The Perfect Getaway
Kiersten Modglin
Copyright © 2020 by Kiersten Modglin
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
www.kierstenmodglinauthor.com
Cover Design: Tadpole Designs
Editing: Three Owls Editing
Proofreading: My Brother’s Editor
Formatting: Tadpole Designs
First Print Edition: 2020
First Electronic Edition: 2020
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
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Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Kiersten Modglin
This book is dedicated to hope—
may we have it, may we give it, may we fight for it with everything we have.
“Three things cannot long stay hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.”
-Buddha
Chapter One
Laura
The envelope was white, our names and address scrawled across the top in messy handwriting. I stopped when I reached it in the stack of mail. Who wrote letters by hand anymore?
I tried to think back to the last time we’d received anything handwritten—utterly baffled that I couldn’t even remember—as I tore the envelope open, laying the stack of mail on the table. Brad looked up from his coffee and laptop, noticing what I assumed was a worried look on my face.
“What’s that?” he asked, setting the mug down to give me his full attention. I chewed my lip, tearing the envelope the rest of the way.
“I don’t kn—ah, just junk mail.” Relief and disappointment filled me, but I tried to keep it hidden. What had I expected anyway? The picture of a tropical island—the couple on the front dressed all in white, her blonde hair blowing in the wind as she kissed him, and her hand on his stubbled chin—taunted me. “Apparently we just have to get away,” I teased, winking at him as I tossed it back into the stack and lifted the electric bill, grimacing. “The electric’s nearly a hundred more this month. We’re going to have to turn the air up.”
I laid the bill back into the stack and walked away, back toward the sink where I’d been loading the dishwasher a moment before the mail had arrived. Just before I turned on the water, I heard my husband say, “Now, hang on a second. This is actually addressed to us.”
I looked over my shoulder, narrowing my eyes at him. “What is—oh, the resort thing? Yeah, so? Most of the junk in there is addressed to us. Doesn’t make it any less junk.”
He shook his head, turning the back of the brochure around to face me. “It’s addressed to us. The offer. It says,” he turned it back around to read, “there’s a new resort opening up in the Caribbean, and they’re looking for new couples to try it out, completely free, all expenses paid, in exchange for a review before they officially open.”
I shook my head. “Yeah, right. All they need is our credit card numbers, socials, eighteen small payments of one hundred thirty-nine ninety-five.” I snorted. “It’s a scam, Brad. No one gives you a free vacation.”
Before we could say anything else, we were interrupted by the sound of tiny footsteps hurrying down the stairs of our townhome. I looked up, watching as our children descended the stairs, hurrying through the open-concept living room and into the kitchen.
“Elena, sweetheart, what have you gotten all over your face?” I asked, giving up on dishes for the time being as I bent over to swipe at my daughter’s purple cheek.
“It’s marker,” she admitted. “I didn’t do it.”
I gave her a skeptical look, then glanced toward Britta. “Well?”
Her older sister pressed her lips together. “We wanted to be kittens. I told her we shouldn’t do it.”
I giggled, looking across the room at Brad, who was already lost in his computer, and lifted our daughter toward the counter, grabbing a paper towel and wetting it to clean her cheeks.
“I think this might be legit, Laura,” I heard Brad say again.
“What?” I asked, already forgetting what we were talking about before the interruption.
“The resort. When I look them up, Isla del Amor, it just brings up a landing page where you can enter an email to be notified when they’re open and ready for booking. It says they’ll open next summer.”
I put Elena back on the ground, looking over at my husband, who’d taken a break from his work to show me the screen. The image was nearly identical to the brochure—a happy couple, surrounded by sun and sand. I looked around at the kitchen I desperately needed to clean and sighed, walking toward the computer for a closer look.
“I want to go on vacation!” Britta yelled. “Are we going to visit Gramma and Gramp?”
I shook my head. “No.”
At the same time, Brad said, “Maybe.”
I looked at him, hands on my hips and lips pressed together as Britta squealed with delight. Seeing my expression, he closed the computer and addressed her. “Maybe, sweetheart, but maybe not. Mommy and I were just talking, okay?”
Her shoulders slumped. “But why can’t we? We haven’t seen them since Christmas.”
“Your mom and I are going to talk about it, okay?” He grinned. “Now, what do you say to Dad’s famous grilled cheese for lunch?”
The girls climbed up in their chairs at the table while Brad slid his laptop into his bag, the conversation momentarily dropped. I picked up the mail from
