by Kyla Stone
The boy lounging in the doorway was only a little older than she was. He was tall and lean, but well-muscled beneath his black T-shirt. His dark brown hair was short, his gray eyes penetrating, studying her, taking her in. A wicked smile played across his lips. “I'd think a ship of this caliber wouldn't harbor thieves on its staff.”
“I'm—I'm not staff,” she stammered, slamming the jewelry box shut. Panic fluttered in her chest. The wristband in her pocket burned like a hot coal. They would know who it belonged to. They'd fire her mom without question. And then where would they be? She hadn't thought this through. She'd been reckless and stupid, like always. Only thinking of herself. “I was just looking. I—”
“Let's not add lying to your list of crimes. You really think I'm going to believe that crap?”
“I was just—I’m so sorry, I didn’t know anyone would be in here.” Her thoughts were jumbled, her mind scrambling for two coherent words to string together. Think! What would Rihanna say right now? She glanced at the charms—a star, heart, yacht, a violin. “I’m just—I’m a huge fan of your sister. She’s amazing, and I loved hearing her play.”
“You love her so much you decided to steal from her?”
“I was going to write her a note—old fashioned fan mail, you know? Then the door was open. I was only looking around—”
He tilted his chin. “You’re wearing her bracelet.”
“Only to try it on, I swear. To—to imagine what it might be like to be her.”
Silas smirked. “You’ll never be like her—like us. I can smell the stench of desperation wafting off you from here. I don’t know how you wormed your way onto this ship, but you don’t belong. And you never will.”
Anger formed a stone in her throat. She swallowed it down before she lost her cool. She wanted to smash his snotty face in with her fist. Which would only make things a thousand times worse. “I'll put it back. I didn't take anything else. You can search me.”
“Begging doesn't become you, thief. Let's go.” He flexed a gloved hand and adjusted the VR glasses perched on his head.
She should run. He didn't know who she was. She was small and quick, she could dart around him—
He lunged forward and grabbed her arm. “Nice try. I'm not as stupid as I look.”
She clenched her jaw in silent rage as he dragged her through the hall and down several flights of stairs. Her heart hammered against her ribs, her hands clammy and trembling. She considered trying to beg or explain again, but what was the point? He was an elite. He wasn't capable of empathy. She despised the thought of begging him for mercy almost as much as she despised him.
When they came to the security office, he shoved the door open and pushed her inside. A single officer sat in front of a bank of transparent screens. She recognized the live video streams from different areas of the ship.
Her heart sank into her stomach. Her crime would be caught on CCTV, or at least, her entering the room with the wristband, which was proof enough. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Of course there were security cameras. Without the drones everywhere, it was easy to forget anyone was watching. She’d let her guard down. She should've thought things through instead of leading with her emotions. She’d been so fixated on that stupid bracelet.
The officer flicked off the monitor closest to him and rose abruptly. He was young, maybe early twenties, and Latino, with a goatee and scruffy black hair curling to the tops of his shoulders.
“Found this gutter rat stealing from us.” The boy grabbed her forearm, the charm bracelet still winking at her wrist. His fingers tightened, digging into her skin.
She bit her tongue until she tasted blood. He hurt her. But she wouldn't cry out. She wouldn't give him the pleasure. “Let me go!”
“Arrest her and throw her off the ship.” His eyes flashed with contempt.
“Silas Black, correct?” the security officer said. “I deeply apologize for the inconvenience. We've never had an issue with thievery on the Grand Voyager. Rest assured, the problem will be dealt with.”
“It better be,” the boy growled. “We didn't spend all this money to be infested by cockroaches.”
Willow flinched. “Just because you’re filthy stinking rich doesn’t give you the right—”
The officer gave a sharp shake of his head. She clamped her mouth shut, barely able to contain her fury. Don’t make things worse, you idiot.
“What’s your name?” the officer asked her.
“Willow. Willow Bahaghari.”
Silas gave her a mocking smile. “Isn't that name supposed to mean slim and graceful?”
