CHAPTER 35
The first thing I notice about the beach that Nolan takes me to, a cottage where we’re to spend the next several months—our last several months—is how much light there is. It’s so bright here.
I’ve never seen a beach quite like it.
The sand itself is almost white, and it reflects the heat of the sun back into the heels of my bare feet. The heat seeps in between my toes, trickling up through my legs. The sand is soft, too. Not at all like the dark, rocky sand of Neverland. The water is a crystalline blue, darkening as it drifts off into the horizon, eventually melding with the cloudless blue sky overhead.
The crew dropped us off here after a two-week journey from Kruschi. From a distance, I can still see theIaso, the lone shadow in this entire place. They’ll set sail at the end of the week. The plan is for them to come back and get us in three months’ time.
At the end of the beach, where the white sand gives way to a grassy knoll, rests a cottage. Over its facade grows wisteria.
The vibrance of the blue flowers draws me in.
“You like it?” Nolan asks.
“Like it?” I ask. “Like” seems too mundane of a word. Almost crude.
We walk toward the cottage, hand in hand, and despite the ground being soft underneath my feet, every step feels heavy—the weight of my future caving in on me, bearing down on my shoulders.
I want nothing more than to fall, to sink into the sand, and soak in the sun and melt there, merging with the ground beneath me.
But Nolan holds me steady. And instead, I walk.
I have only three months left with my husband. I won’t let the Sisters take that away from me, too. I decided as much on the journey over here. Despite how impossible it seems, I will let myself be happy. For all I know, this will be my last chance at the sensation.
“When did you buy it?” I ask, staring at the cottage.
Nolan pauses, and I can tell he’s biting the inside of his cheek as he watches me carefully.
“While the crew and I were trying to find a way to get into Neverland, a way to get you out of Peter’s grasp, our journey led us to this side of the world.
“I saw it as we approached the shoreline. You see, there’s a village nearby I thought you would love. Will love,” he corrects himself. “It was on the way, and when I saw it, I thought that perhaps one day, if I ever found my way back to you, it could be ours. Or if not ours, that I could at least gift it to you. A small penance to pay for the pain I caused.”
A lump forms in my throat, and I can’t decide if it hurts or not.
As we walk toward the cottage, the breeze picks up—more refreshing than cold.
There’s a shed behind the cottage, and a dock not far down the shoreline.
“The previous owner left us a boat. Do you know how to fish?” Nolan asks.
“No.” I almost laugh.
I might have grown up in a fishing town, but that would have been considered a crude sport for an aristocrat’s daughter. And even if it wasn’t—even if I was allowed out of the house like other children my age—well, I wasn’t, was I?
“Would you like me to teach you?” he asks.
I offer him a soft smile.
In reality, fishing has always seemed quite boring to me. I would rather run down the beach, feel the pressure of the sand against my feet. I would rather scale a cliffside. I would rather move.
But I figure that rowing out into the ocean might fulfill some of that desire within me. And there’s a part of me, too, that no longer wants to move. Not right now.
Movement has always made the time seem to pass by faster. It’s always given me the sense that at least I’m doing something productive with the time I’m forced to spend in my body.
But I don’t want to run past these next three months.
So I look at my husband and smile and say, “That sounds lovely.”
