“Just hear me out. I beg you. Just listen for one second.” Alec makes a smart decision to keep his hands away from me.
“Caroline,” he begins, “we are alone here. You’ll see that the swimming pool is a graceful, sparkling, private bath. I had just hoped to help you become comfortable and see where we go from there.”
He seems earnest, and is making it rather difficult to stick to my guns about this.
“For now, I promised you breakfast.”
I blink at the startling touch of his hand, sliding my hair behind my shoulder.
“You must look like a goddess when it’s wet,” he says, vulnerable and brash at once, but quickly pulls himself together.
Shit.
We’re actually going to be wet together.
“Sit. Talk to me.” He draws a stool closer, and returns to the cooking space.
The kitchen is nothing less than extraordinary and the house breathtaking. The fridge practically has a wall of its own, and there are two of everything: two sinks, two ovens, and two dishwashers. The O’Malley’s must really entertain. The stove has six burners and a grill, and I notice the name Viking everywhere. Alec loads the fridge, and Angela seems to have left out whatever it is he could need.
“So, Angela knew you’d be cooking and bringing company?”
“Yes. I called the O’Malley’s last night while we were at the bar. I asked them if I could cook breakfast for a friend and use the pool. They said yes, so I dropped the price.”
“Do you do this for every girl you meet?”
He pauses.
“Belittle me all you want, but not about that. Not about you.”
I try not to squirm in place as my body pulsates, and I ache for more contact. I’m both helpless and hopeless around this man.
He planned this breakfast of sorts while he was with me—after my two Bourbons and a beer disclosure about not knowing how to swim. He did go outside for a call. I remember that because I watched him discreetly from the gallery. Alec sets up his iPhone, and the music booms comfortably around the room.
Oh, he likes Coldplay, too.
“You certainly know a lot about this place,” I say with a questionable look. “Can I help? I’ll make us a pot of coffee.”
Alec is so considerate and has no intent on abusing his stay. He’s even packed coffee!
“Of course, love. None for me, though. Old habits die hard. I had my breakfast tea earlier and on occasion I’ll manage an Espresso,” he says, chopping scallions and asparagus.
“Paul and Raeanne let me set up here to work,” he explains. “I usually play background music so that’s why I’m familiar with the entertainment system.”
He has truly put a lot of thought into this. I spot blueberries, mangos, and strawberries, and there’s a bottle of champagne and orange juice. Mimosas!
“You mean to say there’s a painting of yours here? Can I see it?” That was a little overly excited for my taste. Alec looks flattered.
“Perhaps. But it’s not a piece I’m proud of just yet. I don’t know if I ever will be, for that matter.”
“I don’t believe you. That’s what you said about my drawing, and it’s beautiful,” I retort. “I’ll wash the fruit, if that’s ok.” I gather them up near the island sink. There’s a wood cutting board set out, and I find a knife and start to slice away the strawberry tops.
“What are you painting for them?” I ask, trying very hard to ignore Alec’s lingering scent every time he comes round.
“What else? Nubble Light, of course. But I don’t want to talk about them, Caroline,” he says whisking eggs. “Let’s talk about you.”
That order is totally hot and wanton.
“We always talk about me.”
“I want more. Tell me, darling—your favorite book?”
“That’s hard. I have several from different genres. The Alchemist, and Gatsby of course. But I just finished something from Jodi Picoult—oh, and Outlander. Now that’s such a gripping read,” I say, looking behind me at Alec. He’s got good poise and flair around the stove and is obviously secure about the outcome of his omelettes. “What about you?”
“I’m reading The Immigrant by Howard Fast. A business acquaintance raves about it, even purchased a rare copy so I’ve been meaning to get to it myself,” he says as the oil begins to sizzle. “Do you like goat cheese? I was thinking an asparagus and goat cheese omelet. Or would you prefer just plain cheese?”
“No that sounds delicious. I’m not a fussy eater.”
“Grand. That just makes it all the easier to cook for you, doesn’t it?” He winks. Clearly, there’s a lot of insinuation that comes with that statement.
If the kitchen is magazine worthy, then the backyard deserves to have its own reality show. The blinds were down around the back of the house, and Alec confessed his hand in that. They were purposely drawn before we arrived, since he had instructed Angela to do so, afraid I’d run off or be intimidated by the O’Malley’s dazzling swimming pool. It certainly meets luxury hotel standards with an infinity edge running along the back of its rectangular shape. The water is crystal azure, and I’m in awe, feeling like I’ve been whisked away on a second holiday.
Alec was right, too, because, of course, I did consider running away when Angela mentioned a swim, so I can’t help admire his presaging abilities. Alone in the pool house, I’m finding it hard to believe that we only met three nights prior. Angela set a lovely display of tableware for us under a romantic, white pergola, and our dialogue and banter was easy and pleasant. Alec and I ate at a teak table separated from a higher deck of beautiful French doors by an outdoor kitchen.
This pool house is really over-the-top, too.
