The Art of Persuasion: Book 4 of The Swashbuckling Romance Series

by Myers, Heather C.

  "Wait," I say, my hands on my hips. "Wait. Okay, what's Stephanie's motive, though?" At Sarah's blank look, I elaborate. "Why would Stephanie want to kill her two friends? Think about it. You’re only looking at it from one angle: one girl is gone, two bodies are found, gone girl is the murderer, but what if she left for a different reason? What if she left because she’s scared?”

  Sarah frowns, her brow hanging low over her eyes. “Why would she be afraid?” she asks.

  “You tell me.” I take a step forward. “Come on, Sarah. You’re smarter than that.”

  Sarah narrows her eyes. “Watch it,” she says dangerously.

  I don’t pay her any mind. “Put yourself in her position,” I say. “If you’re Stephanie and you didn’t commit the murders, why would you be scared?”

  Sarah glances away, thinking. “I don’t know,” she says. I can tell this is eating away at her patience to the point where a frustrated wrinkle sits between her brows. “I might run away because I’m afraid the murderer is going to come after me.”

  “Awesome,” I say with a nod, ignoring her perplexed look. “Yes, great. Why would the murderer come after you?”

  “Because…” Sarah lets her voice trail off, her fingers tapping her chin. “Because so far, the murderer has only killed my girls. There’s a pattern.”

  “Yes,” I say, “but the three girls in question know each other as more than just colleagues. They’re friends. That’s important.”

  Sarah nods, her eyes narrowed. “The murderer might come after me because he or she specifically targeted the trio,” she says. I open my mouth to respond, but she pushes further. “Or because he or she saw something. Stephanie knows something. That’s why she left. Not because she did it but because she knows who’s behind this.”

  “Yes.” I nod my head enthusiastically. “Excellent.”

  “Well,” Sarah says, her eyes flashing to mine. “It’s not really excellent when our only source of information has vanished”

  “We’ll figure this out, Sarah,” I tell her. “Let’s just hope…” I let my voice trail off. I’m not exactly sure what I’m going to say. I don’t want to lie to her but I don’t want to baby her either. I shrug helplessly. I have to finish the sentence because now she’s looking me expectantly. “Let’s just hope with Stephanie gone, that’ll be the end of it.”

  Sarah tilts her head to the side, her long red hair pooling over her shoulder. She’s pretty, in a strong way, and I’m suddenly angry, furious with Henry. Not only for all the murders obviously, but for what he did – what he’s doing – to Sarah. She doesn’t deserve this. No one does.

  I need to tell her. If not for me, for her. Because two girls were murdered. Because Henry is cheating on her. Because Sarah doesn’t deserve any of this.

  “Sarah,” I say. I have no idea what I’m going to say but I know I’m going to do it. “I need to tell” –

  At that moment, the door opens and Henry walks in. When his eyes find me, he furrows his brow.

  “You’re still here?” he asks, looking between me and Sarah. “I didn’t realize you lot talked about monthlies for this long.”

  “What are you” –

  “Sarah,” I say, interrupting her. She stops talking and shoots me a puzzled look. She’s been giving me a lot of those looks lately. I suppose I deserve them. “Um, so I’m not used to having monthlies here.” Henry doesn’t know where I’m from, doesn’t know I’m originally from the future, so I try to keep things mysterious while trying not to be weird about it. “So I wanted to know how to handle it when it happens. Like, do you guys use towels down there when” –

  “Sarah, when you’re finished, I need to speak with you,” Henry says, interrupting me. I swear his cheeks are pink with embarrassment – which is good because he totally deserves to be embarrassed.

  Sarah nods and Henry disappears as quickly as he can. She turns to me and raises a skeptical brow, shooting a look at my pelvis. “You’re bleeding, then?”

  “Nope,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m due in a week, though, so you can tell me all about that stuff then. I’m really looking forward to it.”

  “What did you want to speak to me about?” Sarah asks.

  Oh. Right.

  Maybe Henry will slip up. He did say he needed to talk to her. Maybe he’ll tell her or she’ll figure it out so I don’t have to. Maybe I should wait just a bit longer.

  “Nothing,” I say. God, I’m chicken shit. “I’ll let you talk to Henry.”

  Before she can say anything else, I leave and head to my room.

  Chapter 16

  A gentle knock on my door startles me. It’s not even because of the illicit investigation taking place in this brothel. It’s not even because Karina and Briyella’s murderer is still free. It’s because I’m a coward. I’m afraid. I’m still afraid. Well, no. I just. I can’t tell Matt. I can’t tell him how I’m feeling because I don’t even know what I’m feeling, and every time I try and figure it out, I get frustrated – at myself, at the situation, at Matt – that I stop and tell myself I’ll come to it later.

  Later is too late now.

  What happened yesterday with almost telling Sarah and a few days ago with Matt… I don’t know if I can make it better. I don’t know if it’s done. I can’t have sex with Matt until I tell him I love him, or, at the very least, want to be with him in a committed relationship. But I can’t do that until I figure out if I want to stay here in the first place. I won’t lead him on, and not just because Sarah threatened me. I won’t lead him on because it’s not right and he doesn’t deserve it.

