My lungs felt as if they were imploding. My head throbbed and I started to feel drunk. I had to think about what I needed to do. The door. Find the door. To my left. No, no, my right!
I found the door frame, having to drag myself, now, my limbs going heavy. Everything seemed to be slowing down, but I knew it was my brain getting sleepy. I had to push on. Swim. Swim!
I kicked along the corridor, the water like treacle. Then, just as my legs stopped moving altogether, my lips broke the surface and I took a long, shuddering breath.
Consciousness flooded back in. I took lungful after glorious lungful of sweet air in. I hadn’t realized how far gone I’d been until I snapped back to normal.
How much time had I wasted? How much did he have left?
I felt my way to the stateroom. The corridor there was almost completely underwater, just an inch or two near the ceiling left. Was it worse behind the door? The yacht was listing that way….
I started fitting keys into the lock, trying to be methodical. As each one failed, I let it sink to the bottom. Two keys. Three. Four.
What if I’d been wrong about it being in the cabinet? What if someone had used it and failed to put it back?
Five. Six.
Se—
The key turned and the door swung open. I couldn’t tell if the room was completely full of water or not. “Adam!” I screamed. “ADAM!”
And then a huge body was pushing past me, grabbing me around the waist and hauling me up the corridor to where we could stand up. I heard him heave in air just as I’d done, and then he was clasping me to him, wrapping me into his chest. We just breathed for a moment, recovering, and then he was kissing me. Not the hungry kisses of passion. These were warm and solid; reassuring us both we were still alive.
The yacht started to move, groaning as it slid deeper. We swam for the broken-open end and emerged into the night. The sky was scarcely lighter than the water, but we could make out Eddie’s boat beyond the rocks. They’d be watching, waiting for the yacht to disappear.
I looked at Adam and sensed he was thinking the same thing as me. We could just swim back to the island and let them think we were dead. But he gave me a slow shake of his head. No rescue would ever come. Eddie and Simone would kill Reg and get away with the entire thing.
Swimming in a wide circle around the rocks, we made for the boat.
Chapter 21
Adam climbed up the ladder first and stepped onto the deck, shaking with cold and exhaustion, his clothes raining water onto the wood. He reached down and hauled me up, and then we listened. A low voice came from the living room: Simone’s. “Really?” she was asking. “You’re still hungry?”
We crept forward. We were lucky to catch them both in the same room. Now we could burst in and surprise them. I didn’t really have a plan in mind, other than to take the ship.
We pressed ourselves flat against the wall in the corridor, like cops on a TV show. Shouldn’t we have something, like a weapon or something? I wondered. My knives were somewhere around, but I didn’t know where Simone had put them. And I didn’t think I could stab anyone, anyway. Better to move fast, while they were together.
We burst through the door. And I realized we’d made a horrible mistake.
Simone was there, sitting in one of the soft leather armchairs. But Eddie was nowhere to be seen. She’d been talking to Ozzy, who was curled up snug on her lap, the traitor, while she scratched behind his ears.
A lot happened very quickly.
Simone’s eyes went wide and she gave a kind of half yell, half scream for Eddie. She stood up, Ozzy meowing in disgust as he sprang to the floor. Then Simone was lurching, but not towards us. She went to the right, towards—
I saw the gun on a side table.
I was closer, so I sprang straight at Simone. I didn’t have any fighting experience whatsoever, but I had the size advantage over her and I had days of frustration, fear and anger stored up. I think I may have actually given something like a battle cry as I leapt at her and we crashed together to the floor.
As we went down, me on top of her, I saw Eddie burst in and grab Adam from behind, sending him staggering forward into a coffee table. The two of them tripped over it, Eddie coming out on top. I noticed Adam’s guitar in the corner. Eddie must have grabbed it from Reg’s boat. He’d probably auction it off for a million dollars.
Simone rolled me over. She had a surprising amount of strength for someone so skinny—she seemed to be made of nothing but tendons. Once she was on top, she ground a knee into my stomach, then grabbed my hair and banged my head against the deck. Ow. Again. OW. I saw stars.
Behind her, I saw Eddie punch Adam in the face, then take one in return. Adam was the stronger of the two, but Eddie wasn’t weakened by nearly drowning. Adam staggered as he was punched in the guts, crashing through another coffee table. And Simone, I saw, was rising. Picking up the gun.
She was going to take him away from me.
I gave a very unfeminine snarl and lurched upward off the floor. I didn’t exactly mean to head butt her, but the top of my forehead smacked into Simone’s nose anyway, and she went over onto her back, crying out in pain. The gun skittered across the floor. I got on top of Simone and grabbed her wrists and then, not knowing what to do next, I sat on her back.
Adam was down on the floor, coughing blood. Eddie was getting ready to finish the job, a sneer of superiority on his face as he bent down to pick up the gun. Adam was younger and stronger, but right at that moment he was half-drowned and exhausted, and he’d been living on fish and bananas for days. It was pretty clear who was going to win.
Except…he’d forgotten about Adam’s best, and worst quality. The thing that had made me hate him in the beginning and love him in the end. This was Adam Sykes, rock god. And he was arrogant enough to believe that he’d win, even when everything was against him.
