Chapter 37
Thirty-Seven
The unrelenting sun never grows old. I sink my toes in the sand and shield my eyes as I look out over the water.
The color of the sea here is mesmerizing.
I let out a long breath and continue down the beach.
The white, sun-baked houses built into the hills above the water are as pretty as the water itself, and I divide my attention between the two like I have every other morning this week.
It's been a month since I last saw York or William, although my phone rang a couple of days ago. I promptly turned it off. I’m still not over it .
. . any of it. It’s been difficult to digest, let alone accept that they played me as hard as they did .
. . that I fell for as much as I did. It’s made me lose confidence in my ability.
To say nothing of the fact that August and Carter are dead, and York and William didn’t seem broken up about it at all.
An hour later, I’m walking into the villa I rented, dropping the white bikini on the floor and changing to go for a jog.
The streets here are challenging, hilly, and winding.
There is so much to see though. From beautiful architecture to the people and the landscape.
The views from high in the hills are incredible too, but I don’t get to see them daily.
Each morning, the course I run changes out of prudence, just in case.
My walk on the beach has been the only routine I’ve had, and I get out there well before the tourists do, ensuring I disappear before then too.
It’s been lonely, and I’ve been lying low, but I’m grateful all the same.
At this point, I’m afraid to meet people.
The thought that they might not be who they claim to be always invades my head, and then I start worrying about hearing their names and having to go down that rabbit hole over and over again . . .
I’m better alone, and everyone else is better off that way too.
Today, my run takes me deep into the hills, far past the expensive homes with views until I break into the areas where you can tell money doesn’t flow as easily. Hitting that threshold, I turn and begin my descent, which is always a relief after a prolonged, steady climb.
After I shower, I slip on a white linen dress and some sandals to head to the market.
I’m on my last couple of days here, and the market is a beautiful place I’ve only visited once before.
Tonight, I want to cook myself a nice meal and head down to the beach resort where there is a bar that has an impressive collection of gin.
The couple of times I’ve gone, the bartender has made me a gin cocktail I’ve never tried before, and they’re two for two, so I’m looking forward to my last appearance there.
The market is bustling when I arrive, and I take my time wandering through and watching the people.
Everything from textiles to spices can be found along the strip that only really seems to relax between two in the morning and six in the morning.
There is always something going on around here.
I suppose the weather makes it easy to live and work outdoors most of the time.
I pick up a fish fillet, fresh herbs, citrus, and leafy greens before hailing a car to take me back.
The rest of the day is spent like most of the others I’ve had here: I nap when the sun is high and it’s too hot to be out, and then I take a cool shower and prepare dinner.
On the nights I take the risk and head out, I get dressed up.
This evening, I’m wearing an airy blue dress that slouches off my shoulders in short, rolled sleeves and leaves a swath of naked skin down the center of my chest to my waist. The skirt billows with a slit halfway up the center.
It’s feminine and lazy and perfect. I slip on my sandals, a fine gold chain with a simple-looking vertical gold bar hanging in the center, and a couple of bracelets I picked up along the way to detract from the scarring on my wrists.
When I arrive at the bar, the moon is high and the night is clear as I descend the long staircase to the beach. I love this place. Everything feels whimsical or surreal, and it’s a shame I’ll have to be moving on so soon. This is definitely the type of place I could picture myself settling.
The bartender smiles as I approach and waves me over. “Look,” he says in richly accented English, “I found this one. What do you think?”
I look at the picture he’s showing me on his phone and nod. Winking, he stows the phone and claps his hands before turning toward the wall of booze behind him. “We’re going to use the really good one tonight.”
“Perfect.” I smile and set my purse on the bar.
In a few minutes, a martini glass filled to the brim with a foggy, slightly pink concoction is set in front of me. I sip from the overfull edge, and notes of citrus and lavender mix on my tongue with the woody taste of gin and the gentle buzz of carbonation. “That’s amazing.”
The bartender pumps his arm playfully in victory, and I laugh, asking for the bill as I take another drink. Just one drink. I can’t get comfortable. Or sloppy.
