Swinging my legs off the sun lounger, I grab my kimono and slip it over my shoulders. The sun is already crazy hot, and it’s still early in the morning. Today is going to be a scorcher. The sun is making a desperate attempt to shine despite winter creeping closer.
Adventure.
The last few days have been the worst of my entire time here at Marlen’s mansion. I’ve been bored out of my skull because I was determined to avoid seeing him, which meant I had to spend 90% of my time hiding in my room. I only snuck out to swap books in the library and once to do a session in his gym.
Today, being as beautiful as it is, is the first day I’ve ventured outside. I tried to use the umbrella to hide behind, but I guess I didn’t do a very good job.
I wonder what in the world he meant. When he said we were going away for a few days, my first thought was that he was planning to get rid of me. To dump me somewhere, possibly lifeless. But then he tells me to bring my swimsuit? What game is this man playing? Is this some kind of manipulation to get me back for the kiss thing?
Whatever. An adventure sounds amazing. I’m going absolutely stir crazy in this place.
I’ll just keep my eyes open and a careful watch on him.
Upstairs in my room, I find an overnight bag waiting on my bed. It isn’t something I thought to buy for myself during theshopping spree, but it appears Marlen already recognized this oversight and kindly provided one. I scoff, annoyed that he can be so thoughtful but also such a complete asshole.
From my closet, I pull a few summery dresses and two different sandals. My kimono. My sneakers, in case there is going to be a lot of walking.Actually, I’ll just wear those now.A pair of smart jeans and a few tops. Just in case, I throw in two warm tops. One thinner and lighter, the other a proper warm jacket.
After I’ve packed my toiletries and changed into a pair of shorts and my sneakers, I carry my bag downstairs and leave it at the front door.
“You look lovely,” Marlen says, arriving downstairs just behind me. I crinkle my nose, unsure how to take the compliment. My eyes trace over him. Casual jeans and a white t-shirt. Grey sneakers. A baseball cap in his hand. He looks relaxed and super fucking sexy. The white shirt leaves little to the imagination when it comes to his toned abdomen. Images of the kiss flash through my mind, pulsing through my body in heated lust. I blink several times in annoyance.
“Ready?” he asks.
“I’m not sure what I’m ready for, but yes.”
He smirks, and a little string of anxiety pulls inside me. What sinister plan does he have up his sleeve? “Do I need a hat?” I ask, eyeing his.
“No, there are plenty there, I just really like this one.” He lifts his baseball hat to show me, smiling awkwardly.
A favorite hat. I can’t picture a man like Marlen having a favorite hat. It seems like such a normal, human thing to do. Tohave a favorite anything. He picks up my bag, and I follow him out to the car, contemplating this new thought.
It’s strange that I know so little about him. Almost nothing, actually. I know he’s angry. I know he’s hurt by what my brothers did to his family. I know he likes cream-based sauces, like mushroom and cheese. But what else?Nothing.
He loves his family and would do anything for them.
My stomach churns. Hewoulddo anything for them, including getting rid of me.
Marlen opens the passenger side door for me, and I climb into the car, my eyes studying him, trying to see behind his expression to whatever he might be hiding.
He climbs in and starts the car.
The drive is quiet, and while he looks relaxed, I’m not.
We arrive at the yacht club, and he parks in a private garage. “I probably should have asked earlier, but do you get seasick?” he says.
“Not that I know of. I’ve only been on short day trips on yachts, though,” I shrug.
“Ok, well that’s good then. It’s less than a day’s sail to get there.”
I want to ask where, but I already know he won’t tell me. He seems to be enjoying the secret.
Marlen carries our luggage, and we walk down a jetty to the most magnificent white yacht.
“Ocean Rain,” I read out loud. The yacht’s name is written in a beautiful cursive style, with long, flowing letters. “Is that your handwriting?” I ask, remembering the note he left me.
“Yes, how did you know that?” he asks, surprised.
“I have a thing for handwriting, and yours stood out. It’s beautiful.”
