Chapter Twenty-Three
Romy
A vonia Beach.
At least that’s what the sign says. Unfortunately, I can’t see anything other than white, blinding snow. Wind shakes the vehicle, but neither Gareth nor Caius seems concerned.
“Are we really going on a boat? In that?” I thump the glass with my knuckle, hoping they’ll snap out of their indifference. “There’s literally zero visibility.”
“It’s not a boat,” Caius says, correcting me. “It’s a yacht.”
The driver speaks up, pride in his tone. “It’s not just any yacht, sir. Mr. Grayhawk purchased this World Superyacht Award winner in 2022 from a private seller in northern Europe for just a bit over two hundred and nine million dollars. The two-hundred-nineteen-foot-long vessel boasts two luxurious VIP cabins with balconies plus eight more king-sized staterooms. The wellness center was recently remodeled. Mr. Grayhawk’s guests are welcome to enjoy the steam room, sauna, massage room, and beauty salon within the wellness center. I do hope you appreciate the stunning beauty of it as not many people ever experience such luxuries.”
Caius smirks at me as if to say, “There you have it,” as he shoves my new, crimson-colored fur-lined parka at me to put on. As I begin layering up to walk through a blizzard to board an overpriced death trap, I wonder how a “steel man” can afford such a boat. If I had my phone and some time alone, I’d research what Solomon’s net worth is. It’s possible the steel company is a legal front to keep eyes off his illegal hidden business ventures. There’s definitely something there.
All too soon, the driver pulls up to the dock where the superyacht awaits. Since the wind is blowing snow everywhere, all I can see is a massive, dark gray outline amidst blinding whites and grays. Caius takes hold of my gloved hand, hurriedly ushering me toward the vessel. We board the yacht and after climbing a flight of icy steps that takes us from the lower deck to the one above, we make our way across the sun deck and covered pool to a set of glass doors. Once inside, a dozen workers all dressed in tailored white suits assist in taking our coats and outerwear. I trade my boots for a pair of comfy slippers. Seeing Caius in a matching pair has me smothering a laugh. He looks ridiculous.
The interior of the yacht is stunning as expected. Everything is white with silver accents—floors, walls, furniture. No wonder they had us remove our snowy clothes and shoes.
“Welcome to the Beach Club deck,” a man with a thick black mustache and even thicker English accent says. “Enjoy a drink while your luggage is taken to your rooms. Mr. Grayhawk welcomes you. He looks forward to meeting with you all for dinner on the main deck saloon dining area.” He taps the marbled bar top and then grins at us. “Champagne to warm you up?”
I nod because the wine I consumed earlier has left my system. A little champagne will help take the chill off and keep my nerves down a couple of degrees.
The wind outside whips at the side of the yacht, but it holds its own, only bobbing slightly. I’m worried, though, how it’ll be once we’re out on the waters. Lake Erie isn’t some regular placid lake. It’s one of the Great Lakes, albeit the smallest, and seems more like a sea than a lake.
With champagne flutes in hand, we make our way out of the bar area to a room deeper within the yacht. This room has two low, wide sofas—white, of course—that face each other on either side of a grand window that offers a picturesque view of the snow falling on the choppy lake. Despite the heat warming the space, I can’t help but shiver.
Gareth sits on one sofa while Caius guides me to the one opposite his brother. I don’t even argue at Caius’s closeness because he’s somehow warm despite his frigid personality.
“Cold, love?” Caius asks, voice deceptively sweet and caring. “Come here.”
Right.
We’re playing our parts.
Knowing contact with Megan is at stake, I lean willingly into his strong, warm body. He wraps his free arm around me, hauling me closer so that I’m squished against him. I’m not exactly hating it, which annoys me. I hook my jean-clad leg over his thigh, snuggling closer while precariously holding my flute so as not to spill it all over my “boyfriend.” With my head resting on his shoulder and cozied up against him, I could almost pretend we’re a real couple.
Gareth marvels aloud about the “badass” yacht. The mustache man who greeted us appears with a tray of stuffed mushrooms and what looks like caviar. He sets it on the table between the sofas before getting trapped in a conversation with Gareth. I sip my champagne, pleasantly surprised at how delicious it is, and try not to inhale Caius’s equally delicious scent. It’d be much easier to hate him if he didn’t smell so good.
