Now Open Your Eyes (Stay With Me series Book 3)

by Nicole Fiorina

  “Six months. I’ll call you after the holidays to check in. Stay out of trouble.”

  The phone disconnected, and it dropped over my lap as I turned into the flat I was renting under the fictitious name and identification Dean mailed me. Ben O. Verbich.

  The bloke had a sense of humor, and I finally had a timeline to plan around.

  But tonight, I wasn’t going to let Masters be the only one to smash. For over a year, Mia fucked with my head to the point I haven’t buried myself inside a fanny since laying eyes on her. The night, and every night after this, called for straight rum and a local slag, the only two things able to warm me through this long, cold winter and turn Mia into a stranger.

  In six months, Mia Rose Jett would be nothing more than a memory.

  In six months, Dean would be here, and we could finally free Tommy.

  In six months, the monster would be gone.

  October’s cold front blew angrily while Cora’s little hand clutched mine as she stood over her mom’s grave in a bright yellow dress with sunflowers printed sporadically, cowgirl boots covering her feet. The weather was only getting colder as we entered the month, but the sunflower dress was important to Cora as she fought back shivers. Friends and family of Mrs. Morrigan had left a while ago, but Cora wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

  I glanced up to see Ollie holding both of Grammy’s hands as they spoke, but the distance between us ate their words.

  Soon, Cora would have to leave to live in Ireland with her grandmother, and though it was incredibly hard for me to say goodbye to the first friend I’d grown close with since I came back, I had to be strong and remind her of all the new adventures she’d experience. A new country, new friends, new flowers to dance with, and new puddles to jump in. “This is just where her body lays, Cora. But no matter where you are, her spirit is with you. It’s never goodbye.”

  “You’re just saying that because my mum is dead. You’re saying that to make me feel better,” she whispered. “I’m not stupid. I know what it’s like. My dad’s dead too.”

  Though she came up to my chest, I still crouched down and smoothed my black lace dress under my thighs to not physically talk down to her. “You have two guardian angels, Cora. They are watching you now, and it’s your job to make sure you give them the best and most beautiful life for them to see until you’re all together again.”

  “Do you have a guardian angel?”

  Smiling, I nodded. “And I hear Ireland has castles, and rolling hills, and fields of rare pale purple flowers …”

  “Does it rain in Ireland?”

  “It does.”

  “Do they have boys who tell stories like Oliver?”

  I laughed at her choice of words. “They have boys who tell stories everywhere. There is not a shortage. I can promise that.”

  Cora looked up to the sky and closed her eyes, her black hair twisted around her lightly freckled face as she wordlessly communicated to her mom and dad. Perhaps she was saying goodbye, or maybe she was praying. A gust of wind twirled, picking up loose petals from the bundle of flowers cradled in her arms, and they ended up in her hair. “Thank you,” she whispered with a smile of innocence and strength.

  We helped Grammy pack up the car with Cora’s things and stood outside our cottage behind the gate. Cora blew hot air against the window from inside the car, and her little finger pressed against it, drawing a heart and a flower. Ollie’s arm hung over my shoulder, and he pulled me close to his side as we waved the two off. The rattling exhaust pipe sputtered a cloud of smoke before the old town car took off down the road with Cora’s nose pressed against the glass, waving back.

  “Let’s go to Gibraltar,” I stated, both our eyes on the back of the town car. “Ten-ten-twenty-twenty.” It was almost a year ago when we’d made the promise. But at that time, it wasn’t just a promise. It was so much more. A future. Plans. You and I. Evermore.

  Ollie’s head snapped to face me, and his arm fell off my shoulder. Green eyes bounced between mine. His lips parted. “Holy hell, you’re bloody serious.”

  “I’m totally serious. Let’s go. Right now, Ollie. Who else has to die to remind us to start living? Blind, no plans, let’s just pack our shit and go to Gibraltar and get married. Ten-ten-twenty-twenty, Ollie. I’m so ready.” Ready to marry him. Ready to be Mia Masters. Ready to finally feel the ocean against my feet, itching for those icy cold waves of freedom since I’d told him back at Dolor in our first year.

