Chapter 17

SEVENTEEN

Sabella

Aman stands on the shore. I recognize the dark suit and his shaved head even before I reach the first breaker. The coldness that travels through my body isn't from the water alone. Roch is a solid, all too real reminder that Angelo wasn't bluffing, at least not about having me watched.

Anger fuels my body, giving me the energy I lacked a few minutes ago to surf the big waves. My exhaustion is so complete that I give up when I surface behind the last wall of foam, letting the tide push me out onto the beach.

Roch comes running.

I'm lying flat on my stomach in the shallow water, too tired to push onto my knees, when a pair of black shoes and dark trousers enter my line of vision. A firm hand grips my arm and drags me out of the water onto the sand. I register Roch's drenched pants and shoes through my choking. A fresh surge of fury pumps through my veins.

I jerk free. "Don't touch me."

Surprisingly, he lets go.

Rolling onto my back, I cough until tears roll down my cheeks. I pinch my eyelids shut against the glare of the sun and just lie there for twenty seconds or more, sucking in air like a suffocating person.

When I open my eyes again, a round face is staring down at me, blocking out the sun.

"I have permission to touch you when necessary," Roch grumbles.

"You don't have my permission."

"You almost fucking drowned," he all but growls.

I scoff. "I'm a good swimmer. I know what I'm doing."

"Yeah?" He narrows his eyes. "It didn't look like that when you washed up like a piece of driftwood. If this is a habit of yours, I'll have to get a fucking boat, and there's no place to tie a boat on this no-good beach."

Sitting up, I lean my weight on my arms and squint at him. I don't tell him boats can be tied on the lagoon. Not that many people go out to sea from there. The river is too unpredictable. The sandbank that forms the riverbed is forever changing. Sometimes, the passage is deep and the flow so strong even a seasoned swimmer like me risks her life crossing it. At other times, it's so shallow, you can walk to the other side. A jet ski will be more practical, but I don't tell him that either.

Even though I'm dizzy and lightheaded, I make to get up. I've never pushed myself this hard or far. He grasps my arm and helps me to my feet.

I pull away again. "I said don't touch me."

The line of his jaw hardens. A trickle of sweat runs down his temple. He must be dying of heat wearing that black suit in the hot sun.

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.

I quickly make my way past the children splashing in the shallow water of the lagoon and the men fishing farther along the shore. The sand burns my soles when I cut across the beach to the bridge.

Among the holidaymakers in their swimming trunks and bikinis, a man with a suit will attract attention. I dare a glance over my shoulder again and spot Roch walking over the scorching hot sand with his jacket slung over his shoulder, appearing to have no worries in the world. He looks like one of those holiday commercials with the French guy strolling in a tux, trouser legs rolled up, on a beach in Saint-Tropez.

Breaking into a run, I cross the island via both bridges and turn right onto the road that goes up the hill. I'm sweating and sticky from the sea and the sand when I finally arrive home. I burst through the gate, but I don't feel safe on the other side of it. Even slamming and locking it doesn't make me feel better.

"Everything okay?" Doris asks, coming out onto the porch.

"Yes," I say, trying to sound normal as I reach her. "The tar is hot. I forgot to take flipflops."

She clicks her tongue. "You shouldn't be so careless."

I push past her into the house and sprint up the stairs. After showering, I grab a snack and close myself in my room. When I've eaten, I download the video on my laptop and watch it several times, unable to get over the exhilarating experience.

I'm itching to share it with my family, but Mom will freak out and Dad will ground me from swimming. They don't understand sharks like I do. They just think danger instead of beauty when anyone mentions the word. Besides, if they know how far I went out into the sea today, I'll probably be grounded for life.

Pirate is stretched out on my unmade bed. I lie down next to him, drifting into a fitful nap, and when I wake up, the room is basked in a gloomy light.

The hour hand on the clock on my dresser stands on six. The room is stuffy and hot. I forgot to close the blinds and switch on the AC.

I get up and open the balcony doors to let the breeze in. Pirate jumps from the bed and rubs against my leg. Something squeezes in my chest when I crouch down to pet him. I can't look at him and not think of Angelo, and I can't think of Angelo and not hurt.

A knock on my door startles me from my thoughts.

My mom opens the door and sticks her head around the doorframe. "You're awake." Her smile is stilted. "Colin is here. Can he come in?"

"Oh." I straighten. "Sure."

Colin enters with his backpack slung over his shoulder, carrying a six-pack of ginger ale and a bag of gummy bears. "What's up, Bella? I took notes for you in class. I brought the exercises we did so you can catch up." He offers me the snacks. "These are for your period. Ginger and sugar always help."

My mom clears her throat. "I'll leave you to work. Would you like something to drink, Colin?"

"I'm good, thanks, Mrs. Edwards."

