The Rival in South Africa (EBOOK)

First crush. First kiss. First nemesis.

As kids, Alex Boyd and I were best friends. Until my crush sparked a kiss and our friendship went up in flames. Years of flip-flopping between avoidance and antagonizing turned into... well, us.

Now, anything I can do Alex can do better. Raise money for charity? Run a marathon? Sail a regatta? Alex is there and besting me.

I’m determined to keep him out of my blossoming new photography career. But thanks to our meddling mothers, Alex winds up on a safari in South Africa with me.

Same trip. Same tent. Same bed.

Things are about to get wild.

I was the crankiest person who’d ever been on a superyacht in the Mediterranean. It was seriously poor form to feel this shitty while on a multimillion-dollar vessel docked in Malta, a party in full swing occurring on all three decks of the boat.
My boyfriend wasn’t there. My father hadn’t bothered to show up to watch the regatta, which I’d lost anyway. And as I stood on the bow of the superyacht Themis and listened to the party happening behind me, I admitted to myself that perhaps sailing wasn’t going to be my forever thing.
While losing the regatta had stung, it hadn’t hurt that much. The truth was, I’d picked it up on a whim—it was something my peers had occasionally participated in and something I thought would interest my father. The sailing today was fun; the weather was perfect for it, and I felt a certain satisfaction with myself over how seamlessly our team worked together.
But we’d still lost. And I didn’t feel the disappointment I’d expected to feel. It was occurring to me that sailing wasn’t something I was passionate about.
The worst part hadn’t actually been the loss itself. I was more upset that the team that came in first included my least favorite person in the world. Alex Boyd wouldn’t even have gotten into sailing if I hadn’t started sailing. All our previous rivalries could have been coincidences, but the coincidences were stacking up.
“Don’t be a sore loser, Nikki.”
I turned to face him, my arms already crossed to protect myself from the slight chill in the air. He stood next to the dessert display, wearing a suit that fit him perfectly, the jacket unbuttoned and his hands in his pockets.
The accusation cut through me, and I sucked in a breath of air. I was not a sore loser.
But Alex was the worst winner. He was competitive to a fault. This scenario had played out many times before. Alex, a last-minute entry invading whatever event I was participating in, always came to me afterward, wanting to break down the day and point out everything I did wrong.
A few years back, I’d secured a charity entry for the London Marathon to fundraise for a home care cancer society. After months of training and recruiting pledge donations, I had asked Natasha, Alex’s mother, if she would be willing to pledge for me and if I could ask around at her company. She’d smiled and said, of course, and as she was filling out the paperwork, calmly remarked that she hoped I wouldn’t mind if she pledged a little bit less to me than she did to Alex. That was how I found out that Alex had signed up to run as well.
The marathon had stung the worst because it wasn’t about the running for me. It was supposed to be about raising money for charity. And yes, Alex did get more money pledged than me, which was great for the charity. But the questions afterward just made me feel less than.
What training program did you follow? I’ve been taking salt and electrolyte supplements an hour before the start. Did you? How long did you taper for?
I’d wanted to enjoy the fact that I’d finished and raised thousands of pounds for the organization, but Alex wouldn’t stop hounding me. What race are you running next?
I’d known Alex since we were teenagers in secondary school. Sometimes I still looked for the old Alex, the one I first knew who was too tall, too nerdy for our cliquish school. But he grew into his frame, his looks matured, and, while we were still growing into the adults we would be someday, I could see that Alex was going to be devastating.
Would I be giving up sailing because I wasn’t as passionate about it as I should be? Or would I be giving it up because Alex soured it for me?
I didn’t want to tell Alex any of this. “I’m not being a sore loser. Just thinking about Ion.”
