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Who is he?
I want to find out, but it won’t be easy. It's a fundamental piece of the puzzle, a connection we've somehow bypassed in our quick interaction. The curiosity lingers in the back of my mind, a question that begs to be answered as the night unfolds.
When I finally spot Lily in the dancing crowd, relief floods me. My mind still continues to process the events of the evening as I try to suppress the desire to stay a little longer and look for the man.
This is not the right time.
But I notice I'm already hoping for a chance to cross paths with him again.
As Lily and I slip out of Ben Hawthorne’s yacht, I carry within me a flickering hope that, perhaps, our paths are destined to intersect just once more.
Chapter six
Alex
Iopen my eyes just to wince and close them again. A pounding headache relentlessly throbs through my temples, a cruel reminder that age has stripped away the resilience of my younger years.
After a certain age, there's no such thing as a night of indulgent drinking without its subsequent punishment—a fucking hangover. Even before I utter a single word, I can sense the raspy dryness in my throat. Every part of me strongly disagrees with the idea of getting out of my cozy bed, but sadly, it's something I have to do.
Summoning all the willpower I can muster, I force myself to roll out of bed, my limbs heavy and uncooperative. The journey to the bathroom feels like a trek across a desert. With an aching groan, I begin the painstaking ritual of brushing my teeth.
As I stare into the mirror, a grim reflection greets me. My neck bears the damning evidence of the night before—faint red lipstick marks—vivid reminders of the hot hookup that now seem like a crazy dream. I gingerly remove the masquerademask I apparently never took off, revealing markings etched onto my face from sleeping with it on, evidence of the mind-blowing indulgence last night.
I think back to the events of the night before, and glimpses of memories with that woman in the storage closet appear. I still can't believe that she's my best friend's sister.
Fuck.
Of all the people, how was she actually Chris’s little sister?
I also recall—rather begrudgingly—that I did manage to learn her name, even though she's still oblivious to my identity. During our heated encounter, she never glimpsed my unmasked face, and there was never an opportune moment to exchange names. Truth be told, it didn't seem like she intended to share her own, and my knowledge of it is only thanks to Chris.
Still, I can't help but feel it's for the best that Emily remains unaware of who I am. Getting involved with her again would be risky, considering the inconvenient truth that she's my best friend’s little sister. Not to mention, she's significantly younger than me, and the phases of our lives have nothing in common. If I recall whatever little of her Chris had mentioned, Emily is in her senior year of grad school—and an aspiring environmental scientist. That puts her age at least fifteen years younger than me.
A pang of guilt gnaws at my stomach as I exit the cabin. I make my way up on deck, my head still pounding from the effects of the previous night. The scorching sun forces me to squint against its harsh rays.
My eyes soon adjust, and I spot my first mate, Nathan, standing near the edge of the vessel, a clipboard in hand. As his balding salt-and-pepper hair glistens under the sunlight, he scribbles down notes about the yacht’s status.
Despite my cranky mood, seeing Nathan on the deck provides a semblance of stability.
“Hey,” I say gruffly as I approach him.
“Morning, Captain,” he says, and then immediately starts rumbling the list of maintenance problems with the yacht that need to be worked on that week. “There are some plumbing issues that need to be attended to. Despite all the signs, the main line is backed up by people flushing things down the toilets and drains that should not be flushed. The hull needs to be painted…” he scratches his gleaming, balding head, looking over his checklist.
None of these are major problems. But they are minor enough to be knocked out within a day or two.
He just wants time to talk to me about them.
But I'm never patient.
“Okay, okay,” I snap. “I get it already. Get on that, then.” I shake my head and rub my temples. “And fetch me a coffee while you're at it.”
I roll my eyes. I cannot start the day without coffee, especially with a hangover like this.
As Nathan scurries away, I look over the railing and breathe for a second, taking in the view. The waves rhythmically beat against the side of the yacht. The sun is glistening on the peaks of the waves and the yacht, making the bright white look more of a tinge of orange. A flock of seagulls survey the marina, likely scanning for some unknowing tourist holding food.
Looking at a view like this makes waking up worth it… one of the reasons why my friends and I dock here to spend most of our time here, as much as we can.
“Hey, Alex!”