  Dimples deepened as a smile spread under his sparkling green eyes. It was the same smile I’d seen across the room during breakfast back at Dolor, at the end of hallways as classes changed, and in his dorm as he watched me dance in the middle of the night. Through all the death and darkness we’d been through, it was his smile shining light over our shattered life. It crumbled walls, clutched hope, and pulled us from the depths of despair—a single smile, and as if it was not enough, he kissed me.

  We talked through our plans for the trip as we shoved clothes in a large suitcase, deciding on driving to the Port of Portsmouth and taking the ferry to Spain. We would figure out the rest upon arrival, both of us on a natural high and unable to think clearly.

  “Don’t forget the passports,” I called out, changing out of the black lace dress and into something more comfortable for travel. Ollie came through our bedroom door with our documents in hand and laid them over the suitcase. He’d already changed into his grey joggers and a black hoodie, his brown hair styled into his backward wave. His eyes glued to my hips as I shimmied into a pair of ripped high-waisted jeans. “Stop, I can hear your thoughts from here, and we don’t have time. The ferry leaves in two hours.”

  “There’s always time for pleasure.”

  “Not the way you do it,” I pointed out, my eyes traveling down to the bulge straining inside his joggers, and Ollie did nothing to hide his arousal.

  He raised his brows. “See something you fancy, love?”

  I took off my bra and tossed it over his head, and Ollie caught it mid-air before he flung it behind him, picked me up, and threw me over the bed. “Six minutes,” he breathed into my neck, his length digging against my core. He pushed my arms above my head and moved his mouth over my already hard nipple. “All I need is six minutes.” His hands cupped both breasts before they dragged down my sides. “One to admire you. Two to taste you. And three to lose myself inside you.” And he hooked his fingers into my waistband, peeling them off me. “Six minutes.”

  Ollie took twenty-one.

  The drive to the Port of Portsmouth was only an hour, and we arrived just in time for the last call to board the white ship with the navy-blue Brittany Ferry logo, heading to Bilbao, Spain. I’d never been on a boat before, and my eyes feasted on a whole new world living within the walls of the ship. Walkways around the outskirts of the ship lined in glass, overlooking the vast blue ocean. Everywhere my eyes landed, I noticed new shops, dining areas, bars, and stages for entertainment. Certainly, we couldn’t fit everything inside a thirty-six-hour window on the ship before we reached Spain.

  When we reached our small room, complete with two twin-sized beds, we’d noticed our suitcase had already arrived. “Don’t worry, love. We won’t be sleeping.”

  “Crap-bag!” someone yelled, and the single name had my jaw drop, my heart in my throat, and my eyes bulging from their sockets. Ollie lifted his shoulder as a smug grin formed, and he nudged his head to behind me. “I was wondering when there would be a fucking wedding. Maid of honor, remember? I called it …”

  “Jake,” I cried, twirling to see him standing in the doorway, still rambling with one hand planted over the doorframe. Liam hunched over behind him, arms filled with bags and out of breath. “How in the world … when … what?”

  Then I was in his arms, and Jake lifted me off the ground in a bear hug. “Ollie sent a text, said it’s time. You think I’d miss my maid of honor duties?”

  “I told Ollie three hours ago!” I turned to face Ollie, who had his arms crossed
over his chest as he relaxed against a table in the small room. Tears fell freely down my face. “I told you like three hours ago! How?”

  Ollie only lifted his shoulders again in response.

  Jake pumped his fist in the air. “I’m maid of honor bitches!”

  The mid-fifties temperature brought strong winds against the ship from the Bay of Biscay, and the four of us bundled up at the stern of the boat. With the sunset came a fiery sky, burning the day into the same colors you’d see on a battlefield. It seemed like forever had passed since Mrs. Morrigan’s funeral and saying goodbye to Cora, but it was only hours ago, and we’d conquered the somber day, and the night was near. The dying sun’s reflection bounced off the deep blue bay, creating stars over the water. Ollie held me closer.

  Dinner had passed, and we sipped on spiced apple hot toddy’s. The warm bourbon mixed with cinnamon slithered down my throat, warming my chest through the cold winds of October.