Alex’s eyes narrowed, just like I knew they would, at the mention of my boyfriend. We had known each other so long, and he knew exactly how to push my buttons. But I knew how to push his too. Ion was a sore spot of Alex’s, though god knows why.
“Where is Party Boy this evening?” Alex asked.
“He’s not a party boy,” I rebuffed automatically, even though that was exactly why I wished Ion was here. He would have loved this party, and one of the things I enjoyed about him was his ability to make these types of events easier. He was gregarious and attractive, and people loved him.
Except Alex.
“He’s totally a party boy. Come on, his Instagram feed is ninety percent partying and ten percent shots of him naked.”
“It’s his job.” Okay, yes, Ion’s Instagram could have done a better job of furthering his modeling career, but those half-naked photos were his job.
Alex ignored me. “You don’t have anything in common. Case in point, where is he tonight?” He gestured out over the water, the site of the race, the party, the awards ceremony where I didn’t win.
“Sounds like jealousy, Alex,” I taunted. “You don’t know how to relax and have fun. I’m shocked you stepped out of your office long enough to even train for the regatta.”
Alex’s face soured. “I have time to relax,” he insisted.
“You are a workaholic, and you know it. Don’t put down other people just because they don’t have the same drive or ambition that aligns exactly with yours.”
He stepped closer to me. Normally at an event like this, I have high heels on to somewhat make up for our height difference. Here on Themis, though, like most yachts, shoes aren’t allowed. When I made the walk down the dock in my dress from Pegasus, my parents’ yacht, to here, I’d worn thongs that I’d slipped off at the lazarette and added to the line of shoes on the deck. This meant I was quite a few centimeters short of my usual arguing height.
Alex’s lips tipped up in a smug smile. “If I’m such a workaholic who doesn’t have time to train, then how did I win?”
“Maybe if you hadn’t hired my sailing coach out from under me.”
The corners of his mouth shot back down again. “I didn’t know,” he said, scowling. “He said he hadn’t heard from you in a week.”
“I was on vacation with Ion.”
He waved his hand, another case in point. And suddenly, I was tired. Tired of arguing with Alex, tired of my boyfriend and my father not being here, tired of not even knowing why I was doing things.
I put my hands up, palm out, just completely done. “You know what, Alex? Just forget it all. Seriously, I had a fun day, for the most part. Can’t you just leave me alone?”
Alex took a step back from me. There was just enough space between him and the railing on the boat for me to get by, so I moved to slip through and escape.
“Nikki,” Alex started, his tone softer. He reached out his hand, grabbing my elbow, but at the same moment, my toe caught on the hem of my dress, the soft fabric stretching and causing me to stumble...right into Alex. We both went down, Alex letting out a soft grunt as he connected elbow-first with the table.
I thought, for a second, that we’d barely escaped disaster. Alex’s hand still gripped my elbow, his other arm bracing against the dessert buffet. My chin had clipped his shoulder, and my body was pressed against his, our shocked faces staring at each other.
Alex’s eyes widened.
And then the table collapsed underneath us.
We tumbled over into a horrific still moment when everything stopped moving. The table was flattened underneath us, desserts smushed by Alex’s back. I had avoided the worst of it, somehow having twisted to land on top of him.
I scrambled away from the mess.
Alex sat up, a bewildered expression on his face. “What. The. Fuck.”
Oh my god. Oh my god, oh my god. Our mothers were going to kill us.
Stunned, Alex got his feet beneath him and staggered to standing. He peered over his shoulder, and as he twisted around, I saw clumps of icing and cake and macarons studding his jacket.
“What the fuck, Nikki?”
My chin snapped up at his tone. “Excuse me?” I was flabbergasted. How could he blame me for this? “You grabbed my arm!”
“You literally fell on me! I was trying to apologize.” Our voices were raised and started to draw attention.
“For insulting my boyfriend? That’s been long overdue.”
Alex slipped an arm out of his jacket and gritted his teeth. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Ion, and you know it. You just can’t accept that I won.”
