“Alex, can you ask her in English to text Sal? Tell her I want him to call me.”
I sent Amada another text, but I imagined they were somewhere in the house far from their phones. Yet another thing I disliked about that enormous place.
Neither of us heard from Sal or Amada for a good hour, but since we’d been distracted by a very entertaining fight, I hadn’t dwelled on it too much. I also caught Lisa looking at me way too many times, which I knew was going to be big trouble. Sal’s feelings were part of the equation, and what was an innocent crush on the ship now felt deceptive and calculating on her part, which really rubbed me the wrong way. Thanks to Lisa’s antics and a very good fight, I’d been far too focused on trivial matters to notice how much time had passed.
When the fight was over, I looked at my watch. It was ten thirty and I hadn’t heard from either of them since I’d left the house. Now I was really getting worried. Alex had said goodnight and was getting ready to go back to his room when I stood up, swatted his shoulder and told him it had been fun to hang out.
“Yeah, it was, Rafa. Do it again sometime?”
“Absolutely,” I said, and as he turned to walk away, shoulders hunched, I called after him. “You’re doing great, Alex. I’ve got a lot of plans for you.” He gave me a little thumbs up and went back to his room, the two guards already right behind him. I decided I liked the kid, and I knew he could do well if someone bothered to spend time with him and help him find himself.
I was hoping to make a quick exit, but it soon became evident that Lisa had no intention of returning to her room. Quite the opposite actually, as she’d fully stretched out, her shapely legs draped provocatively over the back of the chair. I wondered what exactly she was trying to do, especially without Sal here.
“Please, call Sal,” I said in Spanish, too frustrated to try to remember the words in English. “He’s not answering.” I called Amada and paced by the window while the phone rang, already knowing something was wrong, but it was worse than I could have ever imagined.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It didn’t take long for Sal and I to become friends. I’d wanted to spend some time with Lisa, too, but Sal was a lot of fun by himself. He was obviously a smart, motivated kid who looked up to Rafa in many ways. He reminded me of the brightest students in my class, who always wanted to know more and asked endless questions. Rafa, he said, was the father figure he’d never had.
“Everyone looks up to Rafa,” said Sal. “It’s amazing. He cares about everyone so much, especially the ones who need the most help. You’d think a dude like him would be a jerk, the way women throw themselves—”
“I’ll bet,” I said, arching an eyebrow.
“Sorry,” he said, trying to backtrack. “I just mean he’s a really good guy who never takes advantage of anyone, even though it would be so easy. People are drawn to him. I swear he could be president one day,” he said.
“You have to be born here, I think,” I said.
“Well, maybe not president of this country, but of something.”
After we talked for a while, I took Sal on a leisurely tour of the house, and as an architecture student he pointed out things about Boxwood I’d never considered before, such as the unusual shape of the roof and the high ratio of balconies to rooms. The house had been exquisitely constructed and maintained, he said, a prime example of the Mediterranean revival style. He was particularly fascinated by its arches and highly ornate keystones.
“Amanda,” he said, barely able to contain his excitement, “would you let me use this house as the subject of my thesis?”
“Of course,” I said, glad to see his mood lifting. “I’d be honored. You know, Rafa wants to sell it. He thinks it’s too big.”
“No!” said Sal, horrified. “Let me talk to him. This house is special.”
We’d spent so much time chatting and walking the house that we decided to scrap our original plan to play cards and decided to just watch television in the family room until Rafa got back. I offered to make sandwiches, but Sal wouldn’t hear of it and insisted I relax and let him take care of the snacks. He’d been in charge of the cocktails and tapas menu on the ship and said he had quite a few go to recipes I’d love, so I told him to make himself at home in the kitchen. True to his word, it took no time at all for Sal to pull together an appetizer platter worthy of a five star restaurant.
“You can tell Rafa’s in charge back there,” he said, bounding into the living room with a tray in one hand and a bottle of wine in another. “Two trash cans, a stack of bleached towels on every counter, no sponges anywhere and an empty knife block.”