The floor in here is a rough, dark slate and a raised sink sits on a bed of rocks. The faucet is a waterfall spout, and the extended counter has a bench tucked beneath it. My tote is there just as Angela had promised, and there are extra plush towels available for me. The toilet is tucked away behind a door, and a private outdoor shower is at the rear of this small block.
So this is it.
I slide my dress up to look over my figure. The low rise bikini bottom is a tad risqué, but it’s nothing like the ones that put asses out on display. My boobs are stuffed into the strapless top, and I feel so antsy about all of this. It’s an endless tug of war in my head of I want to, and I don’t; I should, but I shouldn’t; I can’t, yet I will. I know we’ll chat about things like the weather and scenery, but we’ll be doing it half naked, and there’s no chance he’ll forget about getting me into that pool. I consider feigning food poisoning. I look myself over in the mirror, nodding and passing courage telepathically. I’ve already been locked away for too long, and I’ll have to exit sooner than later.
“Are you thinking about digging an underground tunnel?” Alec’s voice startles me from behind the door.
Crap.
“God, you can be so annoying,” I snap.
“So you tell me,” he says. “Come out, Caroline. Didn’t we just have a wonderful conversation and a superbly relaxing breakfast? Don’t over-think it, sweetheart.”
Didn’t we have a wonderful conversation... blah-blah-blah, I mimic. Freaking British people.
“Ca-ro-liiine...” he sings. “Sweetheart, come out.”
“Why are you pressuring me?”
“Because I know you’re stalling, and you’re weighing the situation completely out of proportion. Come out. Angela has kindly brought us reading material by the loungers.”
“Hey, how come we didn’t make Mimosas?” I try my hand at additional procrastination.
“Did you want a Mimosa?”
“Well, you brought juice and champagne.”
“So you assumed I was making Mimosas?”
“I guess,” I say with a weakened voice.
“Love, the juice was
for our meal, and the champagne is chilling for the celebration.”
He piques my interest.
“What celebration?” I ask.
“When I’ve taught you to swim.”
I gasp for air.
“I’ll meet you by the pool, Caroline.”
Damn him. It’s like I can actually feel his smirk walking away.
I exchange my flat gladiators for flip-flops, and snatch my sunglasses before there’s no going back. I try to come off confident, striding towards the loungers, putting my beach tote on the ground next to one.
“So, are we doing the thing where you’re mad at me for no good reason again, love?” Alec asks, bringing his ear to his shoulder, flashing a smile. “Because I think you should know by now I find it both amusing and adorable.”
“I’m not mad at you. Why would I be mad at you? Oh, and FYI... I’m not getting into that pool, Alecsander.”
“Alecsander. I like how my name sounds coming from you.”
“I’m not joking.”
“Neither am I,” he says, all brash and roguish.
I huff. “You really are something else.”
“Right back at you,” he says, slipping out of his brown flip-flops. He must have changed his shorts for a bathing suit while I was hiding out, and now he’s about to remove his T-shirt, so I make sure to look away.
“I’ve asked Angela to regulate the temperature so it should be more than comfortable. I didn’t want you to have a single excuse about staying in the water,” he says all cocksure.
Bastard.
“I’m not going in.”
“Then I’ll have to take you in myself,” he provokes.
“You’re not winning this one.”
“I’d never allude myself into thinking I can win anything with you. I’ll give you a few minutes,” he says, jumping into the water.
I manage a quick glance, already concluding I like his back, the way it narrows to a V at his waist and its defined muscles around his shoulder blades. In addition to the black-blue rose head on his upper right arm, there’s a second tattoo of a gladiator shield on his left shoulder. I decide to grab a gossip magazine and feign interest in the daily events of the Kardashian sisters.
“Ah, it’s absolutely lovely. You’ll enjoy it, love,” he says, swimming closer to me and sweeping the water from his face with the back of a hand.
I swallow.
“No, thanks,” I chime, my eyes fixated on the pages.
I hear him step out, and I begin to worry he’s coming my way. Instead, he enters a fancy shed and pulls out four foam water logs.
“Blue or orange? Which would you prefer, love?”
“None,” I say.
I sense him approaching.
“Pick one.”
“You’re not the boss of me,” I answer, wholly at a loss with a more mature comeback.
He lowers himself to my direct vision, and his face is right by mine “Choose.”
Smacking Kim Kardashian’s face on the lounger I abruptly stand to remove myself from his proximity. I grab an orange log, sensing how proud he is of himself. I move closer to the pool.
Am I really going in there? The infinity edge faces the wild Atlantic, and it’s a sight I know I’ll never forget.
“How on Earth do you expect me to learn how to swim with those vicious waves crashing all over the place?” I ask, turning to look at him.
“Because the waves are down there and have no bearing on what’s happening up here,” he says coming to my side.
I sigh.
“I’m just going to float with this.” I raise the log. “And with these!” I add, pulling the remaining three from his hands.
“You don’t need all of those, Caroline.”
“Don’t tell me what I need,” I say, dropping them so I can pull my cover-up dress over my head. I might as well get this over with.
I march to the stairs and move into the water.
“And I don’t like to be splashed. You better not splash me, Alec, or I swear—” I point a finger to him.