As Eddie took the safety off the gun, Adam rolled to the side, grabbed the neck of his beloved guitar and swung it straight at Eddie’s head. Wood crunched and flew, and Eddie went down like a ton of bricks.
“Rock n’ Roll,” said Adam. And collapsed.
Epilogue
It took us a full week to get to the US.
We found Reg tied up in one of the bathrooms, bleeding but alive. We locked Eddie and Simone in there instead and wedged the door, trapping them in there with some food and a toilet, which is more than they’d given us. As soon as we docked at the nearest island, we handed them over to the police and tried to explain that, although he didn’t look like it, the guy next to me in the ragged t-shirt really was missing billionaire rock star Adam Sykes.
When the police who were working the case showed up, they wanted statements. Describing everything that had happened took several hours, and that was just the first time. They wanted to hear it again and again, taking their time to make sure they could make a case in court. Then the FBI showed up and wanted to hear it all from the beginning again.
We gradually learned what had happened. The crew had all gotten off safely and had been picked up “at random” by a passing boat (later revealed to be captained by one of Simone’s friends—they hadn’t taken any chances). The story they’d told the authorities, as we’d suspected, was that we’d gone to the bottom aboard the yacht. There had been an extensive search, but nowhere near where the yacht actually went down.
We took rooms in a hotel while we straightened everything out. Our passports were at the bottom of the sea, so we had to have new ones issued by the nearest American Embassy, and that was on a different island. We had no clothes or money, but it’s amazing how flexible hotels and shops will be when they realize they’re dealing with a billionaire.
Magnus and Midnight arrived, and there was an emotional reunion in which Magnus, crazed with rage at how Eddie had deceived them, smashed the TV and Midnight—now that he knew I was officially one of the band’s inner circles—actually spoke in front of me. I felt strangely honored.
The hotel had luxur
ies like running water and ice cubes and, as promised, we ate the biggest, juiciest steak we could find. And then ordered more. Then we stretched out in the jacuzzi bath and stayed there for about three hours.
We made love every night, and in some cases in the afternoon, when it was too hot to go out. And once in the morning. Okay, twice. We couldn’t get enough of each other.
Ozzy and the monkey both stayed with us, gorging on gourmet cat food and room service bananas. We had a discussion about whether keeping the monkey as a pet would work, or whether he should go back to the island. At which point, the monkey jumped onto Adam’s back and put his hands over his mouth, so that decided us. We named him Floyd.
Something was bothering me, though. We weren’t exactly back in civilization yet—we were still in the weird limbo land of a vacation spot, where the sun is always shining and you can take a holiday from yourself. What would happen when we got back to the real world?
Then, two days after we arrived, the world’s press arrived. They’d sent reporters when the yacht was lost, but the story had now ballooned into something much, much bigger. Apparently, the airlines sold out of seats from New York, LA and London to the nearest big island airport for a full day.
When we emerged from our hotel for the final trip to the police station, there was a wall of men with cameras. Running towards us in front of them was a phalanx of reporters armed with microphones. They asked a thousand different questions at once. About the attempted murder, about our escape, about Eddie and Simone. But most questions were about the island.
Were you together before the island?
Are you together now?
What happened on the island?
Again and again, WHAT HAPPENED ON THE ISLAND? And, occasionally, WAS THE MONKEY INVOLVED?
Adam bundled me into the waiting car and we sped away, but my heart was pounding.
“It’ll calm down,” Adam said. “It’s a big story, but it’ll calm down.”
I knew he was right. But if we stayed together, a near-penniless, curvy chef and a billionaire, I knew there were going to be more questions. A lot more.
Eddie and Simone tried to deny everything, sticking to their story. But then one of the crew gave them up, followed by another and another. The whole group was charged with attempted murder and, eventually, Eddie and Simone changed their pleas.
A week after our escape, we returned to the US. Floyd came on the same plane. US customs gave him possibly the most thorough medical any monkey has ever been given, to check he wasn’t about to start an Ebola epidemic or anything, and then said he could follow along after a few weeks in quarantine. Ozzy, who already had a pet passport in the computer, looked undeniably smug from his pet carrier.
We talked about options of where to live, but my ties to San Fran were loose after two years away, so I moved my things into Adam’s LA penthouse. We had a long, very serious talk about where things were going and the dangers of moving too fast, after we’d come together through such extreme circumstances. Both of us nodded sagely and drank wine and agreed we should be careful and drank more wine and then we were falling back onto his huge bed and he was tickling me, and it was all okay.
The next day, I woke up to the sound of a guitar. Adam was out on the balcony, playing as he watched the sunrise, scribbling down a brand new song. For the next two weeks, I fed him and watered him and dragged him back to bed for sex, but the rest of the time he just sat there churning out new songs, as if a dam had broken inside him.
Ironically, Eddie’s plan worked: being dead, even temporarily, gave Iron Hammer a massive sales spike. Except now, they could follow it up with a special comeback tour packed with new material, and a new album…and Eddie didn’t see a penny of the money. Adam auctioned off his wrecked guitar for charity. When a dot com billionaire bought it for two million dollars, nobody heard the end of it for a week.