“I didn’t notice any of that.” I said, craning my neck to get a look at the beautifully arranged hors d’oeuvres. Sal had made a small Spanish omelet, grilled chorizo medallions, bacon wrapped dates drizzled in honey and some sort of fresh green dipping sauce for the shrimp cocktail Rafa had left in the fridge. “What’s wrong with sponges and knife blocks?”
“Hates ‘em. Says they aren’t hygienic.” Sal pointed to the smoked Gouda and prosciutto on mini toasts I hadn’t noticed yet. “Try one of those.”
“Everything looks delicious,” I said, putting an assortment on my plate. “Which wine did you pick?”
“Just a California pinot you had in the pantry.”
“Oh,” I said, popping a date in my mouth. “Don’t you like Bordeaux?”
“Of course, who doesn’t?” he laughed, getting ready to open the bottle.
“Wait,” I said. “Go downstairs and pick out a nice one. Do you remember where the cellar is?”
“Really?” said Sal, dropping the domestic wine like a hot potato.
“Yes, whichever one you want. I’m sure Rafa just had that one in there for cooking.”
“If you insist,” he said with a smile. “Be right back.”
I opened the Netflix app and scrolled through my recommendations, which hadn’t updated since before I’d gone on the cruise and met Rafa. I couldn’t help but notice how dark my movie choices had been, like Melancholia, the last film I’d downloaded. I’d had a lot to drink that night and barely remembered anything about the story except the little wire circle, the depressed girl and its apocalyptic ending. Tonight everything offered to me on my homepage seemed unbearably gloomy, so I typed ‘romantic comedy’ in the search box and began scrolling.
I was just in the middle of watching a preview for the new Sandra Bullock movie when the front door swung wide open. Expecting Rafa to come around from the other side, I dropped the remote and turned in the direction of the foyer, calling out. Unless I’d lost track of time, it seemed a little early for him to be home.
“Hey, handsome, you’re back—”
But it wasn’t Rafa who entered the foyer and shut the door behind him. It was Achille Demarais, the man I’d met at Delfina’s memorial service. First his eyes went first to the back of the house, then to his right in the direction of the living room where Sal and I had settled in for the night. Never having witnessed an almost complete stranger simply walk into my house, I was speechless. I probably should have been afraid and tried to get away, but for whatever reason I remained in my seat, motionless, fascinated by him. Though most people were dwarfed by the volume ceilings and tall wooden doors, Achille still looked imposing, his commanding figure in just the right proportion to the room. Like the other night, he wore a dark suit that fit so perfectly it had to have been custom made.
“Amanda,” he said, as if surprised to see me in my own home. “I’m so sorry to disturb you. I’m looking for Dr. De Leon.”
“He’s not here,” I said, rising slowly from my chair, wishing Sal would come back. “How did you get in?”
“It was unlocked. I thought I heard someone say come in. If I was mistaken I do apologize.” He put his hand on the doorknob as if to let himself out.
“No, it’s fine,” I said, realizing now that it had been a misunderstanding, but still it was so unlike Rafa to leave the door unlocked. “Com
e in and wait. He’ll be home soon. Let me call him.” I offered Achille a seat in the living room and glanced at my phone, noting there had been a few missed calls and texts. I knew Rafa wouldn’t be happy Achille was here, but it seemed unnecessarily rude to ask him to leave, and truthfully his company wasn’t unpleasant. We sat across from one another, the awkwardness quickly evaporating.
“No, please don’t,” he said, more of a command than a request. “I can’t stay long. I wasn’t expecting to find you here, but I must say it’s a pleasant surprise. I just flew in from Europe and thought I’d check in with Rafa on some business matters. He’s very difficult to reach.”
“Where in Europe?” I asked. I found myself mirroring his body language and quickly shifted in the chair, covering my bare feet with my skirt. “I go a few times a year.”
“Geneva.” He casually fingered his silk tie as if he were thinking about taking it off. “I went to school in Switzerland, so it seems there’s always a party or wedding to attend. Some of my best friends still live there.”
