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That makes me stand too. “Why am I here?” I demand, walking right up to him and craning my neck to glare into his eyes. “Because I know there’s something else, that your dad has ulterior motives, but nobody will tell me what’s going on.”
“What makes you think there’s anything going on?” His eyes scour me, as if looking for something, as if hopeful. For just a moment I think that maybe there’s something else here, something between us, but maybe I’m imagining things because his gaze immediately shutters.
“Your father told Cooper to leave me alone because he got me for you, as if I’m a material possession and not a person.” The next part might end badly for me, but I have to ask. “Are you involved in some kind of trafficking operation?”
With that, his expression opens up, revealing something else entirely. Not something vulnerable. Not something sweet or sexy. Something entirely hateful. Vile. Rage-filled. “Is that what you think of us?”
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to think!”
“Don’t worry, Arden,” he growls. “That’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s nothing.” He emphasizes each word before turning for the house, his back tense as he walks away from me.
I imagine he’s going to lay into his father, and for a second, I imagine following him in there to eavesdrop on their conversation, or maybe just so I can tell Mr. King off again. But I do neither. Instead, I head back to the gazebo and attempt to get lost in the book. Of course, I can’t concentrate and end up reading the same page over and over again, not because the story is boring, but because there was one thing Ethan was wrong about today. This book isn’t more interesting than what’s going on in my life right now. That’s fiction. This isn’t.
Billionaire Conrad King wants me here for Ethan and nobody will tell me why.
Nine
On my next day off, I decide it’s high time that I trek down to the King’s beach. With the holiday coming up, all four of them are at the house this week and I need a break. Scarfing down my breakfast, I change into my most modest swimsuit and head out. This beach is pretty private because the only land access is through the wealthy properties lining the bluff. The stairs are steep as hell and made from the same wind-worn wood as the gazebo, so coming back up them is going to be a bitch, but that’s a problem for future me.
It’s early so the beach is an empty stretch of tan against the endless blue. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I tug off my sandals and step onto the smooth sand.
A girl could get used to this.
I need to come down here more often, go running or lay out of something. The peace will be well worth the challenging stairs.
I pick a spot and lay down my towel, stretching myself out on it like a sunbathing cat. I’ve never been much of a tanner––definitely more of a sunscreen at all times type of girl with my pale complexion, but I’d still like to go to college with a little bronze color. My sunscreen can sit in my bag for a little while longer. Once I feel that first bite of sun on my skin I will apply it, but right now I just want to relax and be a little reckless.
I roll my eyes at myself. Am I really so boring that I consider the possibility of a sunburn to be reckless? Nice one, Arden.
I gaze out at the ocean, then up and down the empty beach. I’m blissfully alone out here this morning and an actual reckless idea pops up in my brain, something the women in my books would do and something I normally wouldn’t. Before I can talk myself out of it, I stand and strip naked, then sprint down into the surf. The morning water hits me in icy waves, a brutal wake up call.
I’ve been in Nantucket for weeks now, but this is my first time going in the ocean in my entire life. Simply setting foot here would’ve been ambitious, but I’m doing it in my birthday suit. That’s what makes it reckless, what makes it feel more alive. And that’s all I want right now, to feel so fucking alive that all my worries drift away.
Spreading out my arms to face the endless horizon, a bubble of laughter escapes me. This is fun. I keep laughing, taking another step and then another. I like the ocean. It isn’t so scary after all.
A wave smacks me in the face and drags me under.
That humbles me real quick.
I’m spinning. Saltwater assaults my nose and mouth. My limbs flail out around me as grainy sand scrapes against my bare skin.
It’s okay. Stay calm. You’re fine.
It takes a few crashing waves before I can gain enough stability to stand up, but just as I do an even bigger wave pummels me, sending me right back under the surf.
The terror is instantaneous.
I thought I knew how to swim.
Turns out being able to dog paddle with one hand while holding your nose with the other is not the same thing as swimming. My skill level is nothing to take on this crushing ocean. The waves didn’t look that bad when I came out here, they weren’t even that big. But with each one, I’m pulled farther and farther away from the shore. Soon I lose the grip of sand under my feet. And still, I’m pushed out and under, out and under, out and under . . . I come up sputtering each time. More water in my mouth. Salt burning my eyes. Fear pounding my chest.
More waves––endless ocean.
I’m going to drown out here.
