Hush Hush #1

by Anneliese Vandell

  My jaw drops. “So you’re saying,” I say, “that you own this store?”

  Riley nods again.

  That certainly hadn’t been clear during my online research, but I couldn’t be happier to hear that. Riley had always been a good kid. He deserves this.

  “It’s not going to make me a millionaire or anything,” Riley replies. “Obviously, the tourists aren’t knocking down the doors for slightly-used copies of The Count of Monte Cristo. But it’s a pretty good life nonetheless.”

  “Is that the book you’re recommending to me?”

  Riley laughs. “There’s plenty of romance and passion in there—but no. I have something else in mind.”

  He leads me to a section of the bookstore where the stacks are narrower. Many of the books on the shelves, I see, are thin and well-worn.

  “Poetry,” he says, gesturing. “Truly the language of romance.”

  “Ah, of course,” I say, smiling. Though my love of the written word never quite match Riley’s, I still always found comfort in books. Particularly poetry. “I’ve always been an admirer of E.E. Cummings’ work. Do you have anything by him?” I pause, debating. “Do you think he’s even a good choice? This is supposed to be a gift for someone who’s unfamiliar with poetry. And the whole concept of romance, for that matter.”

  Riley surveys me with a polite but confused smile. “Are we talking about someone in particular, or is this just a very vivid hypothetical?”

  “Someone in particular,” I say. And then, just to see what he’ll say—and because he doesn’t know who I am anyway, so why the hell not—I add, “His name is Liam Hawthorne. Do you know him?”

  “You’re buying Liam Hawthorne a book of romantic poetry?” Riley says, astounded. He shakes his head and chuckles to himself. “You might actually be the first person on the planet to do that.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, overcome with curiosity.

  He whistles. “Where do I begin? First, he’s not exactly known for being the romantic type. He’s pretty much a perpetual lone wolf. Moreover, the women who usually go after him don’t seem to have more than two brain cells to string together, let alone the ability to read and appreciate poetry.”

  “You seem to know a lot about this guy,” I say softly.

  This is a surprise to me—Riley and I had always run with a different crowd than Liam did. We went to different schools and kept ourselves busy with different extracurricular activities—French tutoring sessions and golf practice for Liam, bike-riding and street kickball for Riley and me.

  “Yeah, well, there were some circumstances that brought us together once or twice,” he says. “And I had the pleasure of his company.” His scathing tone indicates that it was anything but.

  I want to press on the issue—what circumstances? Did it have anything to do with my parents being put in jail? Or was there something else that happened, after I left?

  But I bite my lip. It would call too much attention to myself, to ask him all these probing questions. Begrudgingly, I accept the fact that I may not get to learn the answers. At least not from Riley. Not now.

  “So he’s not known for being the romantic type, you said?” I say, venturing back to safer territory. “What do you mean by that? Has he never had a girlfriend?”

  “I think he had one once, a long time ago, but then all of sudden they stopped spending time together. It was all over the society section in the papers, and unfortunately for me, the kind of local gossip you couldn’t avoid,” Riley replies.

  “And then no other girlfriends since?”

  “Not that I know of. Just a stream of bimbos. Hussies. Whatever you want to call ‘em.”

  “Bimbo-hussies? Bussies?”

  “Yeah, that works too.” Riley hands me a thin, worn paperback. It reads E.E. CUMMINGS: A SELECTION OF POEMS. He grins. “I don’t know how much it will help you win Liam’s heart, or whatever icy shards are left of it, but it’s a good book nonetheless.”

  I look up at Riley. “You really don’t like this guy, do you?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Well, maybe this book will end up being the key to unlocking Liam Hawthorne’s sensitive side. You never know,” I say half-joking, half-hopefully.

  “Maybe,” says Riley. “Good luck with that.”

  “Thanks,” I say, gripping the book closer to my chest. I’ll take all the luck I can get.

  I think I’m going to need it.

  4

  Promptly at eight o’clock, there’s a knock on the door.