“It means strong and resilient,” Willow snapped. “What does Silas mean? Asshole?”
Silas tightened his grip, his eyes narrowing. “You little—”
The officer raised his hand. “Okay, settle down. I'll take it from here.”
He unclipped the bracelet from Willow’s wrist and handed it to Silas. “Let me offer you this voucher worth a thousand credits at the casino as a token of our apology.” He pulled a card out of a drawer and held it out.
Silas glared at him, his lip curling. “Seriously?”
“Please accept our deepest apologies, Mr. Black.”
Silas snatched the card and stuffed it in his pocket. He shot her a final withering look before releasing her arm and stalking out. He slammed the door behind him.
Her heart pounded in her ears. All the air seemed sucked out of the room. She rubbed the red marks in the shape of fingers already forming on her arm.
The officer gazed at the door. “All the rich are the same. They love anything free.” He turned to Willow. She was close enough to read his name tag: Gabriel Rivera.
He frowned, but his eyes weren’t angry or contemptuous. “Are you related to Mariel Bahaghari?”
“I'm her daughter.” She struggled to keep her voice even. Now was the time for begging. “Please don't blame her. I stole her wristband. This is my fault, not hers. Arrest me, whatever you need to do, but please don't fire her.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and gazed at her, his face inscrutable. “And why are you stealing from Declan Black’s daughter?”
Her heart couldn't pump enough blood. She felt faint. But still, even in her fear, a streak of resentment burned through her. She should shut the hell up. She should be meek and mild. But the memory of that boy’s ugly, self-satisfied smirk wouldn't let her. “She wouldn't even have missed it.”
Officer Rivera nodded to himself. He glanced at the marks on her arm. “You're lucky I was the one on duty. Mariel's a good lady. A hard worker, and she always has a smile for everyone. I'll make a deal with you. I'll forget this ever happened. No one will check the CCTV footage unless they have a reason to. And you? No more stealing—rather, no more getting caught.” He tapped the side of his head and winked at her. “Be smarter.”
She stared at him in shock. She couldn't have heard him correctly. This must be some horrible joke. “I’m sorry—What?”
He sank into his office chair and returned his attention to the screens. “You can go now.”
She just stood there.
“Go. Before I change my mind.”
She left the office and made her way back up to the lido deck, barely able to feel her own legs. Five minutes ago, she'd thought everything was over. Now she had another chance. The wristband was still in her pocket, but she wouldn't be that stupid again.
There had to be another way. She was still as determined as ever to change her destiny. But she'd have to do what officer Rivera said. She just had to be smarter.
11
Amelia
“You're allowed to have fun, you know,” Amelia said to Silas. It was day six of the cruise, and they were lounging on beach chairs beneath a cabana, sipping margaritas and staring at the white sand and glittering turquoise waters on a private beach in Ocho Rios.
“Are you?” he asked, raising his eyebrows in that sarcastic, flippant way of his.
“Of course,” she said auto
matically.
“Liar.”
She rubbed her violin charm. “How come everyone always says that?”
“Because you’re a crappy liar.”
Sweat trickled down the base of her neck. All around her, people were chatting, dozing, or enjoying massages in their cabanas. Service bots hovered between the lounge chairs, offering guests chilled fruit kabobs and frozen drinks. Several little kids frolicked at the shoreline, splashing in the gentle waves. She reapplied her sun block, rubbing it into the pale skin of her legs. But she couldn’t focus on the paradise in front of her.
The week had passed in a blur of mornings spent practicing, afternoons on the sundeck, the solarium, or the spa with her mother and a few of the girls she knew. In the evenings, she dutifully attended the five-course dinners and theater productions with whomever her father wanted her to. The Health Summit was already tomorrow. She tried to charm Senator López, but he seemed solidly against Declan. It only made her feel even more useless.
