of the last Ladies’ Open Championship and,
unlike many excellent players, had the knack of teaching.
On the evening on which this story opens the two women were
sitting in the drawing-room, chatting. They had finished tea; and
Anastatia, with the aid of a lump of sugar, a spoon, and some
crumbled cake, was illustrating the method by which she had got out
of the rough on the fifth at Squashy Hollow.
“You’re wonderful!” said Jane, admiringly. “And such a good
influence for Braid! You’ll give him his lesson to-morrow afternoon as
usual?”
 “I shall have to make it the morning,” said Anastatia. “I’ve
promised to meet a man in town in the afternoon.”
As she spoke there came into her face a look so soft and dreamy
that it aroused Jane as if a bradawl had been driven into her leg. As
her history has already shown, there was a strong streak of romance
in Jane Bates.
“Who is he?” she asked, excitedly.
“A man I met last summer,” said Anastatia.
And she sighed with such abandon that Jane could no longer hold
in check her womanly nosiness.
“Do you love him?” she cried.
“Like bricks,” whispered Anastatia.
“Does he love you?”
“Sometimes I think so.”
“What’s his name?”
“Rodney Spelvin.”
“What!”
“Oh, I know he writes the most awful bilge,” said Anastatia,
defensively, misinterpreting the yowl of horror which had proceeded
from Jane. “All the same, he’s a darling.”
Jane could not speak. She stared at her sister-in-law aghast.
Although she knew that if you put a driver in her hands she could
paste the ball into the next county, there always seemed to her
something fragile and helpless about Anastatia. William’s sister was
one of those small, rose-leaf girls with big blue eyes to whom good
men instinctively want to give a stroke a hole and on whom bad men
automatically prey. And when Jane reflected that Rodney Spelvin
had to all intents and purposes preyed upon herself, who stood five
foot seven in her shoes and, but for an innate love of animals, could
have felled an ox with a blow, she shuddered at the thought of how
he would prey on this innocent half-portion.
 “You really love him?” she quavered.
“If he beckoned to me in the middle of a medal round, I would
come to him,” said Anastatia.
Jane realised that further words were useless. A sickening sense
of helplessness obsessed her. Something ought to be done about
this terrible thing, but what could she do? She was so ashamed of
her past madness that not even to warn this girl could she reveal that
she had once been engaged to Rodney Spelvin herself; that he had
recited poetry on the green while she was putting; and that, later, he
had hypnotised her into taking William and little Braid to live in a
studio full of samovars. These revelations would no doubt open
Anastatia’s eyes, but she could not make them.
And then, suddenly, Fate pointed out a way.
It was Jane’s practice to go twice a week to the cinema palace in
the village; and two nights later she set forth as usual and took her
place just as the entertainment was about to begin.
At first she was only mildly interested. The title of the picture,
“Tried in the Furnace,” had suggested nothing to her. Being a regular
patron of the silver screen, she knew that it might quite easily turn
out to be an educational film on the subject of clinker-coal. But as the
action began to develop she found herself leaning forward in her
seat, blindly crushing a caramel between her fingers. For scarcely
had the operator started to turn the crank when inspiration came to
her.
Of the main plot of “Tried in the Furnace” she retained, when
finally she reeled out into the open air, only a confused recollection.
It had something to do with money not bringing happiness or
happiness not bringing money, she could not remember which. But
the part which remained graven upon her mind was the bit where
Gloria Gooch goes by night to the apartments of the libertine, to beg
him to spare her sister, whom he has entangled in his toils.
Jane saw her duty clearly. She must go to Rodney Spelvin and
conjure him by the memory of their ancient love to spare Anastatia.
 It was not the easiest of tasks to put this scheme into operation.
Gloria Gooch, being married to a scholarly man who spent nearly all
his time in a library a hundred yards long, had been fortunately
situated in the matter of paying visits to libertines; but for Jane the
job was more difficult. William expected her to play a couple of
rounds with him in the morning and another in the afternoon, which
rather cut into her time. However, Fate was still on her side, for one
morning at breakfast William announced that business called him to
town.
“Why don’t you come too?” he said.
Jane started.
“No. No, I don’t think I will, thanks.”
“Give you lunch somewhere.”
“No. I want to stay here and do some practice-putting.”
“All right. I’ll try to get back in time for a round in the evening.”
Remorse gnawed at Jane’s vitals. She had never deceived William
before. She kissed him with even more than her usual fondness
when he left to catch the ten-forty-five. She waved to him till he was
out of sight; then, bounding back into the house, leaped at the
telephone and, after a series of conversations with the Marks-Morris
Glue Factory, the Poor Pussy Home for Indigent Cats, and Messrs.
Oakes, Oakes, and Parbury, dealers in fancy goods, at last found
herself in communication with Rodney Spelvin.
“Rodney?” she said, and held her breath, fearful at this breaking of
a two years’ silence and yet loath to hear another strange voice say
“Wadnumjerwant?” “Is that you, Rodney?”
“Yes. Who is that?”
“Mrs. Bates. Rodney, can you give me lunch at the Alcazar to-day
at one?”
 “Can I!” Not even the fact that some unknown basso had got on
the wire and was asking if that was Mr. Bootle could blur the
enthusiasm in his voice. “I should say so!”
“One o’clock, then,” said Jane. His enthusiastic response had
relieved her. If by merely speaking she could stir him so, to bend him
to her will when they met face to face would be pie.
“One o’clock,” said Rodney.
Jane hung up the receiver and went to her room to try on hats.

