Keats looks at me and shakes his head before swimming after her.
I watch him cut through the water with relaxed-looking strokes, legs long and kicking behind him, flicking water as he easily passes by Isabella again. He’s waiting for her by the time she reaches the other end.
She returns his smile as she clings onto the side of the pool but her eyes suddenly pop out when she spots her left hand. “Fuck. My ring!”
Isabella dives back under the water, bobs up, duck dives again, bobs up and barely gets in a breath before diving back in.
Keats grabs her by the shoulder when she next surfaces. She’s such a shorty, the water is way over her head where she’s searching. “I’ll look for it.”
He dives down, his outline under the water scouring the floor of the swimming pool. He’s under for at least a minute and I actually stand up wondering if I have to dive in to save his chivalrous arse from drowning.
Isabella’s expression is stricken like she lost her fiancé instead of a piece of jewellery. Hands clasped together as if in prayer, her brow knotted as she watches Keats search underwater. When he finally pops up, he’s got the heart-shaped diamond ring between his thumb and forefinger, holding it out to her like he’s proposing.
Isabella smiles in relief and gives him a brief hug before motioning for me to take her engagement ring for safe-keeping. Keats follows her with his eyes as she hands me the symbol of Byron’s offer of marriage.
“All right. I better make my way back. Don’t wait for me,” Isabella instructs Keats, then waits till he’s set off. After, she goes on her back and floats leisurely for a bit, her arms moving at her sides like she’s making snow angels with tiny wings.
“That doesn’t look like exercise,” I tell her.
“I need a breather,” she says but rolls into a weird kind of breast stroke which keeps her head out of the water.
Keats stops when she accidentally kicks him. Isabella clings onto the wall while he treads water.
“I’m sorry. I like swimming but I suck.”
“That’s all right. The important thing is you’re trying. You gonna be okay?”
She nods, and he sets off first because I think he finally gets the fact she’s self-conscious of her strokes.
I turn on my tablet and connect to my mobile’s Wi-Fi. Miz Peggy’s inbox is full of requests for advice. Lately, the number of emails has been so overwhelming that I’ve put a disclaimer on the site that I can’t answer everything. I’ve taken to choosing only the most interesting or popular lines of questioning.
Tonight there are quite a few questions about plus-size bridal wear. I’ve added a new service to the site—wedding advice, products and services for the full-figured bride. Preparing for Isabella’s big day has shown me what a lucrative industry it is, and that it’s much more enjoyable for me to rate cake shops and bouquets than low-fat edible undies and sex toys.
I must be getting old.
***
“How many laps did you end up doing?” Keats asks Isabella as they pull themselves out of the pool an hour later.
“I was aiming for one kilometre, so twenty?”
“So I must’ve just swum three ks.” He purses his lips thoughtfully. “I usually try for four in an hour.”
Isabella’s eyes widen. “Four ks? I would die. My muscles are killing me now.” She gingerly rotates her right arm forward.
“We should stretch,” Keats suggests. He stops drying himself, and shoulders his towel. “Here. Give me your hands.”
Isabella sneaks a look at me before trusting him with her appendage. Keats takes her hands gently in his opposite ones and crosses them over at the wrists.
“Okay, put your feet together in front of you and pull back like you’re sitting. Head down though. Can you feel that stretch?”
“It hurts.”
“We’ll do it gently. How’s that?”
“Better.”
“Okay, we’ll do it the other way, too.” He lets go of her left hand so he can grab it under the right one this time. “How’s that?”
Isabella straightens up and moves her shoulders gently to test them.
“Pretty good.”
Keats grins. “Great. You wanna come here again on Monday night? I can fit in two sessions next week.”
“Erm…” Isabella looks at me at the same time Keats does.
He nods faintly, urging me to encourage her to see him again. Right, like I would want that. Although, if she sees him, then I get to see him, too.
“I’m free on Monday.” That comment makes both of them ever so slightly frown at me.
“Great,” Keats says without the same enthusiasm as the word suggests. “I’ll see you both here. Jess, you need a ride home?”
Do I? If I’d known this would be the result of foiling his plans, I would make my double cross more obvious in future.
“I can take her home,” Isabella offers.
“I live closer,” Keats points out.
“Erm, okay. If that’s fine with Jess.”
I shrug like I don’t care.
“Okay, well, I need to shower and change. I’ll see you guys on Monday.”
Keats watches as Isabella wraps her beach towel around her slimmed down body and heads for the change rooms. He’s probably hoping she’d look over her shoulder at him. As soon as she’s beyond hearing range he turns to me and says, “You’re killing me here, Hay-gen. You’re not even swimming. I need some alone time with Isabella.” He pulls on his shirt and pants now that the show’s over, and hangs his towel around his neck.
“She doesn’t want alone time with you.”
“She worried she can’t control herself?” he asks with his usual swagger as we walk out of the public pool.
“No, you dumb fuck. She’s rightly worried you’re not over her.”
“Hm.”
I study his face, noticing the worry in his eyes.
“Do you really, honestly still want to be with Isabella? She and Byron seem pretty happy.”
“I can make her happier.”
“But would she make you happier?” Like I want to make you happy.
He doesn’t respond immediately, and when I
