chapter SIX #3
That’s interesting, I guess. What are the odds?
Well, I know what the odds are. It’s one out of three hundred and sixty five.
But what are the odds I would travel to Italy and meet a gorgeous man who takes me on a boat ride to a sea cave and has the same birthday as me? My guess is one in a gazillion.
“Why did you leave Pittsburgh?” I ask, suddenly interested in his story.
Rising from his seat, Asher walks toward me.
His long legs only require three steps to reach me.
I stand up straight from where I am leaning on the side of the boat.
The top of my head stands just under his chin.
He leans forward and grabs the orange out of my hand, brushing his fingers with mine.
Ripping off the rest of the peel, he breaks it in half and hands the other half back to me.
“I don’t talk about that with anyone,” he answers with a wink, popping a piece of the orange in his mouth.
I put my hand on my hip and shift my weight to the side. “Are you just saying that because I said it earlier?”
He leans against the other side of the boat, directly across from me. “No. I don’t like to talk about certain aspects of my past. There are things no one needs to know and, quite frankly, I’d be happy never to speak of them again.” His answer is honest and concise, and, boy, do I understand.
“Your family is probably completely different than mine. All they want to do is talk. Talk about things that happened. Talk about feelings. Talk about the future. They want to make sure I’m okay, when their constant pressure is making me so not okay I want to crawl out of my skin.”
“Why don’t you tell them to stop?” He asks this like it’s the simplest suggestion in the world.
“My family . . .” Where do I begin? “They’re kind and sweet.
My mom is the type of woman who wears cat sweaters where there’s a kitten wrapped in a ball of yarn with a saying that says, ‘Hang in there.’ And my dad, he’s this really cuddly guy who teaches history and reads James Joyce novels.
I mean, who reads Dubliner’s anymore? And he makes taffy.
Like, a lot of taffy. But he doesn’t eat it.
He makes it because he thinks we love it, but no one has the heart to tell them we don’t like it either!
” My hands have taken on Leah’s Italian like way of talking, and I have to rein them in.
“You’re pretty funny, Emma Paige.” Asher crosses his arms, and the creases around his eyes form as he gives me a real smile. It’s luminous and beautiful, showcasing two divots on the side of his face. They’re not dimples, but they’re definitely only seen when he lets out a big smile.
“Nice to see my pain is entertaining.”
“I don’t mean it like that. It sounds nice to have people around you who care.” As soon as the words are out of his mouth, his stance changes and the light in his eyes falters.
“They do care, too much. But I don’t want to be taken care of, ever.
They raised a strong, independent woman and, lately, all they do is hover—like I’m going to break.
I’m not angry with them for the way they act.
It’s the opposite. I feel awful. They have their own lives to focus on. I can take care of myself.”
Asher leans his hands on the edge of the boat and cocks his head to the side as if working something out in his head. I just gave him a mouthful. More than I even told my shrink, and that’s not saying a lot.
“Sorry for blabbering.”
“You apologize a lot.”
“Sorry?” I dip my head and cringe to myself even as I say it.
He smiles again and uncrosses his arms. “For someone who doesn’t like to talk, you seem to have an easy time talking here.”
He’s right. Maybe it’s the confines of the cave. They make me feel like I’m in another universe. Maybe it’s the fact we’re on a boat and far removed from the mainland. Or . . .
“Maybe it’s because I know I’m never going to see you again.” This time it’s my turn to be honest and concise.
He nods, the perfect arch of his brow a little straighter; his lips pucker in. Placing his hands in his pockets, he leans back on his heels and looks back at me.
“So, Emma, what would you like to do? I’ve offered my services to you and so far I’ve passed a rock formation I couldn’t tell you the name of and brought you into a cave I only discovered during an outing of my own last week.”
“Do you bring a lot of girls here?” I mean for it to come out sarcastic but I know it sounds anything but.
“You’re the first.” Those divots make an appearance again.
A tingle shoots up my back, and my eyes instantly fall to the side. I wipe my palms on the sides on my shorts and look at the rock surrounding us. Asher steps next to me.
The sides of our bodies touch and it’s not affecting me at all.
Nope. Not one bit.
“I was thinking about this place last night. I wanted to take you here.”
My head shoots up to look at him, almost causing me whiplash. “Take me here?”