  “I still can’t believe it,” Jake shook his head, “Lynch is your dad.”

  “Bloody hell, I fucked the Devil’s daughter,” Liam muttered, hair cut short, matching Jake’s. “Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned.”

  “Don’t remind me, mate,” Ollie growled.

  “Lynch isn’t so bad,” I said, leaning back against Ollie’s tall frame. “We have lunch once a week now in Shere Village. He has this dry sense of humor I’ve never noticed before. But enough about Lynch, I want to hear what you two have been up to.”

  Jake and Liam exchanged a smile, and Jake turned to face me as Liam ran his palm down Jake’s covered arm. “We’re moving in before the holiday.”

  “Oh, Jake, that’s amazing.” I grabbed his free hand and gave it a squeeze. “Where are you guys moving to?”

  “Liam’s actually from Manchester, and I’m from Windsor, so the long-distance has been killing us over the last six months. As long as we can both find work in or outside of London, that’s where we’re going.” Jake glanced over at Liam, his blue eyes lighting up. “Liam has a job with a tech company but believes he can transfer. I’m back in school, working part-time.”

  “What are you in school for?” I asked, my eyes sliding between the two of them and noticing the way they smiled at each other.

  “I want to get my teaching degree.”

  We spent the rest of our night catching up while our drinks overflowed. Eventually, the chatter settled, and the four of us curled up over the poolside chairs, wrapped up in pillows and blankets under galaxies and the matte black sky above. Ollie and I tangled with one another, looking up at the stars. “Thank you,” I whispered, my head resting into his warm neck. “For Jake. Not so much Liam, but I suppose they’re a package deal now.”

  Ollie’s chest rumbled against me as he quietly laughed. “It wouldn’t have been the same without Jake here.” His palm held my cheek as he pressed his lips against my head, then returned his eyes toward the sky. “You say there’s something about sunrises, but for me, there is something about the mid-night sky. When the lights go out, the world opens up. Quiet. Peaceful.” A shiver runs through Ollie, and he released a long exhale. “The unknown isn’t so scary when it’s this spectacular.”

  “What are you proposing?”

  “I say after the wedding, after I’m done with Dex, we take off and travel the world. I can collect my poetry and get my second book together, and it would be a great opportunity for your photography. We can tag team the Earth. You and I. What do you say, love? Are you ready for an adventure?” The excitement in his tone moved through me—an electric current of curiosity.

  I didn’t ask about our home, about Lynch, or the life we’d made in the last five months. Traveling had always been Ollie’s dream, to meet people from all walks of life and experience the greatest wonders this world had to offer. And I wanted nothing more than to capture every single smile and spark in his eyes. “I’ve been ready.”

  With one eye barely opened, I was staring at a little boy who was staring down at me, wearing a puffer jacket with his head covered in a knitted cap pulled tightly over his head. “Mum!” he called out, pointing down at Ollie and me with a twisted expression. “Are they dead?”

  “Zeke, dear, leave those two lovebirds alone, will ya?” The mom called back across the back of the ship, and the wild organ inside my chest flipped at the sound of his name.

  The boy ignored her, taking a step closer as the sun beat down over us, fighting against the harsh sea winds of the early morning. “Are you in love?” he eagerly asked, and a lump formed inside my throat. Attempting to shake the shock consuming me, I nodded. “Is it forever? Because mum says when two people sleep together, the love is forever.”

  My head snapped up to Ollie, whose still and asleep with a blanket pulled halfway up his face, his eyes closed.

  “Well?”

  It was bright, and I squinted my eyes as emotions threatened to spill out over the stern and into the blue waters. “Love is forever,” I confirmed, easing his troubled mind. “We are forever.”

  The boy smiled, turned his back to me, and took off running across the ship to his mom, shouting, “They’re not dead, mum. They’re in love, forever!”

  “Oh, that’s good, dear,” his mom celebrated, sending me a wave.

  I waved back and curled back under the covers, eyes wide open with every hair raised over my chilled skin, gazing out into the sea with an unbidden smile.

