The weight of expectation had a way of crushing her optimism to a pulp.
Who could forget the infamous 1993 Chopin concerto that did not produce a single on-key note?
That awkward first date that ended with the two-star restaurant inferno?
The big-ass job interview gone horribly, horribly, horribly wrong?
So it was with trepidation that Bea embarked on her next journey, one she’d been looking forward to for the best part of six months.
The expectations were high.
She was expecting the best time of her life, basically.
And though she feared escaping the curse that had haunted her for decades might be beyond her, she was comforted by the fact that her best friend, now 5,000 miles from here at a tropical island but at arm’s length in a mere 24 hours time, was probably outscoring her in the exaltation department.
The weight of expectations might still crush them both.
But partying on a rum-infused dance beat neither of them would care less.
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