“How nice. Switzerland is beautiful.”
“Speaking of beautiful scenery, is this your house? What a spectacular property.” Achille crossed his legs and made himself comfortable in the wing chair, his manner so charming and graceful that it was difficult to remember why Rafa disliked him so much. For a moment our eyes met, and his lingered until I looked away.
“It is,” I said, my gaze cast downward, settling on the food. “Would you care for a canape and some wine?” I asked, gesturing to Sal’s tray.
“No, thank you,” he said, without so much as a glance in that direction. “You know, I bet we have a lot in common. I have a house about this size in Haiti, right on the water at the top of a cliff. Very scenic. I try to get back as much as I can to check on my horses. Do you ride?”
“No,” I said, intrigued. “I’ve always been too afraid.”
“Understandably so,” he said, smiling. “My favorite horse is a black stallion named Diablo, but he’s thrown me a few times. I should stop riding him, but he’s so much fun.”
“I bet he’s beautiful,” I said. “Spirited creatures always are.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” said Achille, his eyes on me again, lasting just one beat too long. I started to relax as romantic images of a couple riding horseback on an exotic beach invaded my brain, the man on a black stallion and the woman close behind on a brown mare. Like watching a movie, the images grew larger and clearer until the figures came into view and I realized that it was us, Achille and me. After a few moments Achille brought his stallion to a slow gallop beside my mare and pulled on her reins until both animals came to a complete stop. He dismounted and came around to me, the Caribbean sun casting its bright, hued light across his honey-colored skin. Gazing down at Achille, I took his outstretched hand and slipped easily off my horse into his arms. With amber eyes aglow, Achille licked his pillowy lips and leaned in to kiss me, murmuring, “Maintenant tu es mienne.” Now you are mine.
“What’s going on here?” It was Sal, who had just returned from the wine cellar. As if aware of some danger that had eluded my consciousness, his playful demeanor from earlier was markedly different now, senses heightened. I saw his eyes dart from Achille to the phone on the table, as if wondering whether he should try to grab it.
“Amanda, why didn’t you tell me you were entertaining?” said Achille. “It seems I’ve interrupted your party,” he said, rising.
“Rafa’s not here,” said Sal, eyeing Achille with distaste. Still holding the wine bottle by the neck, he asked, “Was he expecting you?”
Achille ignored Sal’s question and turned his attention back to me. “Amanda, I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed chatting with you, but I really should be going. Please give your fiancée my regards and ask him to call me. I have a proposition for him.”
“Of course,” I said, still reeling from the vision of us on the horses. Achille grinned as if he could read my mind, which of course was impossible. Deeply disturbed that I’d thought about kissing another man when I was so deeply in love with Rafa, I was at least thankful no one would ever know. Eager to shake off the strange feelings that Achille stirred in me, I was just about to walk him to the door when my phone vibrated on the coffee table and Rafa’s name popped up on the screen.
“It’s him,” I said, reaching for the phone. I pressed the green button and was just about to bring the phone to my ear when Achille held out his hand.
“May I?” he asked. “I really do need to ask him a question.”
“Certainly,” I said, giving him my phone without a second thought. I was finding it very difficult to say no to any of Achille’s requests, big or small.
“Thank you,” he said, pointing to the door. “I’ll leave it on the bench outside. Always a pleasure, Amanda.” He extended a warm greeting to Rafa just before stepping out on to the loggia and closing the door behind him to take the call.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Rafa, my friend! It’s Achille,” he said.
My heart leaped into my throat, and I have no doubt I went white as a ghost because Lisa noticed the change in my expression and sat right up.
“What the fuck are you doing with my wife’s phone?” I snarled.
“Relax,” he said, his French accent even more pronounced in Spanish than it was in English. “Everything’s fine.”
My mind raced, thinking of every possible scenario. Had he kidnapped her? What had he done to her already? I was falling apart inside, but I knew I couldn’t show an ounce of weakness to this bastard. “If you’ve touched her, you’re dead. Do you hear me?”