“I promise, darling. I won’t splash you,” he says, descending the steps.
I begin to move away, walking backwards with the logs behind me. The water is pleasant, and the setting spectacular. The sky is mainly blue with scanty white clouds, and I try maintaining a proper distance from Alec, but I’m suddenly worried about finding a slope to the deep end.
“It’s a one-level pool, love. There’s no dip here, and at any point you can stand right back up just like you’re doing now, feet touching the ground. That’s why I thought it was a perfect situation for you.”
He seems timid as he speaks, and the fact that he knew what I was thinking makes me want to give up on my chronic need to act displeased with him.
I tap the water with my fingertips and drop down to wet my shoulders. My breathing is more rapid, and the intervals in between breaths are closer. I thank the gods of Imagine Dragons for defying the awkward silence.
Alec tries to look less discomfit, managing to appear busy in the water.
“So, rule one for overcoming any phobia is to talk about it. Fears are very real and are physical emotions. We should face it and acknowledge the power it has over us,” he says coming a few steps closer to my position. “Get on friendlier terms, so to speak.”
My brows pucker. “You want me to become friends with my phobia?”
“I want you to recognize its power over you. I want you to talk to me, Caroline. Just relax and lay back with your logs, and talk to me. Tell me what triggered it, or when it all began.”
I release a blue log from my grip and slide it to him before settling down on the remaining three. I’m indebted to my sunglasses as they conceal an ocean of feelings.
“Dreams,” I whisper. “It’s a recurring dream.”
“Dreams?” he repeats. “Have you always had these dreams?”
“Since I was five,” I say. “I had never been in a large swimming pool, always in my small, wading backyard pool, but then Sofie and her brother brought me to a public pool. That’s when the dreams began.”
“Was there an incident?” Genuine alarm and compassion are etched in his face.
Alec has kept his glasses on, too. I shake my head no, bracing myself.
“I actually had a really nice day with them. I had a wonderful day, and they were trying to teach me how to swim.”
My stomach hurts. It feels tight and knotted as a single tear threatens to wet my cheek.
Chapter Fifteen
The nightmares began the same summer I started to bury my voice. Often, I’d jump out of sleep and wake up shrieking, but Mom never flinched. Sometimes I hated her for that. I would get so mad at her that I couldn’t lie next to her anymore. The apartment was dark, so I was afraid to leave the room. I’d just creep to the very edge of the bed, instead, getting as far away from her as I possibly could. Other nights, I wept forcefully, hoping she’d hear and finally scoop me up. Those nights, I stretched out, watching Mom, silently begging her to open her eyes and show me something—anything—even if it was just to say to me it was a bad dream, and I was silly for overreacting. With every passing dream, the scenes are consistent:
The pool is empty because the sky is low and grey—darker than the pavement around the blue water. A storm threatens, and I’m alone. I never know how I got here, or why I was left behind, but I cling to an orange life buoy yelling for help—mainly for Sofie and my father, but sometimes for Mom, too. I can’t swim, so I’m terrified, but I don’t want to claim the life-saver completely. I want to leave sufficient room for whoever will turn up. I yell for them some more, so they can hold on with me. I never even think about getting out of the water because I want someone there with me. It’s an incredible need and fear, and the wind starts to pick up the water. For a little girl, th
e waves feel like avalanches. The blustery weather drags me around in the pool, my tiny shoulders dipping in and out of the deep end. I feel like the air and clouds and trees and water taunt me. The ripples pass my chin, force-feeding me gulps of water. With it, I swallow my tears, but the rain never comes. There’s no pitter-patter around me, and the sky remains a vaporous monster. I wait, petrified—not knowing if I’ll be hurled out and saved. Some nights, Dad and Sofie appear like beautiful mystical creatures, and I giggle, laughing at myself because of course they’d come. They join me around the ring, and we chuckle together. I even reach out to stroke my father’s chin, assuring he’s really there. My tiny, flimsy fingers are decorated in sweetheart pink, and when I release Dad’s face, I look to Sofie, putting a hand over hers. But on other nights, when no one turns up, I wake up after watching myself drown.
To be honest I haven’t had the dream in a while, but it lurks in my mind.
“That night, after my pool day with Sofie,” I say, “was one night in a string of manic episodes for my mother. She went out and didn’t return until really late. In my mother’s mind, the doors were locked, and if there was some sort of emergency, I could call for a neighbour. She thought I was safe. She thought I was able to stay back on my own. My father called to say good night, and I lied to him because I knew he would disapprove, but I didn’t want to upset my mother. In her own way, she was trusting me, so I told him Mom was in the bathroom, and we were already prepared for bed.”
Unable to meet his eyes, my fingers curl around a foam log thwarting my growing disconcertment. I don’t look up.
“We had a digital clock-radio on the console in our hallway, and I remember looking at the time. I stayed in the living room because the window faces the street, and I was waiting for my mother. I ensured my neighbors were home, and when I did spot their cars, I must have mustered up the courage to fall asleep,” I recount.
I appreciate Alec keeping his distance just like he had on the Ferris wheel. I’m reliving it with choked gasps as he watches me come undone.
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