She closes the door and leaves.

"How are you feeling?" he asks. "Do you want me to prepare you a hot water bottle? It always works for Clara."

"No." I flop down on the bed. "But thanks."

"You look like death warmed up. Are you sure you're not coming down with something?"

Pulling my knees up to my chin, I shake my head.

"Hey." He drops his bag on the floor and sits down next to me. "What's going on? Did something happen? It's not Celeste or the baby, is it? I saw Ryan leaving your house late last night."

"No," I say again. "Celeste and the baby are fine. I mean, Celeste is due any day now, but that's not why Ryan came."

"Why did he come?" He studies me. "He's so seldom here, I was worried something may be wrong."

"Something is wrong." I cover my face with my hands. "Oh, Colin."

"Bella." He puts a hand on my shoulder. "Talk to me. You can tell me."

Yes, I can. I trust him, so I tell him the story, omitting the part about the bribes. I only say that Angelo took sensitive information concerning my dad's business.

He stares at me when I'm done, his mouth agape. "He stole information? To do what with?"

I cringe when I say, "Industrial espionage." That's what stealing incriminating evidence to blackmail someone into signing over shares is, isn't it? Well, in a way.

Colin takes a can from the six-pack, cracks it open, and offers it to me. When I shake my head, he kicks off his shoes, shifts to the wall, and sits crossed-legged with his back resting against the headboard.

"I can't believe that slimy son of a bitch did this to you." He takes a long drink. "He must've been planning it right from the start." He clenches his jaw. "That asshole used you."

Rolling my hair into a bun, I secure it with a pencil. "Don't rub it in. I feel bad enough about the whole thing. It's silly, but I feel like my privacy has been invaded. After all, I did let him in."

"It's not silly." He gives me a stern look. "He lied. He tricked you. If you knew what he was planning, you never would've let him in. That is an invasion of your privacy." He adds with scorn, "In the worst possible way."

"No, that's not the worst." I bite my lip, contemplating if I should say more, but the sinister promise is too scary to face alone. "The worst is that he said he'd come back for me." I add in a barely audible voice, "Always."

"Fuck, Bella." He sits up straight, anger flashing in his eyes. "You have to get a restraining order against that bastard."

That's not an option, not as long as I can't go to the police, and with what Dad's done, I can never go to the police.

"I'm serious," he says. "I'm going to talk to my dad. He knows people in the force?—"

"No." I lay a hand on his knee. "He was just bluffing, trying to scare me. He got what he wanted. He has no reason to come back."

"I still think?—"

"No," I say more forcefully, thinking fast. "My dad doesn't want the news to leak out to the media. It won't be good for his company's shares on the stock market. You can't tell anyone. Understand?"

The look that passes over his features is conflicted. "I still think you should get protection, but I'll never do something you don't want."

I blow out a shaky breath. "I knew I could count on you."

If he feels this strongly about going to the police for a restraining order, I'm not telling him about Roch. It'll only make matters worse. Angelo is gone. He won. There's nothing we can do about it. But Roch is here. Colin won't let such a blatant trespassing slide. He'll see it as his duty to tell my dad. If my dad finds out a man is shadowing me, he'd rather get himself arrested and thrown in jail in the midst of a bribe scandal and destroy our family in the process before letting me keep my mouth shut. I'm sure Angelo is only covering his ass, making sure I don't step out of line. In a few days, when he realizes no one is talking to the police, he'll call Roch back.

"Yeah." Colin ruffles my hair, messing up my bun. He doesn't seem convinced. "Anything for you."

"Shall we work on those exercises?" I ask, forcing brightness into my tone. "That's why you came in the first place."

"Why not?"

He puts the ginger ale on the nightstand and picks up his bag, but his actions lack enthusiasm.

For the next hour, we go over the notes he took and do a couple of exercises. My mom calls me down just after seven and invites Colin to stay for dinner. Colin and I work another two hours after clearing the table and helping to tidy the kitchen before he says goodnight.

"You sure you'll be fine?" he asks, hovering in the doorframe when I see him out.

"Yes." As he doesn't budge, I add, "I'll tell you if I'm not."

He nods once, climbs down the steps, and stops at the bottom. "Are you coming to class tomorrow?"

"Yes."

Colin was right. I can't afford to mess up my future, and I sure as hell won't let Angelo be the cause of missing out on my dreams.

Trying to lighten the mood, I say, "Only if I'm driving."

I meant to tease, but his response is serious. "Sure."

I watch him walk away, feeling like a fake and a liar because I pretended it's not serious. Because I pretended it doesn't matter. Because I lied when I said that Angelo coming back for me is the worst.

The worst is far from that. The worst isn't even mourning the loss of my first love.

The worst is that my heart can't bear the thought of Angelo never returning.