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Good.
Dusting wet sand off my butt as best as I can, I ask, “What are you doing here anyway? Checking up on me? What am I going to do? Swim to the nearest police station?”
His nostrils flare as he dips his hand in his pocket and pulls out a phone. “I brought you this.” He adds with an evil smile, “As yours died.”
I grit my teeth. He knows what I did. He knows I threw Angelo’s phone into the sea.
I don’t take the new phone. I turn on my heel and head for the cave.
He cuts me off.
For a few beats, we’re in a stare-off, neither of us moving.
Fine.
I plonk down in the sand and pretend to be sunbathing.
From the corner of my eye, I see him stomping away, his dress shoes sinking into the sand.
Not ten seconds later, he’s back with my clothes bundled in one hand and my towel in the other.
He dumps everything on my chest. “Get dressed.”
“Is that part of your job, telling me what to do?”
“It’s keeping you from harm, including letting yourself burn and get skin cancer.”
“I don’t burn that easily.”
“Doesn’t matter. You need to wear sunblock.”
Making a face, I say, “Did Angelo give you a rule book with a list of things I’m not supposed to do?”
The moment I say his name, a deep, searing ache settles in my chest. I may not want to see him again, but it’s going to take more than saying so to get him out of my system. He’s wormed his way in deep. I fell hard and completely. Exorcising him isn’t going to happen overnight.
I swallow the lump in my throat.
“Get dressed,” Roch mumbles again, crossing his arms and turning his back on me.
I glance at the top of the dune. The windows of our house look out over the sea, but you can’t see the beach directly below unless you’re standing on the lawn. My mom and Mattie hardly ever come down here. They don’t want to spoil their perfect complexions or get wrinkles from the harsh southern hemisphere sun. Both of them hate the sand. Dad is too busy at work to enjoy the beach. The only other person who comes here is Colin, and he’s at summer school. No one is going to spot Roch and ask me about him. Just as well, because I won’t know how to explain. My parents don’t know that I confronted Angelo or what transpired during that conversation.
I consider arguing, but I was planning on heading home anyway. I hate to admit that Roch is right. Being spiteful will only leave me with a painful sunburn. It’s almost noon. The sun is at its highest.
“Is this going to be regular thing?” I ask, unclipping my utility belt and letting it drop on my towel. I hop on one leg to pull on my shorts.
“Is what going to be a regular thing?”
“You interfering in my life.” I push my arms into the sleeves of my shirt. “Am I going to have to look over my shoulder every time I leave the house?” Although I infuse my tone with a good dose of sarcasm, the thought makes me shiver.
“The idea isn’t to make you feel uncomfortable.”
“No?” I force a laugh. “Stalking isn’t supposed to make me feel uncomfortable?”
Turning, he regards me through the slits of his eyes. “Don’t do anything stupid, and you’ll forget I’m here.”
I snort. “Right.”
He mumbles something in French, I think, something that sounds like a string of profanities, and shoves Angelo’s ring at me. “You shouldn’t let this lie around.”
Snatching it from his palm, I push it over my thumb. “You preferred that I swim with it? Maybe I will. You can tell your boss you insisted when you explain to him why it dropped off in the sea.” I add under my breath, “Where it belongs.”
“Don’t be a wiseass.”
“Don’t overstay your welcome.”
A thin smile stretches his lips as he tilts his head, shaking it while studying me.
My beach bag hangs over his shoulder. I grab the strap and yank it free. He watches with a broody expression while I shove my towel and utility belt into the bag.
“Your phone,” he says, taking it from his pocket and holding it out at me. When I don’t move, he drops it in my bag. “Keep it on you and charged at all times.”
I cross my arms. “Or?”
His smile stretches into a grin. “Or be prepared to see a whole lot of me.”
Not sparing him another glance, I charge toward the lagoon. The river isn’t coming down strongly today. The water has eaten away the sandy banks on the sides, leaving a deep sandcastle canyon, but at the bottom, the washout is shallow.
Digging my heels into the edge of the bank, I slide down as the sand gives way under me. Somewhere behind me, Roch curses. I make my way through the water and climb up the embankment on the other side. Looking back, I take perverse pleasure from how Roch sinks knee-deep into the middle of the river with his shoes in one hand and his socks in the other. The riverbed is like quicksand in places. If you don’t know where to walk, you can be sucked in up to your waist. You have to look for the darker patches of harder sand.