I became a rock star girlfriend, traveling with them on the tour bus, watching gigs from the VIP area, chilling out backstage. I got to know Magnus and the secret pain he carried. I got to know Midnight and learned why he painted his face.
And after every gig, Adam would come backstage and swing his guitar over his shoulder and pick me up, and I’d wind my legs around his back and giggle as he kissed my neck, and I was the happiest woman in the world.
***
One morning at breakfast, over eggs and smoked salmon, Adam tied himself in knots attempting to explain to me that while he fully supported any career I wanted to follow, I didn’t have to work, as such, and there was no hurry and his money was my money…. I let him tangle himself up thoroughly and then kissed the top of his head and told him that yes, I was going to find something for myself.
I’d had a lot of time to think about my life while we’d been on the island. Thanks to Nathan, I’d stepped out of my career completely and just floated in limbo for two years, afraid of risking the fragile normality I’d built.
Nearly dying had snapped everything into perspective. The life I’d had was no life at all and it wasn’t worth protecting. Better to risk it and have a shot at something better than to waste my life treading water.
I needed to refresh my skills—in working with people instead of on my own, for one thing—but I also needed to push myself. I found the balance in a small LA restaurant where the chef was departing in three months. I spent that time as his sous-chef, meshing with the team. When he left, I was ready to take over.
What amazed me is that I’d begun to think of myself as sullen—a grumpy troll hidden away in the galley, snapping at anyone who dared to enter. I’d thought that I couldn’t go back to a proper kitchen with proper teamwork. Now I realized that I’d gotten it all wrong. I needed people around me. Isolating myself on ships had felt safe, but it was the worst thing I could have done. Within a week, I was back to my old self and I didn’t feel the need to yell at anyone in the kitchen. Well, apart from when someone touched my knives.
***
A month after returning, I felt ready to do it. He still lived in San Fran and tracking him down was easy. I drove there alone, rehearsing my speech again and again (it was so long that I needed notes). When I reached his house, I marched up the steps and rang the bell.
Nathan opened the door. “Hannah?” he asked.
I forgot the speech and just slapped him hard across the face. Then I walked back to my car, got in it and drove away without looking back. I was surprised by how much better I felt.
***
Two months later, at an intimate little French restaurant where the tables were lit by candlelight, the waitress brought out my dessert, saying it was with the compliments of the chef. It was a cube of milk chocolate, the top surface topped with a raspberry glaze.
Adam was watching me very intently.
I dug in. The chocolate surface broke like thin ice and, below, there was marshmallow. Beneath that, there was something hard and smooth.
Working like a surgeon, I freed the little black box from its gooey confinement.
“Being shipwrecked with you was the best thing that ever happened to me,” said Adam. He took the box from my shaking fingers. “Care to get lost together again...for good?”
He popped the lid.
“Mmup!” I squeaked, staring at the ring.
“What?”
I was blinking frantically, flapping air at my face with my hand, but it was no good: I was going to blub anyway. “Yes!” I managed as the tears started. Half the restaurant applauded as I lunged across the table and threw my arms around him.
Six Months Later
I went back and forth on the details for the wedding a hundred times, but in the end I decided to keep most of the plans the same. Yes, they were still connected to Nathan in my mind but, at the same time, this was the only way to disconnect them. I’d chosen those flowers and that cake because they were what I really wanted. I wasn’t going to let Nathan take those choices away from me.
Besides, Adam had his own input and his choices we
re very different to Nathan’s. The wedding breakfast, for example, was a barbecue and my string quartet was balanced by a rock band. Not a wedding rock band. A rock band who were on a US tour playing to packed-out stadiums, but who agreed to play our wedding in return for a new private jet. Planning your wedding is different, with a billionaire.
For the honeymoon, we’d hired a yacht and a crew and were touring the islands. Yes, I know. There were a lot of jokes about it, a lot of people saying we were jinxing things or tempting fate. But honestly? It never felt like that. I never blamed the islands or the sea or ships for what happened to us. What happened to us was down to simple human greed, and Eddie, Simone and the crew were by then behind bars and would stay that way for a good, long time.
With one week of our month-long trip to go, Adam woke me up to show me something. I stumbled out on deck half asleep, begging for coffee, but when I saw what was on the horizon I woke up on my own.
I recognized the rocks. I recognized the weird, broken-off mountain poking through the jungle.
“Could we go there?” I asked. “Maybe visit the waterfall? I mean, are we allowed to? Does anyone own it?”
“Yes,” he said. “As of a week ago: us.”
***
And so we returned. We spent a wonderful week exploring the island. And, when I checked dates a few weeks later to figure it out, our first child was conceived next to the waterfall.
Probably. It might have been on the beach. Or in the jungle, up against a tree.
As we walked along in the surf, kicking up the spray, Adam talked about the island being a place the whole band could go for a break, to make sure none of them burned out as he had. They could all rough it together and feel the isolation, the reality, that had refreshed him.
Shipwrecked with the Billionaire Rock Star Page 14