“Have you just been to see Simon?” Lucas asks as I sit on the edge of my bed. The room has been tidied up since Simon's jealous outburst. By whom I have no idea.
“Yes,” I say as I lean my elbows on my knees, rubbing my forehead, trying to get our conversation out of my head.
“How is he?” Mark asks.
“How do you think? He fucking hates me, his back is messed up and I think we’ve managed to screw him up for life,” I say, annoyed at such a dumb question.
“Hey, he was only asking. We know this is hard, Carlos. But you have to bury any feelings to the side and focus on the task.”
“I know. What did Dima say when you called him?”
“After he went crazy on the phone, they are flying out here.”
“What?” I say, surprised.
“Yeah. There was no way to talk him out of it. Someone they know has access to a jet, so they were leaving within the hour,” Lucas says.
“How long ago was that?”
“Six hours ago.”
“Six hours! What time is it?”
“Eleven thirty,” Mark says. Shit.
“Fuck, I need to go meet Pedro.”
“We will follow close behind,” Lucas says.
“I’ll be fine. Trust me, my father will have this place on lockdown so I can’t leave. Otherwise he wouldn’t be allowing me to move around so freely.”
“Don’t care. We stick together,” Lucas says, and I relent.
“Fine. Let's go.”
As we head downstairs, Diogo, one of the guards, stops me.
“I was just coming to find you. Gabriel wants to see you at dinner tonight,” he says. I was expecting this. I don’t reply, I just nod and walk away, Lucas and Mark trailing behind me.
The sun warms my skin and hurts my eyes as we make our way through the gardens. The warmth turns to a singe the more exposed I am as we make it to the opening of the beach where there is no shade.
“You two wait here,” I say, and walk over to the old boathouse on the other side of the beach that has never been used. It used to be mine and Pedro’s secret place where we’d meet up, away from prying eyes.
I open the worn wooden door to see Pedro standing there waiting for me. He’s more casual today, white shorts and a pink linen shirt.
“I got your message, is everything okay?” he asks as he approaches me, frowning lines on his forehead from worry.
“No. I need your help. I want you to put me in contact with the Marins. A meeting of some kind.”
“The Marins? Jesus, Carlos, have you gone mad? Why the hell would I do that?”
“To save me.”
“Save you? You’re going to have to explain what's going on.”
“I don’t want to go too much into detail, but I’ve had to come back to the family. My father found a way to make it happen by taking someone I care about and hurting him. Badly. I had to agree to save us until I could get help.”
He nods in an understanding way, but doesn't pry.
