Chapter Seven
Elliott
I don’t talk to the ocean or growl at the sun as she beats down on my back. I barely feel the morning breeze when it blows past my face. I don’t feel anything but the deep, churning weight in my gut. Everything stopped yesterday morning when Chloe climbed into her parents’ car and left.
Why?
I’ve been racking my brain since she left, hunting for an explanation, but I keep coming back empty.
I don’t understand why she pretended to have amnesia.
Her family is clearly not poor, not struggling—not that it would make it right to play me a fool for a week, but at least it would make sense.
Maybe she’s just a bored rich girl who wanted a break from her life, and I was convenient.
Goddamnit. I pulled her out of the water myself. She was weak, a few more minutes in the water, and she might have been gone for good. I watched her have those nightmares. No one fakes that. Those were real, but her memory loss was not?
None of this makes any fucking sense!
A flash of silver catches my eye—the line going taut.
For the first time since my father first brought me out on these waters, I realize I don’t want to be here.
Not when my mind keeps drifting to the woman who left my home yesterday morning.
Why did she lie? Was anything about our feelings real?
Now I sound needy, but goddamn it, I need answers.
I took her into my home, cared for her, and hell, lines were crossed, but I deserve to know what she was playing at.
My hands grip the fishing pole tightly and reel slowly.
It’s a good catch, great size, but I don’t have an interest in catching anything today.
And just like I did yesterday, I release the line.
I don’t stay to watch the fish disappear into the blue of the water as I’m already turning back to start the motor.
The ocean gave her to me. She’s mine!
I’m going to get answers, goddamnit. Unlike the catch I just let go, I am not letting her disappear without so much as an explanation. I’m owed that much.
I consider heading home to change out of my fishing gear before heading to the B&B but decide against it. If her people can’t take me as I am, then fuck them. I don’t dress up for anyone.
The drive to the B&B is spent coming up with all the questions I intend to demand of Chloe when I see her.
I work myself into a controlled anger. A part of me is worried that they’ve already left—there’s nothing keeping them in Eden Cove now.
But if they haven’t, I imagine they’d be having breakfast.
I’m right.
The scent of coffee beans hits me when I push through the heavy doors. As the only B&B in Eden Cove, I’m not surprised by the crowd here. The place is buzzing with lively chatter and clinking silverware, but I ignore it all as I search for the woman who pulled me away from the ocean.
I spot their table immediately, hard not to when they all stand out with their too-bright clothes and jewelry glinting in the morning sun. I skim over all that as my eyes seek her.
And there she is, beautiful as she was when she left my house yesterday morning.
Her long brown hair is neatly styled around that heart-shaped face I missed when I opened my eyes this morning.
Still, something about her face gives me a terrible start.
She’s put together—lipstick and powdered cheeks—but something about it doesn’t sit right.
All the enhancements don’t hide the fact that her eyes look like they’ve had life snuffed out of them.
How can someone adorned in expensive jewelry appear so dull and lifeless?
Fuck, that’s not what I was expecting to find, and it knocks me sideways.
I hesitate by the door, uncertain what the fuck I am going to do now. I’m rethinking my strategy when suddenly, she looks up and turns, her eyes finding mine like a compass. That sexy mouth parts in a gasp, and she shoots up from her chair, drawing the attention of the rest of her table.
“Elliott,” she mouths the words, but I swear I hear them. Hell, I feel them on my skin, like a caress.
My legs are already moving on their own before my brain can catch up. I attract attention, of course I do. I stand out like a sore thumb in my green overalls and rubber boots. My hair is mussed from running my hand through it all morning, and fuck, I’m overdue for a haircut.
I catch myself, annoyed that suddenly I’m worried about how the fuck I look around these people when that has never worried me before.
“You!”
I pull my eyes from Chloe and to her mother, who has stood, eyes sharp as flint. I don’t spare her more than a glance. “I want answers,” I say, keeping my eyes on Chloe. “You can give them here, or we can find somewhere more private to talk.”
Those pretty blue eyes go wide with something like surprise, as if she didn’t think I’d want to hear her side. Still, she nods and steps forward—but someone grips her wrist, stopping her.
I follow the hand to the man it belongs to. Tall, fair, the kind of white teeth that cost money. He looks like something off a magazine cover and carries himself like he knows it. But I see what’s underneath that—arrogance, clear as a flag.
“I don’t know what kind of games you played with my fiancée,” he says, “but she’s not going anywhere with you.”
Fiancée?
Those words settle like lead in my stomach, and I want to punch the smirk off his face, but I restrain myself. “Your fiancée?” It’s a question directed at Chloe.
“Arranged,” she hurries to say, attempting to tug her hand away from the man.
“W-we don’t really know each other. We met like a month ago and my parents set up the whole deal.
We’re not in love or anything. We haven’t even.
..” her words trail off as her cheeks flush red. “I’ll explain everything, I promise.”
I look at the grip she can’t shake and feel the last of my patience go thin. “Let go of her hand.”
Something must cross in my eyes because he releases her—slowly, like it was his idea. “Whatever your arrangement is,” he says, recovering his composure, “we’ll be married soon enough. I’d suggest you leave now. Without Chloe.”
I don’t answer that. I step forward instead—and Chloe’s hand lands flat on my chest, pressing back. “Not here, please,” she pleads, looking around nervously and blushing at the attention I’ve drawn to their table. “Let’s go, I’ll tell you everything.”
“Fine.”
I hold the man’s gaze one moment longer—long enough to make my feelings about him plain—and then I turn to go. Which is when he decides to make it worse.
“If you owe anyone an explanation,” he calls after her, loud enough for the whole room to hear, “it’s me, your fiancé. Maybe you can tell me why you’re walking out of here with another man. Do you think I’ll let that kind of disrespect stand?”
The restaurant goes quiet. I watch Chloe go rigid, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Her mother steps in on cue. “Chloe, honey. We don’t know what he did to you but we’re putting this behind us now—”
“He didn’t do anything to me that I didn’t want.”
“You don’t have to protect him—”
“I’m not protecting him. Stop saying he did something to me.”
“You lied about losing your memory. Did he put you up to it? So he could—”
“I lied.” Chloe’s voice comes out hard and clear, cutting through the murmur of the room. She pulls in a breath and when she speaks again, it’s with the steadiness of someone who’s been holding this in too long.
“I lied because I didn’t want to come back.
I told you from the start I didn’t want to marry Royce.
I agreed because you threatened to disown me—and when I fell off that yacht and Elliott pulled me out, I saw a way out, and I took it.
” Her eyes move to her mother’s and hold.
“I almost drowned trying to get away from a man you chose for me, because you wouldn’t listen.
I’m done pretending otherwise.” But she’s not done as she glares at the people at her table.
“And when Elliott rescued me, I lied about my memories so I wouldn’t have to come back to Royce.” Her eyes find her mother’s. “Or to you.”