  With Ollie, I’d learned to believe in the impossible, in the unexplainable. With Ollie, magic existed. I could have simply marked it down as a coincidence, but Zeke’s presence washed over me, and I knew there was nothing else it could’ve been. Zeke had visited me, and perhaps it was his way of letting me know he would watch us get married from the Heaven’s above.

  Ollie stirred against me, breaths coming out as light moans as he woke. “Did you miss your sunrise, love?”

  “Yeah, but I got something better.”

  After thirty-six hours of sea, I was ready to be back on solid ground. The ship had docked in Bilbao, Spain at approximately six in the morning, and it was still dark as we stepped off the ship. Jake had kept his word, and he and Mia had stayed awake all hours of the night, planning the small wedding while pounding drink after drink. Both of them dragged behind Liam and me, Jake whining and Mia hiding how terrible she felt under my fedora as she quietly kept up.

  Rolling the suitcase behind me, I paused to adjust the backpack over my shoulder. “Come on, love. Only a few more feet, and you’ll have your steaming hot coffee.”

  Mia grunted, notifying me that she was still alive. I glanced back and saw her tangled brown hair, loose ripped jeans, and combat boots, tiny inside one of my hoodies that was three times her size.

  We reached the snack bar at the port, and Liam and I grabbed four coffee’s as Mia and Jake took a seat at the closest available table. It was still dark, everyone half asleep. “We’re in fucking Spain,” I dropped a coffee in front of Jake as he groaned, “time to wake up, mate.”

  “I hate you, Jake,” Mia stated, and I chuckled, handing her the coffee.

  “It’s October seventh. We have three days to make it to Gibraltar to get married on ten-ten-twenty-twenty. We could either take a train across Spain, which takes thirteen hours or rent a car, which would take ten if we drive straight through,” I explained. “I say we take a car. It’ll be cramped, but we’ll have more freedom.”

  Liam raised his cup to his mouth. “Car sounds good to me.”

  “Mia?” I asked, moving my hand under her hair to massage the back of her neck.

  “Yeah, I’m down for the car.”

  “Sun rises in,”—I clicked on my phone and looked at the time— “two hours. We can grab breakfast and do a little sightseeing before we head out.”

  Enterprise didn’t open until after eight, so we took a taxi to Casco Viejo, and I’d asked the driver to drop us off at his favorite place to have breakfast. My Spanish was a little rusty, his English newly developed, but together, we made it
work. My three traveling companions fell asleep in the backseat as I struck a conversation with the driver. Talking to strangers had always been easy for me, as long as it wasn’t in crowded areas. I thrived in intimate environments such as this—just me and Antonio, with an adventure before us and sleepy heads behind us.

  In the twenty-five minutes to Casco Viejo, I’d learned Antonio just celebrated his sixty-fourth birthday with his seven children, and fifteen grandchildren, with one more on the way. He’d lived in Spain his entire life, born in Madrid, and moved to Bilbao on a whim. He had dark eyes with unruly grey strands curling from his lively brows under his Panama style hat. At around seven in the morning, his smile brightened the narrow streets of the city before the sun did.

  “El Tilo de Mami Lou,” Antonio announced, pulling the taxi in front of the Belgian bakery. “Perfecto, para la dama con un paladar dulce, eh?” he wiggled his bushy brows.

  I’d told him my fiancé had a sweet tooth, and the old chap delivered. “Perfecto, gracias, Antonio.” And I tipped him extra from the currency I’d exchanged back on the ferry.

  Mia’s eyes lit up as soon as we walked into the bakery with black and white checkered flooring under our feet. A glass display case before us held cupcakes, cakes, pastries, and loaves of specialty homemade bread. The quaint bakery had a baroque-style interior with bistro tables and chairs. I ordered both of us cappuccinos, complete with a dollop of whipped cream and cinnamon, and two glazed croissants. Mia added a slice of chocolate pumpkin bread before we found seating outside the building, situated across from the beautiful Arriaga Theatre, lit up by spotlights in the early dark of the morning.

  “Oh-my-God,” Mia moaned after her first bite into her croissant, “I needed this so bad.”

  “Ah, she’s awake.” I laughed, sipping the cappuccino. Mia nodded, then took another bite.