We both finish our drinks, and as if having eyes in the back of his head, the mustache man discreetly relieves us of our glasses, while never missing a beat of talking to Gareth.
Voices resound in the bar area, and I strain to listen. A female one can be heard loudest. Her cackle of laughter has Caius’s entire body tensing. Naturally, this has me on high alert. Who’s the woman?
Moments later, a voluptuous woman with vibrant, long, wavy, red hair and piercing green eyes enters the space. As soon as she sees Gareth, she grins. Four young teen girls follow behind her, plainly dressed in comparison to the sexy older woman.
“My favorite Crowne,” she croons, voice raspy like that of an old-time jazz singer. “Good seeing you, hon. How are you?”
Gareth rises to his feet and pulls her in for a hug. “Better now, Ms. Herring.”
She cackles again. “You’ve seen me naked, sweetheart. Ava. You’re to always call me Ava.”
Their exchange is weird, to say the least. I glance at the girls behind her, but none of them even look up. They’re all silent and sullen. It’s unsettling.
“Have you met Caius’s woman?” Gareth asks. “This one’s serious.”
Caius pats my hip and I know that’s my cue to play along. I untangle myself from his hold, hopping quickly to my feet to offer my hand.
“Romy Langston. Nice to meet you.”
Ava blinks her thick lashes several times as if she’s calculating something in her head but it’s not computing. “My, what a surprise.” Her green orbs cut over to Caius, who’s now standing. “I didn’t think your cold heart had an ounce of warmth.” She smirks. “From the looks of it, though, you’ve practically robbed the cradle.”
Caius casually wraps an arm over my shoulders, pulling me close. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Ava?”
She bursts into more obnoxious laughter, covering her full, cherry-red lips with her dainty hand. “I can’t help it if younger men are attracted to me.” She winks at him. “You’re the only one who could ever resist me.”
I’m starting to really get grossed out by this woman. If she’s anything like her creepy buddy Solomon, she’s probably plucking those young “men” from the boys’ homes for her own pleasure and amusement. The thought makes me want to gag. It also has my attention darting over to the group of teenage zombies.
“Your children?” I ask, not pulling my gaze from the girls.
One of the girls, with jet-black hair, lifts her head and stares at me—brown eyes empty and apathetic. It makes the hairs on my arms stand on end.
“They’re my girls,” Ava says, stepping in front of the strange girl, blocking my view with her curvaceous body.
I want to ask more, but Caius’s hand on my shoulder tightens. It feels like a warning.
“They’re pretty,” I blurt out. But look nothing like you, lady.
“I should hope so for as much trouble as they are.” Ava’s smile never falters, but I don’t miss the edge of irritation in her tone.
Before we can continue this bizarre encounter, the mustache man proclaims our rooms are ready.
“The cabins are on the level above this one,” he says to us. “However, Mr. Crowne and his lovely lady will be rooming in one of the VIP suites above that on the owner’s level.”
Special treatment.
I’m not sure I like the idea of being on the same deck as Solomon Grayhawk.
Ava herds her odd girls out of the room and down a hallway. Gareth saunters after the older woman, playfully chatting her up along the way. Caius drops his arm and then takes hold of my hand. The mustache man shows us to a door that leads to a private staircase. Caius goes up the steps first, tugging me behind him. We go up two levels and exit into a large lounge complete with a pool table, another bar, and multiple low sofas.
“This way,” he says to us. “You’re on the opposite end as Mr. Grayhawk. Unfortunately, his wife won’t be with us for our voyage. She sends her regards.”
I shoot Caius a questioning look, but he ignores me. Gritting my teeth, I follow him into our suite. Once the mustache man—whom I now know as Roberto after looking at his stitched name tag—leaves us to rest until the evening, I turn on Caius.
“Are you getting weird vibes?” I demand, crossing my arms over my chest. “Because I certainly am.”
Our luggage rests on top of the bed, ready to be unpacked. Caius, clearly over wearing the slippers, kicks them off and begins digging in his suitcase. I keep mine on because they’re comfortable.
