Chapter 2
Cleo
River Dawson. Where to start? The beginning, I guess. Not a love story for the ages. Well, it wasn’t. Let me explain…
What a colossal mistake. Not just the drinking, which I regret with every cell in my now nauseated body, but the woman I brought home. The sailor.
Goddammit!
I swore to myself years ago I’d never sleep with another fuckboi sailor. They’re cocky, think themselves God’s gift to women, and have major commitment issues. Well, of the ones I’ve met, and believe me, I’ve met many. That’s what happens when your father is Admiral of the Royal Navy.
When I was younger, I was enamoured with sapphic sailors. Who wouldn’t be, especially when they dressed in their number one uniforms? I was a sucker for the bowl hat and shiny boots. I was enamoured. Not anymore. I got my heart broken enough times I learned my lesson.
When I graduated from university, I had the opportunity to distance myself from my father’s world. I had no desire to follow in his footsteps, and no intention of ever stepping foot on a ship of any kind.
It all worked for years. I lived and worked in London as a journalist. Had a few nice girlfriends—none ever panned out into something serious—and lived with my best friend and her cat.
Then I got a call from dear old dad asking for a favour.
Seemed he was spearheading a PR campaign in a bid to push young people to sign up for the Navy.
He wanted me to do a special segment on the fleet’s flagship, HMS Queen Elizabeth.
I’d not had a chance to refuse because he stated it was a foregone conclusion.
He’d obtained the necessary permissions from my paper’s editor, so it was inevitable I was doing it.
That’s how I found myself in Portsmouth last night. I’d arrived earlier in the day and dropped all my baggage off at the apartment my father owns. It’s a reflection of how well paid he is, that’s for sure.
After half an hour of sitting on my own, I made the mistake of thinking I could nip to the pub for a quiet drink before heading back for some sleep. I had every intention of being alone when I returned.
Two-thirds of the way through my adequate Chardonnay, a group of sailors spilled through the door.
They were loud and overly excited. It didn’t take a genius to see they were fresh from a long time out at sea.
There was a nice mix of people, which in hindsight I realised made me comfortable enough to let my guard down.
If the group had just consisted of women, I’d have left sharpish.
They left everyone alone, including me. Like an idiot I stayed for another drink, and that’s when it happened. The coordinated strike of two sailors and their well-tested pickup routine.
The dark-haired one—River, I’d learn later—slid onto the stool beside me with the confidence of someone who’d never been told no. Her mate, a tiny blonde with a wicked grin, flanked my other side.
“You look like you could use better company than that Chardonnay,” River said, nodding at my glass.
“The Chardonnay’s adequate. The company, I’m not so sure about.”
Her grin widened. “Ouch. I like her already, Cheddar.”
I should’ve left then. Should’ve paid my tab and walked out. But those hazel eyes had a glint of mischief that made me curious despite myself.
At first, I brushed them off, which only made the dark-haired one try harder.
She was used to women falling at her feet with just a bat of her eyelashes.
Which, to her credit, were naturally long and lush.
Her hazel eyes had a speck of green in them, and her hair was tossed to look casual.
It reached just over her shoulders and looked impossibly soft.
Later, I learned it was equally soft to touch.
She stayed long after her friends left, and we drank together.
I rebuffed her time and again until she finally gave up and we just chatted.
Another miscalculation on my part. I should’ve known better than to accept her offer to walk me home.
We were both drunk enough that our decision-making skills were not at their best. That goes twice for me.
River, a.k.a. my drunken mistake, came upstairs for a “coffee.” I didn’t even get the kettle on.
She kissed me, and I let her. I even initiated the second one.
Both were sloppy, not my finest work. But then again, the entire night was like that.
She proved herself to be like every other lothario sailor I’d let in my bed. She was efficient and to the point.
Sure, she was a giver. If there’d been an ounce of feeling behind it, I would’ve enjoyed it more, but as it turned out sex without any sort of emotional attachment just wasn’t my thing anymore.