The impression came to Jane, when she entered the lobby of the
restaurant and saw him waiting, that Rodney Spelvin looked
somehow different from the Rodney she remembered. His
handsome face had a deeper and more thoughtful expression, as if
he had been through some ennobling experience.
“Well, here I am,” she said, going to him and affecting a jauntiness
which she did not feel.
He looked at her, and there was in his eyes that unmistakable
goggle which comes to men suddenly addressed in a public spot by
women whom, to the best of their recollection, they do not know from
Eve.
“How are you?” he said. He seemed to pull himself together.
“You’re looking splendid.”
“You’re looking fine,” said Jane.
“You’re looking awfully well,” said Rodney.
“You’re looking awfully well,” said Jane.
“You’re looking fine,” said Rodney.
There was a pause.
“You’ll excuse my glancing at my watch,” said Rodney. “I have an
appointment to lunch with—er—somebody here, and it’s past the
time.”
“But you’re lunching with me,” said Jane, puzzled.
“With you?”
“Yes. I rang you up this morning.”
Rodney gaped.
“Was it you who ’phoned? I thought you said ‘Miss Bates.’”
“No, Mrs. Bates.”
“Mrs. Bates?”
“Mrs. Bates.”
“Of course. You’re Mrs. Bates.”
“Had you forgotten me?” said Jane, in spite of herself a little
piqued.
“Forgotten you, dear lady! As if I could!” said Rodney, with a return
of his old manner. “Well, shall we go in and have lunch?”
“All right,” said Jane.
She felt embarrassed and ill at ease. The fact that Rodney had
obviously succeeded in remembering her only after the effort of a
lifetime seemed to her to fling a spanner into the machinery of her
plans at the very outset. It was going to be difficult, she realised, to
conjure him by the memory of their ancient love to spare Anastatia;
for the whole essence of the idea of conjuring any one by the
memory of their ancient love is that the party of the second part
should be aware that there ever was such a thing.
At the luncheon-table conversation proceeded fitfully. Rodney said
that this morning he could have sworn it was going to rain, and Jane
said she had thought so, too, and Rodney said that now it looked as
if the weather might hold up, and Jane said Yes, didn’t it? and
Rodney said he hoped the weather would hold up because rain was
such a nuisance, and Jane said Yes, wasn’t it? Rodney said
yesterday had been a nice day, and Jane said Yes, and Rodney said
that it seemed to be getting a little warmer, and Jane said Yes, and
Rodney said that summer would be here at any moment now, and
Jane said Yes, wouldn’t it? and Rodney said he hoped it would not
be too hot this summer, but that, as a matter of fact, when you came
right down to it, what one minded was not so much the heat as the
humidity, and Jane said Yes, didn’t one?
In short, by the time they rose and left the restaurant, not a word
had been spoken that could have provoked the censure of the
sternest critic. Yet William Bates, catching sight of them as they
passed down the aisle, started as if he had been struck by lightning.
He had happened to find himself near the Alcazar at lunch-time and
had dropped in for a chop; and, peering round the pillar which had
hidden his table from theirs, he stared after them with saucer-like
eyes.
“Oh, dash it!” said William.
This William Bates, I have indicated in my previous references to
him, was not an abnormally emotional or temperamental man. Built
physically on the lines of a motor-lorry, he had much of that vehicle’s
placid and even phlegmatic outlook on life. Few things had the
power to ruffle William, but, unfortunately, it so happened that one of
these things was Rodney Spelvin. He had never been able entirely
to overcome his jealousy of this man. It had been Rodney who had
come within an ace of scooping Jane from him in the days when she
had been Miss Packard. It had been Rodney who had temporarily
broken up his home some years later by persuading Jane to become
a member of the artistic set. And now, unless his eyes jolly well
deceived him, this human gumboil was once more busy on his
dastardly work. Too dashed thick, was William’s view of the matter;
and he gnashed his teeth in such a spasm of resentful fury that a
man lunching at the next table told the waiter to switch off the electric
fan, as it had begun to creak unendurably.

Jane was reading in the drawing-room when William reached

home that night.
 “Had a nice day?” asked William.
“Quite nice,” said Jane.
“Play golf?” asked William.
“Just practised,” said Jane.
“Lunch at the club?”
“Yes.”
“I thought I saw that bloke Spelvin in town,” said William.
Jane wrinkled her forehead.
“Spelvin? Oh, you mean Rodney Spelvin? Did you? I see he’s got
a new book coming out.”
“You never run into him these days, do you?”
“Oh no. It must be two years since I saw him.”
“Oh?” said William. “Well, I’ll be going upstairs and dressing.”
It seemed to Jane, as the door closed, that she heard a curious
clicking noise, and she wondered for a moment if little Braid had got
out of bed and was playing with the Mah-Jongg counters. But it was
only William gnashing his teeth.