“Don’t ignore me,” I huff out. “I’m serious. Behind all this lovely is something awful.”
Caius yanks a pair of leather dress shoes out of the suitcase before whirling on me. Fire burns hot in his dark gaze. I recoil from the intensity of it. With eyes locked on mine, he sets the shoes down and slides each foot into them. Then he prowls closer to me. I yelp when he grabs my jaw, dipping his head until our noses touch.
“You want to speak with Megan?” he asks, voice low and dangerous.
I can’t form words because his sudden change in personality has my voice box shriveling up, so I nod instead.
“Stop asking questions. Stop playing detective. Just fucking stop, little girl.”
Well, that’s not going to happen.
“I held it in,” I argue, finally finding my words. “I waited until we were alone. Don’t be a prick.”
He inhales deeply and then exhales slowly as if to calm his anger. Are his supposed “demons” about to make themselves known? Should I be fearing for my life right now?
Then, as if turning off a switch, Caius’s muscles relax and he affixes me with a cold, dead stare. He releases my jaw and starts for the door.
“Where are you going?” I demand. “Don’t leave me here by myself.”
“Lock the door behind me.”
My stomach tightens at his words. “Yeah, that was super comforting. Not going to freak out at all now,” I deadpan before gaping at him. “Are you serious right now?!”
His lips purse together and his eyebrows furl. I hold my breath, stupidly hoping he changes his mind. And what? Decides to hang out here with me instead? I don’t even like him.
“Freshen up,” he instructs, not looking at me. “Wear something sexy for dinner. Until then, take a nap. Rest. Look at your phone. I don’t care. Just don’t leave this room.”
He pulls my phone from his pocket and sets it on a table near the door. Without another look in my direction, he slips out the door of our suite. I rush over to the door and quickly lock it. It doesn’t make me feel any safer. Now that I’m alone, I take a minute to inspect the suite.
It’s big. Everything’s white and silver. Surprise, surprise. The most spectacular part of the room is the enormous wall of windows that overlooks a snow-covered deck and the dark gray, chaotic waters of Lake Erie. I unpack our suitcases and put our things away in the drawers and wall cabinets before stowing the suitcases in one of the cabinets. After a quick inspection of the en suite—cream and brown marbled counters and tub, a shocking twist from the yacht’s usual decor—I sit down on the edge of the bed, staring out onto the lake.
“This is Captain Spade speaking,” a deep, older voice states, coming through on a speaker within the suite. “We are about to depart despite the concerning weather. I’ve studied the alerts and warnings. I’m confident this vessel will handle all Mother Nature has in store for us as we go into the evening.”
Great.
Even the captain knows this is a bad idea, and yet here we are doing it anyway.
“It’s a chilly seventeen degrees outside,” he continues as the yacht begins to move. “We’re under a lake effect snow warning until seven a.m. tomorrow morning. For all you out-of-towners, this means our beloved Lake Erie, with the current freezing fog and five to fifteen knots wind conditions, is creating her own weather. Since this vessel is heated and stays moving, however, our chances of accumulating ice are minimal.” He pauses and chuckles. “I do hope, though, you’re able to experience seeing some of the beachfront houses that will no doubt be encased in ice.”
“Sounds lovely,” I mutter aloud. “Perfect weather for a boat ride.”
“Waves are currently one to three feet, but if conditions worsen, we could be looking at gale winds of upward of fifteen to twenty-five knots, which could produce waves of up to six feet.” He chuckles again because clearly he has no fear or is simply a sadist. “Don’t worry. If it worsens, we will dock at a marina for your safety. Water temperature is thirty-nine degrees. And, while above freezing, if you fall in…” Another dark laugh. “Well, don’t. It’s advised for you to stay indoors for the duration of our voyage.”
I slide off the bed to grab my phone. It’ll be hours until dinnertime. Napping feels like a waste of time.
Maybe I’ll do a little investigating.
“Stop asking questions. Stop playing detective. Just fucking stop, little girl.”
Sorry, Caius. My brain doesn’t work that way.
When I want to solve something, I don’t stop until I do.