I want to kill someone.
“I hope you’re a good swimmer,” I say, and Riviera gives me a double take.
She giggles. “Come here, fishy, fishy.” and… HANGS UP ON ME.
She must be drunk. She must be out of her goddamnn mind.
“I take it you’re going on the boat?” Damien asks biting his lip, smirking.
“We. It’s a We. Are. Going. On. That. Boat.”
Twenty-Six
Liam
Fuck it.
Twenty-Seven
Sara
The atmosphere on the yacht buzzes with chatter, predominantly from older single men. Here and there, a couple stands close together, sharing whispered secrets amidst the guests, while younger women mingle about.
It all seems opulent and flirtatious, a world where time seems to pause, wrapped in the night’s allure, but I can sniff out the fabricated high-end bullshit façade from miles away. It isn’t the typical summer Saint-Tropez party where people sell their souls to feel something but this feels darker, morally off.
I wandered around looking for any sign of poker chips, cash ready to be gambled, or eager players, but found nothing. Just a buffet of hors d'oeuvres and passing champagne flutes. I wasn’t expecting a picture frame of Joe with an "Employee of the Month" badge hanging on the wall, but some kind of sign would’ve been nice.
There were no locals either, making me wonder if Mimi had even sent me to the right boat. But she had. We had initially agreed I would use her invitation and her name, but she ended up adding my real name to the list anyway. Before I could argue, she said she had an emergency and left.
“Was that your boyfriend?” I hang up on Liam and get ready to stand, but a man’s British voice sounds from behind me, forcing to sit back down on the edge of the vibrant pink jacuzzi as the warm water laps against my legs.
When I turn around, the man behind me is a tall gentleman, blond hair, brown eyes, a very handsome smile, dressed in a beige suit and brown loafers. He looks posh and, strangely, I recognize him from earlier in the evening when he was chatting with guests and briefly followed my movements while I dug my nose where it didn’t belong.
He locks eyes with me as he shakes another man’s hand, and the peculiarity of his gaze-and-handshake strikes me as impolite. More importantly, a wave of uneasiness washes over me, just as it has all evening.
“Not exactly…” I smile back.
“Sounds complicated.” He brushes his thumb over his half-smile in contemplation. “I’m Charles. We haven’t properly met.” He holds out his hand, and I twist my body to shake it.
“Nice to meet you, Charles. Is this your event?” I ask, trying to mask any off-putting curiosity that would lead me to figure out who or why the fuck Joe was involved in this.
Charles hovers over me and opens a black rectangular box, and I watch him carefully.
“Not my party per se, but I’m one of the hosts, and it’s a pleasure—” He pauses, waiting for me to reply, but I don’t know what to say, and the perplexed look on my face is enough.
“Your name? You still haven’t given me your name.” His eyes burn into me, but they lack kindness. Something cold flickers across his handsome face… This is how women get fooled.
“Oh, right, it’s Sara. I’m sorry I was distracted.”
Charles slowly smiles, and his panache doesn’t get lost on me.
“Sara, welcome aboard.”
“It’s… been lovely. Thank you for having me.” I swallow the lump that is stuck in my throat.
As much as Liam is an undisguised monster, this man is a wolf dressed as a lamb, and I don’t know which one is more lethal.
The thought of Liam makes my stomach drop. A rush of undeniable storms rummaging through my body after last night, remembering his mouth claiming mine and how distraught I felt this morning at the idea that he could become someone in my life I’d fear losing. I’d rather feel empty than realize he doesn’t want me the way I might grow to need him and he becomes another statistic leaving me behind.
