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“Your home?” I squeak.
Oh gosh, please do not tell me he’s enrolled me in some get-better-wilderness-retreat out here in the woods. This girl might love flowers but when it comes to roughing it in nature, I have two words for you.
Unh-uh.
“Umm… This isn’t like a camping thing, is it?” I ask.
He glances back at me, his brows knit together in confusion. “Camping?”
“You said your home is the island. I’m just wondering if it’s some kind of outdoorsy—”
“My home is on the island.” He gives a scoff of a laugh. “And most wouldn’t think the word ‘home’ does it justice.”
The trees start to thin as we reach the shore. There’s a pleasant looking motorboat waiting for us, yellow lights glowing over its bow.
I watch my step as we walk toward the shore, grateful for his hand. “Why would most not call it a home?”
For the first time tonight, he gives me what looks like a genuine smile. “You’ll see.” His straight white teeth shine in the moonlight, his eyes lighting from within, and I feel his grin down in my belly.
He’s insanely handsome when he smiles like that.
“You should smile more often,” I whisper to myself more than to him, but he must hear me because my comment receives a grunt. I didn’t mean to be rude. Change of subject. He must love his home if it makes him smile like that. “You must like it here.”
“I do. It’s quiet.”
Quiet. Like him. I don’t think the man said more than ten words on our drive, even when I poured my heart out to him about the pregnancy. He reached for my hand, I guess showing support in his own way, but he’s definitely a man of few words.
It makes me wonder how this stay will go. I picture his home as a small, rustic cabin, one or two bedrooms, the two of us staring across a table at one another, sipping on some soup he’s concocted of wild game he came across on the island.
Yeah, it’s going to be awkward with a capital A.
Why did I even agree to come?
Wait—I didn’t ever agree to come, did I? He forced me to be here, against my will. I should run, scream, tell his driver or whoever is captain of this boat to take me home. I should demand to be taken back to the city.
The thought of my empty townhome, the discarded boxes of tissues, the silly rom-coms playing endlessly on the TV, the well-meaning Beauties who drop by for visits but who I have nothing to say to right now, makes my heart sink. I guess this won’t be so bad, to get away for a while.
Even if this is how every single murder scene in a movie starts out… strange man isolating a woman in the woods. I stare out over the water at the thick trees, and something about the dark surface makes my mind flash to the ultrasound, to the emptiness. I don’t want to be home. Or alone. And I could really use some quiet.
I’ll take my chances.
It’s not like I have a choice anyway. He’s made up his mind. I sneak a glance at my companion as he makes his way down to the boat, his shoulders brimming with determination. I prepare myself for one-sided conversations that end with a grunt.
Aiden, the man driving the boat, is younger than us, a brother. I can tell by the black circle tattoo that peeks out over the undone top buttons of his shirt. Nikolaos has one too. I’ve caught glimpses. The driver’s greeting to me is nothing more than a nod. I sink down into one of the two leather captain’s chairs and we’re off.
The motor is a soft hum, the quiet night pierced only by a few even-pitched trills of what I can only guess is an owl. The water laps at the sides of the boat, a soothing sound that would relax me if I wasn’t so keyed up.
What on earth am I doing right now? The boat pulls up to a dock and Aiden keeps the engine running.
“All good?” Beast asks Aiden.
“Yep.” Aiden glances over his shoulder, looking over the mainland. “One and done for the night.”
Beast gives a nod. “Good. Very good.” He grabs my bag, hopping over the edge of the boat onto the dock in a surprisingly graceful move for such a large man.
I wait for him to offer me his hand, knowing he will before he even does. I take it, and there’s that energy there as our skin meets. I follow him off the dock onto the pebbled trail that leads into the dark woods. There’re little solar lights illuminating each side of the path but it’s not enough to ease the eeriness that comes from walking through the woods in the dark.
“I really can see why they call it Dark Island,” I say, trying not to look as spooked as I feel. Another owl hoots and I almost jump out of my skin.