“Come on. No need for threats. We’ve just been sitting in the living room having a nice conversation. She’s charming, but you know that.”
They were still at the house. The only other person in the room was Lisa, and I had no expedient way of telling her to call 911 or why, so I took off downstairs and tried to get to the Ferrari as fast as I could.
“Is Sal alright?” I asked through gritted teeth.
“Yes, of course. How’s my buddy, Alex?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’d really like to pay him a visit soon.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” I said, which probably wasn’t the best idea, but all I could think about was how frightened my Amada must be. I made it out to the car in record time and started the engine, not caring if Desmarais heard it.
“Yes, you fucking do, asshole!” he yelled into the phone. “This is your last chance. Next time, I put her on a boat and take her to Haiti with me. I promise you no one will find her there, so pay attention.
“My associate Luc will come have a drink with you tomorrow night at nine. You’ll invite him in and ask Alex to join you. That’s all I need. If you have police waiting, or you refuse him entrance, this exquisite beauty and I are going to get to know each other very well.”
“Let me talk to my wife.” I swung into traffic and gunned the engine of the Ferrari, narrowly avoiding two cars and a truck. Angry drivers blared their horns at me as I floored it, completely disregarding every red light and vehicle in my way.
“She’s not your wife yet, you liar,” said Demarais, sickeningly calm once again. “You can slow down you know. I’ll be gone way before you get here.”
“You’d better be,” I threatened, but he only laughed.
“Oh, one last thing,” he said. “Next time she wants you to fuck her in the pool, don’t be such a pussy. She won’t have to ask me twice.” The line went dead, and then it hit me. He’d been watching us. He heard us talking. And he’d seen me kiss and touch Amada all over, and he liked what he saw.
By the time I flew inside the house, Amada and Sal were in the kitchen. Sal stood on one side of the counter while Amada sat on the other side, looking down into a glass of wine.
“Rafa,” she said. She smiled when she saw me but didn’t seem entirely there. She had to be in shock.
“Oh my God, baby, are yo
u alright? Did he hurt you?” I hugged her and then looked her over. She was still wearing the same clothes from earlier and didn’t seem any different.
“She’s fine,” said Sal.
“I am, Rafa,” she said simply. “There’s nothing to be upset about.” I noticed the glazed look in her eyes again, almost as if she’d awakened from a nap. She was too calm, I thought, but wanting more detail, I motioned for Sal to follow me into the dining room.
“What the fuck happened? How are you both so calm?”
Sal told me how he’d come up from the cellar to find Achille in the living room flirting with Amada. “I remembered how you almost killed this dude the night of the party, so I knew he wasn’t supposed to be here. We have home invasions in Colombia all the time, so I kept pretty calm. I was just wishing he would take what he wanted, money or whatever, and leave. But when I saw he wasn’t looking around or interested in the house, it occurred to me that she’s so rich, maybe what he wanted to take was her. That’s when I started to get fucking nervous. Damn, Rafa, get some dogs. She said the door was unlocked and he walked right in.”
“No fucking way that door was unlocked!” I snapped, losing my temper. Poor Sal deserved none of this, but I was beside myself.
“Man, that dude is suave. You should have seen him stroll out of here with the suit and the accent, like a GQ model or some shit. He was really hitting on her, Rafa. When I walked in he was staring at her like he was about to—I’m not sure what would have happened if she’d been here alone.”
“Sal—what the fuck!” I bellowed.
“I know, man.” Sal put his hand on my shoulder and spoke softly. “Calm down or you’re going to upset her.”
“Alright,” I said, grateful for his self-possession. In his position, I don’t know that I could have maintained my cool. “No gun?”
“He might have had one, but he didn’t take it out.”
I was speechless and felt like I’d been punched in the stomach, so I sank down into a chair at the dining room table. Sal went back into the kitchen with Amada, but I wanted to pull myself together a little more before I went to her. I sat in the chair and waited until I could think clearly, going over the night’s events in my mind over and over. What if Sal hadn’t been here?
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