There is nothing sadder in this life than the spectacle of a husband

and wife with practically identical handicaps drifting apart; and to
dwell unnecessarily on such a spectacle is, to my mind, ghoulish. It
is not my purpose, therefore, to weary you with a detailed description
of the hourly widening of the breach between this once ideally united
pair. Suffice it to say that within a few days of the conversation just
related the entire atmosphere of this happy home had completely
altered. On the Tuesday, William had excused himself from the
morning round on the plea that he had promised Peter Willard a
match, and Jane said What a pity! On Tuesday afternoon William
said that his head ached, and Jane said Isn’t that too bad? On
Wednesday morning William said he had lumbago, and Jane, her
sensitive feelings now deeply wounded, said Oh, had he? After that,
it came to be agreed between them by silent compact that they
should play together no more.
Also, they began to avoid one another in the house. Jane would sit
in the drawing-room, while William retired down the passage to his
den. In short, if you had added a couple of ikons and a photograph of
Trotsky, you would have had a mise en scène which would have
fitted a Russian novel like the paper on the wall.
One evening, about a week after the beginning of this tragic state
of affairs, Jane was sitting in the drawing-room, trying to read Braid
on Taking Turf. But the print seemed blurred and the philosophy too
metaphysical to be grasped. She laid the book down and stared
sadly before her.
Every moment of these black days had affected Jane like a stymie
on the last green. She could not understand how it was that William
should have come to suspect, but that he did suspect was plain; and
she writhed on the horns of a dilemma. All she had to do to win him
back again was to go to him and tell him of Anastatia’s fatal
entanglement. But what would happen then? Undoubtedly he would
feel it his duty as a brother to warn the girl against Rodney Spelvin;
and Jane instinctively knew that William warning any one against
Rodney Spelvin would sound like a private of the line giving his
candid opinion of the sergeant-major.
Inevitably, in this case, Anastatia, a spirited girl and deeply in love,
would take offence at his words and leave the house. And if she left
the house, what would be the effect on little Braid’s mashie-play?
Already, in less than a fortnight, the gifted girl had taught him more
about the chip-shot from ten to fifteen yards off the green than the
local pro. had been able to do in two years. Her departure would be
absolutely disastrous.
What it amounted to was that she must sacrifice her husband’s
happiness or her child’s future; and the problem of which was to get
the loser’s end was becoming daily more insoluble.
 She was still brooding on it when the postman arrived with the
evening mail, and the maid brought the letters into the drawing-room.
Jane sorted them out. There were three for William, which she
gave to the maid to take to him in his den. There were two for
herself, both bills. And there was one for Anastatia, in the well-
remembered handwriting of Rodney Spelvin.
Jane placed this letter on the mantel-piece, and stood looking at it
like a cat at a canary. Anastatia was away for the day, visiting friends
who lived a few stations down the line; and every womanly instinct in
Jane urged her to get hold of a kettle and steam the gum off the
envelope. She had almost made up her mind to disembowel the
thing and write “Opened in error” on it, when the telephone suddenly
went off like a bomb and nearly startled her into a decline. Coming at
that moment it sounded like the Voice of Conscience.
“Hullo?” said Jane.
“Hullo!” replied a voice.
Jane clucked like a hen with uncontrollable emotion. It was
Rodney.
“Is that you?” asked Rodney
“Yes,” said Jane.
And so it was, she told herself.
“Your voice is like music,” said Rodney.
This may or may not have been the case, but at any rate it was
exactly like every other female voice when heard on the telephone.
Rodney prattled on without a suspicion.
“Have you got my letter yet?”
“No,” said Jane. She hesitated. “What was in it?” she asked,
tremulously.
“It was to ask you to come to my house to-morrow at four.”
“To your house!” faltered Jane.
 “Yes. Everything is ready. I will send the servants out, so that we
shall be quite alone. You will come, won’t you?”
The room was shimmering before Jane’s eyes, but she regained
command of herself with a strong effort.
“Yes,” she said. “I will be there.”
She spoke softly, but there was a note of menace in her voice.
Yes, she would indeed be there. From the very moment when this
man had made his monstrous proposal, she had been asking herself
what Gloria Gooch would have done in a crisis like this. And the
answer was plain. Gloria Gooch, if her sister-in-law was intending to
visit the apartments of a libertine, would have gone there herself to
save the poor child from the consequences of her infatuated folly.
“Yes,” said Jane, “I will be there.”
“You have made me the happiest man in the world,” said Rodney.
“I will meet you at the corner of the street at four, then.” He paused.
“What is that curious clicking noise?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” said Jane. “I noticed it myself. Something wrong
with the wire, I suppose.”
“I thought it was somebody playing the castanets. Until to-morrow,
then, good-bye.”
“Good-bye.”
Jane replaced the receiver. And William, who had been listening to
every word of the conversation on the extension in his den, replaced
his receiver, too.

Anastatia came back from her visit late that night. She took her
letter, and read it without comment. At breakfast next morning she
said that she would be compelled to go into town that day.
“I want to see my dressmaker,” she said.
“I’ll come, too,” said Jane. “I want to see my dentist.”