Free Waves of Betrayal (The Isabel Marsh Trilogy Book 1) by Michelle J. Bennett

legs dangling above the sand. Rachel removes her flip flops and joins her, leaning her elbows on the narrow shelf in front of them, serving as a table. ‘This is great,’ she says.
    The blinds are all drawn back so that it is totally open to the sea breeze and it offers the perfect spot to perch and people-watch. The waiters are all dressed in fitted white shorts and black polo shirts and they effortlessly deliver huge silver trays, laden with drinks, to the tables below.
    ‘Hello ladies, what can I get you?’ asks the Spanish waiter in perfect English. It is obvious from Rachel’s hesitation and flushed cheeks that his good looks and toned, tanned arms have not gone un-noticed!
    ‘Two mojitos please,’ smiles Isabel, as Rachel continues to stare.
    ‘Rach!!’ whispers Isabel, nearly pushing her friend off the bench, ‘could you possibly have made that any more obvious??!’
    They both laugh as Rachel regains her balance and promises to behave like the happily engaged wife-to-be that she is!
    ‘I doubt very much that he’d be interested in you anyway Rach,’ Isabel grins as she points to the flags flying next to the bar. Amongst the many nationalities, waving high in the breeze, is the Rainbow flag.
    ‘Surely you know what the Rainbow flag means?!’ asks Isabel, smiling.
    ‘No... what?!’ Rachel asks naively, as Isabel rests her forehead in her hand and shakes her head.
    ‘Gay pride, Rach!’
    ‘ooooohhhhhhh,’ says Rachel as the penny drops, ‘well, I suppose that explains it. They’re all gorgeous!’ she laughs.
    The ice cold mojitos are delivered by the same waiter, grinning with his perfect white teeth. ‘Speciality of the house,’ he announces proudly as he positions the drinks gently on the little table in front of them and gives them a cheesy wink.
    ‘They look amazing, thank you,’ says Rachel, genuinely impressed as she takes the straw between her fingers and begins to stir the sugary residue that has settled in the bottom of the glass.
    ‘De nada, guapa,’ he says, as he brushes his hand across Rachel’s shoulder and spins happily on his heels back towards the bar.
    ‘Woooahhh, this is seriously strong!’ says Rachel. ‘Definitely not imperial measures!’
    They sit in comfortable silence for a while, enjoying the sweet, minty drinks and watching the windsurfers bouncing acrobatically over the waves. The bar is getting busy and the tables are quickly filling up with groups of people ordering all sorts of delicious looking wraps, seafood, and mountains of creative salads.
    Rachel is the first to break the silence. ‘Maybe we should come here for lunch tomorrow? The food looks gorgeous,’ she says, her eyes fixed on the biggest smoked salmon platter that she has ever seen.
    ‘Paul’s been hammering on your door trying to find out where I am,’ says Isabel suddenly, in a flat voice. ‘He went to my mum and dad’s and cried apparently,’ she continues without expression, ‘and Marcos, the man I have dreamed about for the last thirteen years since my dad kicked him out of our house, is getting engaged...’
    Rachel turns and stares at the side of her friends face. She holds the straw between her fingers, unsure of what to say or ask first. After a few seconds of silence, she raises her hand and holds up two fingers to the man at the bar, signalling for more drinks.
    With fresh drinks in front of them, Isabel looks up at her friend and mutters sadly, ‘I don’t know what to do, Rach.’
    ‘The first question on the tip of my tongue honey is who is Marcos and why have you never mentioned him before??’ Rachel asks gently, folding one leg up on the bench so that she can face her friend.
    ‘He’s the son of one of my dad’s friends,’ says Isabel quietly, gazing out to the horizon, ‘he was studying English in Plymouth so my dad asked him to give me Spanish lessons after school. I was twelve and he was sixteen. It was fun, I liked him. Then we grew up. I was fourteen and he