  He’s the last person to deserve it.

  This is getting too real.

  Not that what I’m doing is anything better. Hiding. Avoiding him. Avoiding trying to figure everything out.

  Because once I do that, it’s real. Once I make my choice, I can’t take it back. Once I make my choice, there’s no going back.

  What if I make the wrong one? What then? What do I do if I realize Matt is an asshole and I can’t go back home? I refuse to stay here because of a guy because as much as I love him, he’s not reason enough for me to give up everything. Does that make me cold? A heartless bitch? Possibly. But this choice is too important to be taken so lightly. Love isn’t even enough to maintain a relationship. More goes into its success, like trust and honesty and respect and a sense of humor and all those other things.

  I love Matt. Oh, shit. I love him. I do. But it’s not enough.

  For some reason, my eyes water and my door opens and I try to wipe them away because there’s no way I want Sarah to catch me blubbering on her bed about Matt except it’s not Sarah. It’s Becky. When she’s fully in my room, she closes the door gently behind her, and I swear, from the way she’s looking at me, she knows what I’m thinking about. She knows what conclusion I’ve come to. But I think she knows that that’s not enough for me to decide.

  “I didn’t tell you to come in,” I say, blinking away the last evidence of my emotions and looking away, out the window. The curtains are open during the day, and the sun would have been shining if it hadn’t been overcast. I like the weather, though. It reflects my mood.

  Becky shrugs and takes a seat at the foot of my bed, keeping a safe distance between us. At least she knows that much.

  “Isla,” she says, “we need to talk.”

  “I don’t have the time to talk,” I reply. “I’m sure you already know because you’re a witch or a gypsy or” –

  “An angel?”

  “Two murders occurred here. Doesn’t that mean something to you?”

  She shakes her head and doesn’t look one bit sorry. “You are my only concern, Isla,” she says.

  "That is bullshit!" I yell out in frustration. I can feel the anger flood my bloodstream and I have to literally ball my fingers into fists and clutch at the coverlet on my bed to keep from leaping up and clawing her pretty blue eyes out. Which, I know, is a bit much, but the frustration I’m feeling because of h
er is clawing at my insides and it's been pent up because I don't want to take my problems out on anyone who doesn't already deserve it. "You know it. I know it. Because if I was really your concern, you would have given be some kind of warning. You would have helped me instead of just sticking me here to fend for myself. You think you care about me? You don't even know what the word means!"

  Becky clenches her jaw so it pops. She looks like she's about ready to go off on me, with her hands crossed over her chest and her teeth stitched together like she's a Tim Burton creation. But somehow, her patience prevails. She shakes her head, more for herself than for me, and meets my eyes with her own.

  "Have you considered, for a moment, that I did everything I have in order to help you?" she asks. "That if I helped you, if I warned you, it would throw everything off? Maybe, just maybe, I didn't want to hold your hand the way I've been doing for the years that we've known each other. Maybe I thought that this would be the perfect opportunity for you to get your issues together and start doing things on your own. And look what a different person you are! You're helping Sarah with these murderers. You're making choices without calling everyone and getting their opinion first. You're not sleeping around with guys!"

  "There is nothing wrong with sleeping around!" I tell her.

  "No," she agrees, "but it is wrong when it makes you feel the way it made you feel. Empty. Hollow. Alone. You were using them the same way they were using you. And it made you feel like" - she clenches her jaw again and looks away. "It is not okay for you to feel that way. And I know without a doubt you don't feel that way anymore."

  "And you think you're the reason for it?" I ask, completely aghast. "You think you're responsible for my growth as a person?"

  "Of course not!" Becky said, and it's the first time I think I've ever heard her raise her voice at me. "It had to come from you. It had to come from you! But you're so set in your ways, you're so stubborn, that I had to give you this push or you wouldn't have taken it! I know you. I know you and you wouldn't have taken it. So I had to set it up this way. It had to come from inside of you. And it did! It did.

  "I'm not going to apologize for pushing you. You need it. No one has pushed you before. I know it and you know it. Your so-called life you were living before this was a waste. You let life happen to you. You went along with everything - with what college to apply to, what field to study in, what career path you took. You weren't passionate about anything. Your life just happened. You didn't reach out and take it." Her eyes are burning. They're hot and I flinch because the sparks are shooting off in every direction, in my direction. "Do you know how different you are here? Do you realize how much you've grown?"

  "It's still my choice," I say. "You took that away from me the minute you sent be here. You told me nothing" -

  "Boo-fucking-hoo," Becky snaps and I flinch again. Becky never swears. She rarely snaps. Her blue eyes are still fire and I'm surprised by how mean they are. Becky is a lot of things but mean isn't one of them. At least, she didn't used to be. "Now you want to make a choice? Now? You've had twenty-four years to make choices and now you start caring about them? About this one choice? Think of the woman you've become, Isla. You are a goddess. Matt is half in love with you and twice the man you've been with."