  I dart over to the bathroom and steal one last glance at myself in the mirror. I hurriedly apply a swipe of lip gloss and smack my lips at my reflection, hoping that I don’t look like I’m trying too hard. Sure, I may have spent the entire afternoon shaving my legs and blow-drying my hair and generally trying not to psych myself out in preparation for this date, but he doesn’t need to know that, does he?

  There’s another knock—and this time, it’s louder and more urgent. Clearly this is a man who does not like to be kept waiting.

  I slip on my heels and click-clack over to the door as fast as I can manage.

  “Coming, coming,” I say as I fumble with the doorknob. I swing it open to find Liam leaning against the doorframe, dressed more casually than last night but looking no less dashing. He’s wearing a crisp, sapphire-colored button-down shirt that brings out the blue in his eyes. In his hands is a single red rose. He smiles as he offers it to me.

  “I figured that if I’m going to try the old-fashioned route tonight, I may as well do it properly,” he says.

  I bring the flower to my nose. The petals are like silk against my skin, and the scent is like a rich perfume.

  “Thank you,” I say. “Please, come in. Just give me a moment to put this in some water before we head out.”

  He steps inside as I search for a tall glass to hold the rose.

  “You look great,” he says approvingly.

  I look down at Miranda’s pink dress and give a shrug, as if to say, this old thing?

  In truth, I’m just as impressed as Liam is. I always knew that Miranda had good fashion sense, but I had no idea how spot-on she’d be with her recommendation. The pink dress somehow simultaneously hugs my curves while making my stomach seem trim. The fabric is subtly shimmery, and with each step I take, the dress sways from my hips like the ringing of a bell.

  I find a glass and quickly bring it to the bathroom sink. Once it’s filled with water, I drop in the flower.

  “So where are we going?” I say, reaching for my purse and hoping that my tone doesn’t reveal my nervousness. I have a tendency to wear my heart on my sleeve—a bad habit for a normal person, and a worse one for a con artist.

  But Liam doesn’t seem to notice, and if he does, he hides it well. Better than me, anyway.

  He just smiles and says, “I told you. It’s a surprise.”

  If Miranda were here, she’d refuse to leave the room until she was given the night’s itinerary. She’s meticulous and cunning, and maybe that’s what makes her so good at what she does—she leaves nothing to chance.

  But I’m not Miranda, and when he offers his arm for me to take, I decide in this moment to do things my way. As I loop my arm through his and let him guide me down the long hotel corridor, I can’t help but feel like there’s something slightly thrilling about all this.

  We step out into the parking lot. I’m not sure what kind of car I expected Liam to have—a flashy sports car? A limousine?—but instead what I find is a simple but polished black sedan, idling in front of the hotel entrance. A man in a black chauffeur cap stands by the passenger door, his arms crossed neatly behind his back.

  “Sophia Moore, this is Thomas. He’ll be driving us this evening,” Liam says, introducing us.

  “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Moore,” Thomas says, giving me a polite bow of his head. He swings open the door and gestures for us to slip inside.

  I scoot in first, tucking my dress around my legs so
I don’t accidentally flash Liam on my way into the car.

  On second thought, probably doesn’t matter—if you go through with this, he’s going to end up seeing the whole package anyway, chirps a small voice at the back of my head.

  The thought makes me blush. I turn my head away from Liam so he won’t see my red cheeks. The car pulls out of the hotel parking lot, and the world begins to roll by.

  There’s a tap on my shoulder. When I turn around, the faintest hint of a smile is playing across Liam’s lips. He’s holding up a small strip of black lace.

  “What is that?” I ask, widening my eyes at the lace.

  It’s just a simple bolt of fabric, nothing more. I can’t think of what its purpose could possibly be—some kind of garter, maybe? Aren’t those made of lace? But no, that doesn’t make sense to wear on a date…

  Unless this is some kind of dating ritual I don’t know about yet. Which, given my limited experience, is entirely possible.

  “I told you that tonight would be a surprise,” he says. “And I don’t want to go on and ruin it by letting you see where we’re going.”