“Yes.” Those golden eyes bear down on mine. Damn, I wish I had pretty eyes too. When I look into these I am positively mesmerized.
“What about my sister?” My words almost a whisper.
“I was hoping she’d stay home, but I was willing to take her with us.”
“Why?”
His brows cave in. “Why would I care if your sister came?”
No. I know why someone would want to take Leah. She’s funny and pretty and spontaneous. The question is—“Why me?”
Asher lowers his chin and holds my gaze in place, as if to make sure I absorb every word he says. “I wanted to get to know you. People intrigue me and when I am intrigued I want to know more. Watching you play yesterday. It made me want to know the woman behind the keys.”
My lips part on the inhale, and I grab hold of the railing to steady myself.
I am so not worth getting to know. It wasn’t that long ago I was thrown out of bed by my sister, urging me to take a shower and end my months-long sleep.
That’s all I’d been doing. Sleeping and crying and going to therapy.
I want to get better. I want my hand to work.
I want to play again. But my last scan showed too much scar tissue and a nerve whose damage is irreparable.
The woman behind the keys is a shell of who she used to be. For a brief moment I felt that power I craved. I played the music I love. But it’s lost on me now. And this woman he sees is not . . . me.
“We should go. I don’t want to leave my sister alone all day.” I walk around him and take my seat.
He stands for a moment, the muscles of his back rising and falling ever so slightly. The awesome thing about Asher is he doesn’t press the issue or ask questions. He just nods and does as he’s told. Maybe Devon did know what he was doing when he hired him.
And maybe he just doesn’t want to be stuck with me a moment longer.
The rumble of the anchor being drawn up echoes in the cavern, and he backs the boat up slowly until we are back in the bright sunshine. Turning the boat in the direction we were heading earlier, he raises the speed on the boat and drives again.
I’m surprised we’re still heading in the opposite direction of where we came. “I said I wanted to go back.”
Ignoring my request, he lowers his sunglasses over his eyes and pushes the throttle faster. My body jolts backwards for a second with the increase in speed, I have to reach my hands out in front of me to brace myself on the dashboard.
I take back what I said earlier. This guy doesn’t know how to follow orders.
“Slow down.”
His body stands tall, unaffected by the increased speed. I, on the other hand, am an unstable mess.
“I said, slow down!”
He drops the throttle down another level and the horsepower kicks up a notch, sending my ass into the seat behind me. Do these things come with seatbelts?
I’m trying to breathe, but the wind in front of me fills my chest and I think I’m going to have a panic attack. Asher, on the other hand, is stoic and calm, acting as if he’s taking a Sunday drive.
I raise my voice to him. “I want you to slow down, now!”
The engine is now growling a loud thunder. Chancing a look behind me, I see the island getting smaller as we head into the open waters. This is not the direction I want to go and not the speed I want us to drive.
“Sometimes you don’t always get what you want.” His deep voice echoes over the boom of the ocean.
I turn my head back to face him and see him for who he is.
Asher may be Devon’s hand but he’s not a servant.
He’s not a slave or a submissive. This is a man who does whatever the hell he wants and gives no apology.
He doesn’t need someone to worry about him because he can take care of himself. Asher is in control.
I have no control. Everything in my life right now is way too slow. And it doesn’t matter how safe you are, you can still get hurt. I don’t know why but I find myself saying, “Faster.”
He looks over at me. “Are you sure?”
I nod. “Go as fast as you want.”
It was the right answer, because I am rewarded that Asher smile. It’s so worth it.
Almost. He pulls the throttle as far down as it can go and my body hits the back of the seat.
I have to grab onto the metal bar to my left and brace myself on the wall portion in front of me.
A large lump forms in my throat and I think I’m going to be sick.
My legs are shaking, and I have to look down to block the fear of what could happen from my brain.
I start to count, in measures and downbeats, but my head can’t wrap around the chords in my head.
“Emma!” he calls out with an outstretched hand. “Come here.”
I shake my head no and he slows the speed. My heart settles back in my breastbone from its previous position in my stomach. I start to breathe normally again. My chest is heaving up and down, my fingers gripping the sides of the chair.
The boat is still moving but at a much slower speed. With one hand on the wheel, he reaches over to me and grabs the hand I have resting on the arm of the chair, closest to him, and pulls me toward him.