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Handing my water back to Anthony, I slip from the car, taking my book bag with me. I grab my jacket off of the seat and lay my school stuff in its place. I reach toward the center console for my sunglasses, and something on the windshield catches my eye.
After locking my door, I reach up and over the hood, freeing the folded piece of shredded binder paper from under the wiper.
Because I know you’ll fail without me... this is me letting you know not to panic. I’ll be in class, but a little late. Have more than a coffee for lunch, Trouble. ;)
~ Arsen.
My hand is frozen, the note stuck between my fingertips.
I read it again. And again.
Arsen.
A light laugh leaves me.
This is his voice... flirty and teasing, as I know him to be. Well, for the most part.
And look at that, the boy has jokes.
A lightweight sensation swims through me and I turn, jolting to a stop when Anthony is standing outside the door, watching.
I go to open my mouth, to provide a quick and clean, and hopefully witty... something as I drop the note in my purse, but I don’t have to because Anthony smiles, holding his hand out for me to take.
So, I slip mine in his, and then we’re headed for lunch.
“It’s this one here.” Anthony gestures toward the black Vendetta yacht with a single white and red pinstripe lining the upper edge. “I know your lunch isn’t long enough to take her out, but I thought it would be nice to eat on the water, make fun of the tourists in the pontoons?”
I laugh, running my fingers along the original wood framing.
Anthony stares. “It was my grandfather’s.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It needs to be completely redone.”
My hand falls.
Of course, it does.
I hang my bag over the back of the chair and look to Anthony. “Restroom is below?”
He holds my eyes, nodding, so I excuse myself to quickly wash my hands; I don’t take the time to look around since I only have an hour, or a little less than that now, and meet him back up top.
I lower into the seat across from Anthony. “So, what’s for lunch?”
He nods, looking over my shoulder. “Elena, we’re ready for you.”
Elena, the woman from the office the other day, comes from the cabin, two dishes in her hand.
“Anthony said no time for appetizers, so I hope this is okay.”
She places a seared salmon over a miniature pile of brown rice in front of me, and my mouth begins to water.
“This looks amazing, thank you, Elena.”
Her smile is wide, but when she looks to Anthony, it vanishes and she nods, excusing herself.
He takes a drink from the glass in front of him, a slight scowl along his brow.
“So.” Anthony lifts his napkin, pulling his knife free. “What classes do—” he cuts off mid-sentence when something falls from the folded cloth, landing directly into the melted butter concoction at the edge of his plate.
The oily liquid splashes up, wetting both his suit jacket as well as the tip of my knuckle.
His frown is instant.
I lift my chin, trying to see better as he takes a spoon and scoops it from the small saucer.
He lays it out on the napkin and in a puddle of grease, the same shade of the napkin beneath it, a soft white pearl sits.
“That’s odd—”
“Get up.”
My eyes fly to his, my water spilling over and pouring into my lap as he jumps to his feet.
I gasp, pushing back.
“I said up!” he snaps, tugging on my arm. “Elena!” he shouts, pushing me toward the portside exit.
She comes around the corner, and as I glance over my shoulder, her wide eyes take us in, his grip on my arm, the way he’s pulling me forward, and she hurries behind us without a word.
As he rushes us onto the dock, I almost lose my footing, catching myself on the wooden post when he shoves Elena into me and out of his way, as he quickly whips around to face the yacht.
Elena rushes toward the road, waving her arm in the air as she shouts, “Pull the car up!”
I stand straight, smoothing my skirt down.
Anthony wipes at his mouth and takes a step forward, only to take one back.
“Anthony, what—” I break off in a scream when the yacht explodes before us.
Small shards of debris fly around and I spin, ducking as Anthony hits the ground. Heat warms my back and as the thunderous sound begins to fade, I peek.
My fingers lift to my lips as the flames billow over the edges of the yacht. They roll in unison, up and over the top, into the air and then quickly shrink. The polished wood crackles and splits and pieces fall into the ocean water beneath it.
Voices begin to shout in the distance, but I’m stuck staring.