  “Uh, sure,” I say, still confused. I look back at the lace, swaying from his fingertips.

  And then it hits me.

  “You want to blindfold me?”

  Now Liam’s smirk is unmistakable. “I promise I’ll be a gentleman.”

  His words send a little shiver through me. And as I shift in the seat, turning around to let him place the lace gently over my eyes, I think, Well, why not? There’s no point in arguing every little detail with him. Let him have his surprises. Let him have his blindfold.

  I’ll have him wrapped around my little finger soon enough.

  And besides, I think with a little skip of my heart, I’ve never been blindfolded before.

  His fingers graze my hair as he ties the lace into a knot at the back of my head. The lace is thin enough to let light shine through, but thick enough to obscure the world into blocks of simple shapes and colors. It’s impossible to see anything meaningful in front of me.

  Which I guess is the point.

  “How do I look?” I say, turning my head back to him and giving him a supermodel pout of my lips.

  “Lace has never looked better,” he replies. I think I hear the smile in his voice, or at least I hope I can.

  “So is this something you do on all of your first dates, or…?

  “On the rare occasion wherein I actually go on a date?” Liam says. “No. I can’t say that it is.”

  “So…just me then?” I say, my skin prickling.

  “Just you,” Liam confirms. “I told you—you intrigue me, Sophia. You’re different from most other women I’ve met. And so I was curious to see if you’d agree to try something…different. I was hoping you’d be game for it.”

  I turn toward the vaguely man-shaped block of color where Liam is sitting. I lie, “Absolutely.”

  “Good.”

  A few minutes pass in silence. I can’t see Liam, but I can feel the heat of his body beside mine. I hear the rustle of his pants as he stretches his legs out in front of him. It’s a funny thing, how the absence of sight makes me hyper-aware to the sounds and sensations all around me. My seat, I realize, is vibrating ever so slightly from the car’s engine. I wonder if Liam feels it too.

  The car begins to slow. At first I think we’re just going through an intersection or making another turn, but then it comes to a full stop.

  “We’re here already?” I say.

  There’s a hint of excitement in my voice, mingled with just the slightest amount of trepidation. What kind of surprise can Liam possibly have in store for me?

  “So eager,” Liam says, amused. His hand slides over mine, and my skin buzzes at the sudden touch. “Here, I’ll escort you. Just lean on me so you won’t trip.”

  His arm wraps around my waist and guides me out of the car. His grip is strong and reassuring as we cross an expanse of hard pavement—a parking lot, I assume.

  “Watch your step,” he advises me, but doesn’t elaborate.

  I take a slow, tentative step forward, not sure what to expect, and find a hard, clanging surface beneath my feet. We walk up a short incline, and then take a half-step down onto another smooth surface.

  I can smell the ocean. Somewhere in the distance, sea birds call to each other. We’re on a boat, that much is obvious. But surely Liam must have expected that I’d realize this as soon as we got out of the car.

  So why the games?

  I strain my ears as we move forward, trying to catch the sound of a bell ringing, or the chatter of other passengers, or anything else that might help clue me in—but all I can hear is the slap of the water against the side of the boat. The deck rocks slowly beneath my feet.

  Liam leads me to the left, up a set of stairs, and then to the left again. We’re inside some kind of enclosed space for a minute, but only briefly—the moon casts a gentle glow through the blindfold as we return to the open air. The floor begins to tremble as the boat’s engine starts. A sound like a dull roar grows in intensity, becoming louder and louder, competing with the sound of splashing water. We begin to move forward.

  “Can I take off the blindfold now?” I ask eagerly.

  But Liam says, “Not yet,” and walks me over to some kind of ledge. He leans me against it, and only then does he loosen the lace around my eyes.

  The first thing I see is the massive, rotating red paddle wheel of the steamboat, digging into the sea below and kicking up sprays of foamy white water. The sound that it makes is tremendous, like a slumbering giant that’s come to life.