River had been skilled—I’ll give her that. She knew exactly what she was doing, hit all the right notes with practised precision. But it felt choreographed, like she was running through a routine she’d perfected on dozens of women before me.
I’d wanted to feel something. Connection. Heat. Anything beyond the mechanical pleasure of it. Instead, I’d felt like a box she was ticking. Another conquest. Another notch.
Pathetic, really, that I’d expected anything different from a sailor.
That leads to now. My head hurting and my mouth dry. The flat is silent when I wake. Too silent. I don’t need to roll over to know the other side of the bed is empty—I can feel the absence. The bathroom door hangs open, no sound of running water. Her clothes are gone from the floor.
I’m not surprised in the least to find River gone. I can almost picture her tiptoeing in the dark so as not to disturb me in fear of breaking her MO.
I get it, I really do. Loads of people have no-strings-attached sex.
I’m all for it if that’s what you want. What bugs the shit out of me is the ridiculous sneaking out bit.
As far as I’m concerned, it’s just disrespectful.
Two consenting adults don’t need to play silly buggers.
Have your fun, wake up and say goodbye like a fucking mature grownup. Is it really that hard?
Whatever. I need caffeine and carbs to deal with this shitty hangover. I’m expected at the naval base later this afternoon. I’m going to meet the captain of HMS Queen Elizabeth and my dad.
First things first. I need to clean up. The sight of my strap on the floor makes me queasy. She wielded it well, but I’d hoped to christen it with someone who’d at least remember my name in the morning. Someone who’d stick around for coffee.
Breathing out a frustrated breath, I snatch up the toy and throw it in the bathroom sink. I’ll clean it after my shower. The water is scalding, just how I like it. It literally burns away the disappointment I feel in myself.
At least I feel vaguely human again afterwards. The coffee machine in the kitchen is industry grade, giving me the boost I need with decent flavour.
My phone rings with a piercing sound that ricochets around my head. Ugh, why isn’t it on silent like every other mobile phone in the world?
“Dad.”
“Cleo, good morning. I need you at the base in twenty minutes. There’s been a change in my schedule.”
Rolling my eyes, I count to ten before answering. My father has the habit of thinking his life takes precedence over everyone else’s. It’s why he’s two times divorced and well on the way to a third.
“Is my name at the gate?”
I don’t intend to turn up, only to be held at the gate by MPs for half an hour because my father didn’t think ahead and get me added to the list.
“All done. You’ll be met by my assistant and brought straight to the ship.”
There’s something in his tone that makes me suspicious.
“Pack a bag.”
There it is.
“Why on earth would I need to pack a bag?”
He clears his throat, and I know I’m about to get his military voice designed to make grown men quiver. It doesn’t work on me, as well he knows, but I’ll give him credit for trying.
“You’ll be joining the ship for a two-month exercise deployment. It’ll give you plenty of time to gather interviews and information for your piece. What better way for you to write about the Navy than by joining it temporarily.”
Scoffing, I slam back another espresso. “I know there’s no point arguing, but to make it clear. I’m not joining the Navy. I’ll be a passenger, and that’s it.”
He laughs. “I know, I know. My dream of you following in my footsteps died long ago, Cleo. It was just a figure of speech. Although, I think you’ll be surprised. Just keep an open mind.”
“Dad, I’ll do my job. Even if you could’ve found someone else who had an interest in the Navy to write this piece.”
He sighs, and I know he finds it frustrating. We’re not overly close, and I’ll admit that’s mainly my doing. I just dislike his way of life, and frankly, his sense of entitlement.
“Cleo, could we just try, for once? You’re my only daughter. Is it so bad I want us to share this?”
Scrunching my eyes closed, I take another ten seconds.
“No, it’s not. But, Dad, you didn’t ask me until after you’d arranged it, taking away any opportunity for me to say yes on my own.
It’s always the same. You order and expect everyone to comply, but I’m not a sailor under your leadership. I just wish you’d get that.”
The line is silent for several seconds. I check the screen to make sure he hasn’t hung up.