Her father didn't participate in any of the shore excursions, spending the time in meetings and tech demos in a conference room on the ship. It was Amelia and her mother who went snorkeling in the Bahamas, swimming with dolphins on Grand Turk, and scuba diving and parasailing in Ocho Rios. Every moment should have been thrilling. But it wasn’t.
And Silas did what he did best. He’d stayed on the ship at Grand Turk. The days he went on the excursions, he sulked the whole time, moping around until they returned and he could escape back to the Xtreme Worlds center. He was a ghost, avoiding her even when he was physically present. And she hated it. She hated the feeling of separation, like a wall stood between them instead of less than a foot of empty space.
“Can we talk?” she asked now. “It feels like you’ve been avoiding me all week.”
He slouched deeper in his chair. “That’s because I have been avoiding you all week.”
“Don’t be like that. Silas, please.”
“Fine. What do you want?”
I want my brother back. Silas's harsh words from earlier in the week echoed in her head. They used to be so close. They barely had to exchange words to know what the other was thinking.
Silas always knew when she was upset or had a migraine coming on. He instinctively sensed her breaking point when their father was laying into her. He always came to her rescue. Always. And she could soothe him out of one of his moods. But not lately. She couldn't think of the last time they'd been on the same wavelength, when she'd last felt like it was them against the world.
Amelia grabbed the waterproof case her mother put her meds in and wrapped the strap around her wrist. She stood and held out her hand. “Will you go on a walk with me?”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Please? With popcorn on top?” She said the silly phrase she’d used when they were little kids, and they thought it was hilarious that they both shared kettle corn as their favorite snack of all time.
“Whatever.” Silas hauled himself to his feet. He shielded his eyes with his hand. “Oh wait. Here comes your entourage.”
Amelia squinted through her blue-tinted sunglasses. Celeste, Kendyll, and two other interchangeable blondes, Taylor and Reagan, picked their way amongst the sand toys, lounge chairs, and beach towels, their hips swaying as they sauntered toward Amelia. “Whatever you do, don’t leave me,” she muttered.
“That margarita must have like a thousand calories.” Celeste glared at the empty drink in her hand. Celeste was the daughter of Janet Kingsley-Yates, the CEO of Yates Pharmaceuticals, one of the major companies Amelia’s father contracted with on a regular basis. They were friends, sort of. Celeste’s mother was more interested in nurturing the friendship than either Celeste or Amelia. “We're going for a power walk. Come with us.”
There were a hundred things she'd rather do, but Amelia smiled benignly. She was her mother's daughter, after all. “I would love to. But actually—”
Celeste flipped up her sunglasses and cocked her hip, her warm brown skin gleaming against her gold bikini. Her copper hair shimmered in the sun. “Hey, Silas. Wanna come?”
Silas scowled. “I'd rather drink arsenic.”
“You're so funny, Silas. I’m great company. I promise, you won't regret it.” Celeste eyed the muscles in Silas’s chest, his washboard abs. She literally fluttered her eyelashes at him.
Silas shot Amelia a withering look. Like all this was her fault. “I'm getting another drink.”
“Get me one, too,” Celeste called after him.
“He's so hot,” Kendyll Schwartz said. Kendyll’s parents were both bioengineers for Amelia’s father. “How do you stand it?”
“Um, he's my brother.” Amelia forced herself to unclench her jaw. She could already feel a headache coming on. Silas's brooding, couldn't-care-less attitude drove these girls—especially Celeste—insane. Ever since her mom’s high profile affair and vicious divorce last year, Celeste seemed even more desperately boy crazy than usual.
Celeste arched a perfectly manicured brow. “Yeah, but he's not like, blood, right?”
“A half-brother is blood, you idiot,” Silas said from behind them, swinging a wine bottle by the neck.
“Oh, is that for me?” Celeste cooed.
“No,” Silas said flatly.
Surprised hurt flitted across Celeste’s face, but she recovered quickly. “Next time.” She turned to Amelia, eyeing her case. “Do you really have to take that thing everywhere?”