  I turn back and smile at Liam, who is slipping the lace into his pocket. This is undeniably cool, I have to admit.

  “That’s not the surprise,” he says.

  I raise my eyebrows. What can he mean by that?

  “Look around. Go on, explore.”

  Hesitating for only just a moment, I walk around the perimeter, trying to see what he means. I lean over the rail and look down to the first level of the boat, scanning the empty floor to see what could be out of place—and that’s when I gasp with realization.

  “We’re the only ones on this boat, aren’t we?”

  Liam’s grin is wide. He nods. “When we met at the club, you said that you liked the idea of a private steamboat tour. So I thought I’d arrange one for you.”

  I can’t help but giggle. Not in my wildest dreams did I expect this from Liam—or from anyone, for that matter. How much could this have possibly cost him, to rent out an entire steamboat just for the two of us? But I guess if you have more money than you know what to do with—and if you don’t go on many dates in the first place—this kind of thing must not seem like much of a splurge.

  “This is crazy!” I exclaim, rushing back to admire the way the paddle wheel tumbles against the water.

  “Crazy good or crazy bad?”

  “Good,” I say. “Definitely good.”

  I’m so flabbergasted and impressed that I’ve momentarily forgotten why I’m here. But when Liam comes up beside me and trails a suggestive hand up my arm, I’m brought back to the moment.

  “So any other surprises I should know about?” I say, feeling a little nervous.

  His eyebrow flicks slightly, but the rest of his face remains stoic. “Actually, yes. Follow me.”

  We head upstairs one flight, and then up a stouter, steeper staircase. We find ourselves in a small white, windowed room—the captain’s room, I realize. We’re at the very top of the steamboat. In front of us is an expansive view of the Mississippi River, glittering in the moonlight. I’ve never seen anything like this before.

  “Welcome,” says a voice.

  A genteel-looking man in his fifties stands waiting for us in the room. A tuft of salt-and-pepper hair pokes out from beneath a brimmed captain’s hat. He’s standing next to an enormous, ornately carved wooden steering wheel.

  “Don, this is Sophia. Sophia, meet Don, our captain for the evening,” Liam s
ays.

  “Nice to meet you,” I say, remembering my manners. I try to stammer out a joke. “You know, I didn’t even think it was possible for steamboats to be empty. I’ve only seen them when they were packed with people.”

  “I can’t say this is one of our usual requests,” Don admits, smiling. “But the privacy was a necessary requirement.”

  “For what?” I turn to Liam, confused. Judging from the devious grin on his face, this can’t be good.

  Don says, “For your steering lesson, of course.”

  My mouths drops. “My what?”

  “I told our friend Don here about how excited you are to learn how to steer,” says Liam, his mouth twitching. He’s barely able to contain his laughter.

  “I—I don’t know if this is going to be a good idea,” I stammer nervously. “I mean, unless you want me to crash your nice boat into the side of the river.”

  “Nonsense,” says Don kindly. “We’ll be right here with you. It’s not as difficult as it seems, I promise you.”

  I cast another glance at Liam. He gives me an encouraging nod.

  “This will be fun,” he says.

  If you say so, I think doubtfully.

  First the blindfold, then a private steamboat, and now this? He really is full of surprises.

  He places his hand on the small of my back and guides me over to the steering wheel. Beside the wheel, a silver tray is propped up on a small stand. The tray holds two glasses of champagne and some kind of appetizer that I don’t recognize.

  Liam takes my left hand into his, letting his thumb gently graze across my open palm. I shiver. He puts my hand onto one of the spokes of the wheel, and then reaches over to do the same with my right hand. The wheel is nearly as tall as I am.

  “So the first thing we need to do,” says the captain, “is sound our departure whistle. We want to signal to other boats in the vicinity that we’re coming out onto the water—because even if they can’t see us, they’ll be able to hear us.”

  “Okay,” I say. “How do I do that?”

  “Here,” says Liam. He takes my hand and lifts it to one of the wooden knobs hanging from the ceiling. My fingers clasp around it.