“I know, Cleo. I’m sorry.”
I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it, certain I’ve misheard. Dad doesn’t apologise. Not to subordinates, not to ex-wives, and certainly not to me. His leadership style is “my way or the motorway,” and emotions are for people with too much time on their hands.
“Dad?”
“I mean it, Cleo. I know I’m…difficult. But I’d like us to try.”
The lump in my throat threatens to choke me.
Now it’s my turn to go silent. Dad isn’t the say-you’re-sorry type of guy. It’s not in his nature to show emotion. Maybe getting older is softening him. Either way, I have a decision to make. Shut him out as usual or meet him halfway for once.
“Maybe we can catch up before you leave?”
“I’d like that, kiddo.”
The lump in my throat tightens. It’s been a long time since he called me that.
We end the call, and I have to take a few moments to settle my emotions. I still have a job to do, and I need to reinforce my walls. I’m going to be surrounded by women in uniform, and I can’t afford to fuck up like last night.
The walk to the base is relatively quick and thankfully, uneventful. It’s been a while since I’ve strolled the streets of Portsmouth, I forgot how much I like it.
Two brooding MPs stand at the gate. I give them my name, half expecting them to have no clue who I am, but I’m pleasantly surprised when they wave me through to a waiting Rebecca Dickinson—Dad’s assistant.
I had a slight crush on her when she first took up the role—she’s damn good-looking in her uniform—but then I gave myself a stern talking to and forgot all about her.
Clearly I didn’t forget hard enough, because the sight of her in that crisp uniform does things to my pulse that are entirely inappropriate. This is exactly my problem: put a woman in Navy dress and my brain short-circuits, despite years of evidence that it’s a terrible idea.
My tongue runs across my bottom lip. Jesus, I’m a glutton for punishment.
“Cleo, lovely to see you.”
“Petty Officer Dickinson, likewise.”
“Rebecca, please.”
I tilt my head. “It’s a little disrespectful, isn’t it?”
She smiles. “Okay, how about you call me Rebecca when we’re alone?”
My mind goes to a place it shouldn’t.
“Sure. Now, I’m supposed to be meeting the captain of HMS Queen Elizabeth.”
Rebecca nods and gestures for me to follow. “Right this way. Captain Morley is expecting you.”
We stroll through the Navy base. Presumably, Dad is already with the captain. We approach the ship, and I admit I’m impressed. Seeing the fleet is always impressive. The Queen Elizabeth is a beautiful vessel. Maybe sticking around for a few weeks won’t be so bad.
We walk up the gangplank. The carrier holds dozens of aircraft, including choppers. All of whom are standing proudly on the deck. There are a group of sailors in PT clothing jogging up and down the runway. I can hear the instructor screaming at them to go faster.
Squinting, I look a little closer. They’re all sweating profusely and look utterly miserable. It’s at times like this that I’m so happy I went in a different direction.
One of the sailors calls out and I freeze.
She’s not speaking to me, but I recognise the voice.
My feet stop moving before my brain catches up.
It’s her. River. Drenched in sweat, hair plastered to her forehead, looking absolutely knackered as she runs another lap.
She’s laughing despite her obvious misery, shouting something back at the instructor that makes the other sailors howl.
Of course she’s here. Of course she’s on this ship, because the universe has a twisted sense of humour.
Rebecca notices I’ve stopped. “Everything alright?”
“Fine.” I force my legs to move, turning away before River spots me. “Just taking it all in.”
It’s the voice I heard last night trying to talk dirty to me. We were too pissed for it to have an effect, but I still remember the cadence of her voice. Its husky quality absent when she curses out her superior officer. He takes it on the chin and laughs in her face.
My stomach churns, knowing I’m going to be on the same ship as River. The Queen Elizabeth is big enough to avoid her, but experience tells me that won’t happen.
I put her to the back of my mind. I’ve got shit to do, and River made it clear when she disappeared without the courtesy of a goodbye that she’s not worth the mental headspace.