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Caroline walked toward the dock. She hadn’t spent nearly as much time down there as she’d planned. Meeting Dune had changed her plans. He was right in saying she would’ve been bored after the first week or two, but now she regretted taking the job at Blue Lobster Adventures. She missed exploring Seaport, trying all the restaurants, basking in the sun, and relaxing. Her vacation had become work. She was now a shorts and T-shirts person when she longed for her jumpsuits, rompers, and kaftans. Caroline missed her Hermes sandals and oversized Prada beach bag.
Dune had called her Prada. He didn’t know she heard him the first day they met, but she had. That should’ve been her first clue they weren’t meant for each other. Two people from different sides of the tracks, so to speak. Although Dune and his family had money, they just didn’t flaunt it like the Taylors.
Caroline made it to the water by the time the boat appeared. Water sloshed at her feet. It was warm, like a tepid bath. Without really thinking, she stripped out of her pajamas and dove into the water. The darkness enveloped her, and she fought the panic building. It was still dark, with the sun barely peaking over the horizon and she was under the water.
She stayed under until her lungs burned. When she came up, she looked around, curious to see how far she had swum out. It wasn’t so far that she couldn’t get back in quickly, but far enough away that the light from the cottage seemed like a speck in the fading darkness.
Another boat sounded, and Caroline’s heart raced. Not because it might be Dune, but because they wouldn’t be able to see her in the water. She began to front crawl, the only technique she had fully mastered in her swimming classes, and cupped the water as she moved back toward the shoreline. When she could stand, she did and walked the rest of the way out of the water, shivering.
Two boats went by. She stood there, dripping wet, and straining her eyes to see if she could tell if they were Dune or not. She couldn’t, and part of her was elated. Caroline didn’t know what she’d say to him. Mostly because she hadn’t thought about how to approach the subject. The other part of her was embarrassed that she didn’t ask him yesterday when he came to the door, but she knew if she had answered it, she’d fall for his charm. Which was how she ended up in the place she was now.
Caroline made her way back to the cottage, cold and dirty. She cleaned her feet as good as she could before stepping inside and locking the door behind her. She reached for the blinds, hesitated, and then closed them.
After her shower, she felt worse than she had when she woke. Granted, she hadn’t slept well the night before and the lack of sleep was slowly catching up to her. Caroline yawned and went back to the kitchen. She brewed another pot of coffee and made herself breakfast. After all this time, this was really the first she cooked at the cottage. Almost every meal had been in a restaurant or was take out. That would change once she moved to New York City. She’d cook in her kitchen and eat at the island or her in her small dining room, at a table she hasn’t bought or even picked out yet.
Her apartment was ready, with most of her stuff already there thanks to the movers her parents hired. They would’ve unpacked for her, under the supervision of her mother’s personal assistant. When Caroline finally made it to her new place, she wouldn’t have to do anything other than unpack her summer bags. The hard work would come later when Caroline sat at a desk in an office she didn’t want to be at.
The thought made her ill. She wouldn’t experience what it would be like to pack and unpack boxes, to decorate, or put cheap furniture together. She wouldn’t be able to organize her bookshelf or decide on what color bathmats she wanted. Other than her grades, her parents had dictated everything in her life, right down to the clothes she wore and how she paid for them.
She hated her life at the moment. Dune, her parents, they had all treated her the same. They all expected her to follow them. Dune decided where they’d eat or what they’d do. He told her the only dance club was off the island, and while she could’ve left, it was the way he said it to her, as if no one dared leave Seaport for entertainment. Was that his intention this entire time? To keep her dependent on him? Or did she follow him because that’s how she lived her life?
