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“That’s one way to put it. The prick’s kept me locked up in that damn house foryears.”
“You know that’s not the truth. You’re making it sound like your room was a jail cell. He let you leave to go swimming or go for walks and all of that.”
“That just proves my point even more, don’t you see? Helets medo all of the kinds of things that a woman my age should have arightto do. I shouldn’t have to ask permission to leave the house to get some fresh air or take a swim.”
Marta pursed her lips again, and I could sense that she knew she couldn’t really argue with that.
“All the same, I know that your father has his parenting quirks, but he loves you… in his own way.”
I couldn’t help but snort. As I let out the noise, I reached into my bag and pulled out the novel I’d been reading,ITby Stephen King. Marianne’s YA fiction was fun, but I’d been plowing through those in a matter of hours. A big doorstop likeIT, something I could sink my teeth into and spend some time with, had caught my attention the last time I’d been in the library.
For the moment, the book was a prop with which to make my point.
“Here’s another example,” I said, holding the book up. “There’s no way in hell Dad would let me read anything like this. And this bikini! You said yourself that you had to sneak it here so Dad wouldn’t find out about it. He’s completely controlled my life—telling me what I can wear, what I can and cannot do, what I am allowed toread. And don’t even get me started on how he controls everything I eat.
“But you’re a prisoner here all the same, Emily,” Marta said, a tinge of confusion in her voice. “You’re not allowed to leave at all.”
“You’re right but again, I’m here because my father ordered it. Between the two flavors of being a prisoner, however, this one tastes a hell of a lot better. Not to mention the little detail that Dad’s overall plan with me was to keep me locked away until hecould marry me off to some cartel prick who’d treat me as a sex toy and breeding cow, and that’s if I’m lucky. Nope—I’ll take this prison cell over what my asshole of a father had in mind for me any day.” I swept my hand toward the ocean as I spoke.
Marta said nothing. I glanced over to see a strange expression on her face, one I wasn’t used to… she appearedhurt.
“You OK over there?” I asked.
Marta cleared her throat and shook her head, as if coming back into the moment. The typical toughness returned to her face.
“It’s fine,chica. I asked you a question, and you gave me an honest answer.”
All the same, I felt compelled to say something.
“Listen, I’m sorry. It’s just… the subject of Dad and the way he treats me, it’s not a pleasant one. I’m not going to apologize for my take on the whole thing, but I shouldn’t have jumped down your throat like that.”
“It’s OK,chica.”
I could sense that she hadn’t been entirely mollified by my words. All the same, if Marta was going to be upset over me not caring for the way Dad had treated me, that was her own business to sort out.
“Look at this!” I said, gesturing toward the water once more. “We’re on the beach, the weather’s perfect, and there’s not a thing in the world to worry about. So, let’s relax and enjoy ourselves, OK?”
Marta cleared her throat once more, sitting up.
“Si, you’re right. No need to talk about subjects that don’t make either of us happy. Better to focus on the good things.”
I smiled at her answer before placing my book on my legs and opening it. I began to read, but it was hard to focus. I kept thinking about Marta, kept thinking about how different she’d been since she’d arrived.
Marta had always been sassy—the type of woman to tell you exactly what was on her mind and not give a damn what you thought. It was one of my favorite traits of hers. But since she’d come to the island she’d been nothing but negative, constantly making comments about Logan, implying that he was somehow worse than my father. I didn’t like it at all.
I did my best to push the issue out of my head, instead trying to focus on the good things around me—the water, the sun, the book on my lap. It was hard to do though because out of the corner of my eye, I could see Marta sitting there looking totally uncomfortable, nervous, even.
As I tried to read, I found my attention still drifting. I thought about Marta back at the house, how she’d had a quick, mild freakout at the idea of Marianne coming to the beach with us. It was almost as if she’d wanted to make sure we were alone.
But why?
Once more, I tried to turn my attention to the words on the page. A few sentences in, however, I heard something. It was a strange sound, like a big, angry bee buzzing in the distance. It grew louder and louder.
I set down my book, looking up at the water. Sure enough, a boat was approaching—a red and white speedboat tearing through the waves, drawing closer and closer by the second.
“Who the hell is that?” I placed the book face down on the towel in front of me. “They’re way too close to us.”
Marta didn’t answer. Instead, she rose slowly, sticking her arms into the air and waving them around.