“Not tonight.” He shrugs. “The man paid. He said whatever drink the beautiful woman in the blue dress orders is on him.”
Setting the glass down carefully, I lower my voice. “What man?” My eyes scour over every face at the bar, and when nothing appears familiar, I look over my shoulder to the tables that surround the patio dance floor. No one I recognize.
“He was here a little while before . . . I did not ask his name.” The bartender moves down to another customer.
I take another drink, and then another, finishing the cocktail and then getting out of my seat.
Unease settles over me, and I rub at the base of my neck as I head to the stairs.
Normally, I’d have stayed longer, taken my time to enjoy the drink .
. . but I’ve overstayed my welcome here entirely, it seems.
A few days after I landed in Europe, I scoured the news.
It didn’t take long to find a story of the fire in Maine that burned down an old farmhouse, leaving two suspicious bodies inside and the owner missing.
The house was rigged to burn. I’d installed the system myself the year I had the roof re-shingled.
It seemed prudent to be able to wipe the slate clean.
Though, leaving the bodies of two foreign nationals inside when it did burn was never on the to-do list. At least most of the forensics were destroyed in the fire .
. . save a couple of bullets, I’d assume.
It doesn’t matter though; that gun is long gone.
With any luck, I’ll be suspected dead before long too.
The passport I’m traveling on is counterfeit.
For all intents and purposes, Theresa Collins doesn’t exist anymore. I’m Sophie on paper now.
Cars are waiting at the curb when I reach the top of the stairs, so I grab the closest one and head home.
The driver drops me at the top of my road, and I walk the rest of the way to the villa unseen.
The street is quiet as I meander up it, with only crickets and other night insects to keep me company.
Taking my time, I make it to the pathway outside the villa and follow it down the slight decline.
“I’m glad you didn’t answer the phone.” William’s deep voice sounds in his Texan accent, and I stop in my tracks.
“You looked beautiful today—tonight,” he corrects.
“Out in the wild.” I don’t say anything as he steps out of the shadows on the porch and meets me on the walkway. “York sent me to . . . gather you.”
I knew it was one of them that bought the drink, and I knew I’d never get out of here in time. Next time I disappear, no more than three days in any given place, I promise myself.
“I don’t want to be gathered.”
“Have you enjoyed the wild?” he asks, ignoring my protest as his finger trails the inside edge of the dress near my breast. “Have you behaved . . . wildly?”
“No,” I say as his finger moves lower. “It’s not worth the risk.”
“There is no risk with me.” He steps in closer and tilts my head back. “We’re on the same team now,” he adds quietly.
“I don’t like you like this—gentle. I don’t know this version of you.” I pull my chin down and walk around him, but he grabs my arm and pulls me back to face him.
“The man who said horrible things to you doesn’t exist . . . That’s not who I am.” He cups my face. “I promise, York will be as unrelenting as you want.” He lowers his voice and guides my chin up again. “But that’s not what I bring to the table.”
Confused, I nod absently and drift back from him, turning around to cover the rest of the distance to the door.
The way I clashed with William was what I think attracted me to him.
Just like I’m attracted to York’s sternness, his control.
I liked that William lacked control sometimes. I related to it. Now, I’m not sure.
I set my purse on the small table inside and slip off my sandals before breezing down the hallway. I stop in my tracks when York steps out of the bedroom and leans against the wall.
“Dove.”
“Hey.” I take a step forward and pause. I’ve gotten used to York, comfortable.
He convinced me he was safe when he never was, but I remind myself that my value is what keeps me safe now.
All the cards are down, and maybe William is right—we are safe with each other, for the time being.
The only worry that exists is theirs; they aren’t indispensable in the same way I am, and maybe they know that.
Maybe my threat to kill them all and take things over was all it took to align us.
I think we have an understanding, and that understanding is that these men are more invested in keeping me happy and alive than anything else. I’ve got to be careful not to let that go to my head. All I have to do is manage my own emotions and not get too attached.