“An allergic reaction doesn't wait for you to get your crap together. I always have an epi-pen with me.” Amelia repeated the lie she'd been telling them for years.
“What are you even allergic to, anyway? You see any peanuts on the beach?”
“Shellfish.”
Celeste just looked confused.
Silas snorted at Amelia’s stupid, silly joke. They exchanged smirks. For half a second, that old spark connected them.
“Actually, I’m going for a walk with Silas,” Amelia said. “But we can do a massage later?”
Celeste frowned and bit her full lower lip, but she waved her hand. “Sure, whatever. See you.” She glanced at Silas but didn’t say anything else. She sauntered off toward one of the cabanas, the other girls trailing after her.
“Are we doing this or what?” Silas asked. “That lounge chair is calling my name.”
Amelia followed him to the shoreline, sidestepping a toddler digging a hole. “Can I ask you something?”
“You’re already asking.”
The soft white sand squished between Amelia's toes. A mile of pristine beach stretched before them, palm trees and jungle undergrowth on one side, a gentle turquoise sea on the other. She could live the rest of her life in a place like this. Peaceful, no expectations or demands, free of the stress and anxiety always twisting her stomach. “Why did you quit hockey?”
“Because I wanted to. You should try it sometime.”
“But what about Father?”
Silas scowled. “What about him?”
“He’s so upset.”
“I don’t care.”
“How can you say that?” Amelia’s chest tightened just thinking about it. The way her father looked at Silas, with such scorn and contempt in his gaze, if he even bothered to look at him at all. “He said he’s not going to pay for college. I mean, he’s not even talking to you. It’s like you don’t exist.”
“Good.”
“You don’t mean that.”
He was quiet for a moment. The sounds of laughing children and screeching seagulls filled the air. “I’m done, Amelia. And you should be, too.”
“With what?”
He made an irritated sound in his throat. “Don’t be obtuse. It’s unbecoming.”
“Please don’t be like that.”
“Just stop. Stop running around and doing every single thing he tells you. Stop hanging your happiness on his every word.”
The waves lapped her feet. The water was still clear here, glimmering like glas
s. She should be angry at him, but instead of anger, she felt fear. Fear sucking at her like an undertow. “That’s not fair.”
“I know about Juilliard.”
She stopped, her body going rigid. “How?”
He stopped walking and turned to face her, one fist shoved into his shorts’ pocket, the other still swinging his wine bottle. “Because I know everything when it comes to you.”
Her mouth went dry. She tasted granules of sand on her tongue. The pieces fit together in her mind, perfect as a puzzle. “That’s why you quit hockey. You found the letter and you quit, so he’d take out his anger on you first.”
Silas just lifted one shoulder, his mouth twisting in an insolent smirk. “I told you. I quit because I wanted to. End of story.”
But she knew. He’d done it for her. Even with all this distance between them, he still had her back. “What do I do now?”
“Just tell him.”
“I can’t.”
His jaw clenched. “You’re making this out to be a huge deal. You still have one more chance to audition. You’re good. It’ll happen.”
She winced. If only it were that easy. “Father is telling people I already got in. He’ll blame me. He’ll think I embarrassed him.”
“He’s doing a pretty fantastic job of embarrassing himself.”
Amelia squinted through her sunglasses. “You mean the vaccine.”
His expression turned stony. “He's not a god, like everyone thinks he is. He let his enormous ego get in the way. He rushed it before testing it properly. And he messed up big time. This time, he's going to topple and fall down his own mountain.”
“Why do you hate him so much?”
“Why don't you hate him enough?” Silas shot back.
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Because how could she explain it? How do you hate the man who saved your life? How do you hate the person you've spent so much of your life desperately trying to please? To make yourself worthy of his sacrifice? Of his love? He had never hit her. Never even raised his voice or shouted at her. How could she hate him?
Her feelings for her father were a dark, complicated knot. She couldn't separate the tangled strands of love, resentment, respect, and fear. “You don’t understand.”