  "Matt is not half in love with me," I say, and I can't stop the bitterness in my voice if I tried. I stop and catch my breath and thankfully, mercifully, Becky stops, too. And suddenly, everything comes out because I have no one else to talk to, no one else to trust, and Becky was my best friend. Maybe she still is. I don't know. I don't know anything anymore. I just know that I need to get this wretched feeling out of me. And maybe she can help.

  Becky stops, rubs her lips together. "You say he pushed her off of him?" she asks slowly. I can tell she's thinking because she tilts her head to the side. I nod in response, gnawing on my thumb nail but not actually biting it.

  "Yeah." I nod my head. "There was something between them, though. They gave a history together and you know how that works." Becky presses her brows together but doesn't say anything. "In every book and movie and even TV show ever, the couple that has a history ends up getting back together, even if there's a new girl he genuinely likes. It's why I avoided dating divorcés and guys with kids. I don't need the drama, especially since I didn't want to get serious with anyone anyway."

  "But you do want to be serious with Matt?" she asks, her eyes trying to read me, her voice gentle.

  I clench my teeth together and shrug, almost helplessly. "I don't know what I want," I finally say.

  "Don't give me that!" Becky said, raising her voice and narrowing her eyes. The more she spoke to me, the more her lips curled up to reveal a set of teeth I never thought I would see. She reminds me of a snarling wolf and I'm her targeted prey. "He is half in love with you and you are in love with him. The reason you took off after walking in on him is because you didn't want to see him that way with anyone. The only person you would be okay with on top of him is you. You want him. Just admit it, Isla. Stop lying to me. Stop lying to yourself. Just admit it. Come on. I know you. You were jealous. You were jealous because you love him. You want to be with him even if that means never going back to the twenty-first century because you love Matt. The end. That's it. You love him. You love him!"

  "Yes!" I finally shout back at her. "Yes, I love him. When I saw that whore on top of him, I wanted to grab her by her hair and throw her off of him so her ass hit the floor and she bruised her tailbone because that is the worst! I don't want anyone to be on top of him except for me. I've only been here a couple of months but I've already forgotten what my life was like before Matt which sounds so stupid and immature and idiotic to me that I'm afraid to admit it out loud." I stop, swallow. Take a breath. But I never look away from Becky. "I love him. Becky, I'm in love with him. I had this dream where we were married and had three kids and even though it took me a while to wrap my head around it, it wasn't awful. Being his wife. Being the mother of his children. I wasn't afraid."

  Becky smiles at me. A smile that says that should tell me all I need to know. This revelation should give me my answer.

  "I just..." I stop again and my eyes fill with tears. "I just feel guilty, you know? I've already forgotten what life was like. I'm worried I'll forget the sound of my father’s voice, the color of my mom's eyes. I'm so caught up in worrying about giving up everything for a guy that it's hard to figure out what I want."

  "You've forgotten what life is like before because you weren't really living then," Becky points out. Her arms are crossed over her chest and she arches a brow, daring me to contradict her. I don't. "Life was happening to you. You were a victim to life. Now, you're taking life into your hands. You're being much more proactive. You're helping Sarah with a murder. You're befriending the girls here. You're opening up to the possibility of love and marriage. You just need to figure out what you want, Isla. And I think you know what that is. You just have to be willing and ready to admit it to yourself."

  "I know what I want," I tell her. For some reason, I feel myself flushing and I have to look away. As bad and as upset as I am with Becky, she is still someone I trust. My eyes suddenly find gets as a thought occurs to me. "You can't make me dream things, can you?"

  My tone is accusatory but she can't blame me and doesn't. If anything, her eyes sparkle mischievously.

  "Of course I can't make you dream things," Becky tells me. "You took an Intro to Psych class in college, right? You know dreams are your subconscious resolving problems your consciousness can’t." She pauses, trying to read me. I can tell by the way her blue eyes glide over every inch of my face. "Tell me about your dream.”

  "I dreamt of Matt," I tell her because I have nothing to lose. I know she's not going to run and tell him and I know she's not going to rub it in my face that she's right. Becky's not like that; she's never been like that. My heart pangs in remembrance of the type of friendship we had on earth. I wonder if we can still have that, if I choose to stay here.
"We had a family. We were married."

  "You were domesticated?" Becky asks, aghast.

  "I know," I say, slipping a smile onto my face. "I couldn't believe it either. Apparently, I even liked my children. And somehow I pushed them out without numbing the lower half of my body." I shake my head. "But I liked it. I want it, Bex. I want to be with him."

  Becky’s smile is wide, reminding me of the shape of a boat. "I'm so glad," she says. "You want to stay, then?"

  I hesitate. I hate myself for doing it but I can't help it.

  "Tell me, Isla," she says imploringly but also gently. "What are you afraid of?"

  "I'm afraid of giving everything to him," I tell her. I feel my eyes water but I'm not sure why. I'm not emotional or sad or moved. Maybe it's just my body's way of reacting to my feelings. Or something. "I'm afraid of trusting who I really am to him and having my heart broken. And then I'd be stuck in some place I'm not even from with no one."