“It was an accident!” My voice came out high and shrill. This is exactly where I knew this would end up, why I should have gotten out of here while I could. “And I could stand it just fine if you’d stopped rubbing your win in my face all the time. Sailing was my thing, and you’ve got your spindly, grubby hands all over it.”
He smirked at me. “And I’m better at it than you. Maybe if you spent more time with your sailing coach instead of that shitty boyfriend of yours, you might have done better,” he hissed. We were toe-to-toe now, teeth clenched and bare feet grinding the pastries down into the deck.
“Fuck. Off. Alex,” I said between my teeth.
“Nikki!” came my mother’s voice. “What is the meaning of this? Stop this nonsense right now!” She stepped closer to me, delicately avoiding the mutilated desserts lest her dress be ruined, one of the yacht staff following behind her. “Seriously, I don’t know what has gotten into you two.”
Mum brushed an errant strand of hair out of her face and tugged her silk wrap tighter around her shoulders.
Alex’s mother appeared from the other side. Her voice matched her gaze: disappointed. “Alex, obviously, we’ve let this feud between you two go on long enough. The award part is over, and dessert looks like it’ll be delayed, thanks to you two. Apologize to the staff and go down to your room.”
Alex bowed his head to our mothers. “My apologies, Mum, Ana.” He tipped his head to the chef standing in the corner as well. “Sorry, Marcella.” He glanced around the deck, eyes barely flitting over me, and was gone.
Mum turned to me and shook her head. “You’re going back to Pegasus too. This is far too much disappointment for one weekend.” Tugging my arm, Mum pulled me over to Alex’s mother.
“Sorry, Natasha.” I did feel terrible. Thank god we were out on the bow of the boat and not in front of everyone.
Natasha rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe you two are twenty-four years old and we have to send you to your rooms like children,” she said as I picked up my hem, now weighed down with the remnants of the dessert table.
I kept my eyes down, quickly walking back towards the stern. I’d nearly made it to the gangway when I hesitated. The regatta had been a team effort, and my coaches and fellow sailors were still having a good time. I at least owed them my thanks and a goodnight.
In the corner, I grabbed napkins from the table and did my best to clean off my feet and the hem of my dress. Weaving through the party, I found most of my crew mates and said goodnight, playing up how tired I was and letting a few very real yawns slip out.
I saved the regatta organizer for last, but unfortunately, Alex had just turned away from saying goodnight to Jack. He’d cleaned up, too, losing his tie and socks and unbuttoning his shirt.
We both stopped, eyeing each other, a heavy silence between us.
Alex broke it. “I have just one question. Is Ion the one?”
I drew back, surprised. “What?”
“You’ve been with him for nearly a year. You’d know by now if he was the one you were going to marry and spend the rest of your life with. Tell me he’s the one for you, and I’ll leave him alone.”
My mouth hung open, poised to declare...what? He was? He wasn’t? It was none of Alex’s business? But nothing came out.
Because I didn’t really know.
Instead of teasing me or making some cutting remark like I expected, Alex frowned, a crease forming between his eyebrows. And something, some spark, passed behind his eyes.
He shook it off. “Fine, whatever. Goodnight, Nikki.”
I watched as Alex faded away into the party. Just because I wasn’t in love with Ion right now didn’t mean I wouldn’t be. Who was Alex to judge me? And why did I let him get to me so much?
I finished my goodnights and left the party, waffling back and forth about my own feelings over Ion, over sailing, over Alex. In my cabin on Pegasus, I checked my phone. I had several messages from Ion consoling me, plus a few pictures of him from the photo shoot today.
Ion
Hey, babe, can you post these ones on Instagram and work your magic?
I smiled. So what if I wasn’t in love with Ion yet? He was gorgeous and attentive, even if he wasn’t here in person. And he didn’t pick fights with me.
Relieved to have something to do to get my mind off the evening, I got to work editing the photos and writing the captions.
And I made a vow to myself: I’d never let Alex compete with me again.