Marbella Cool

by Oster, Camille

  “I’m taking you to breakfast.”

  “I don’t want breakfast.”

  “I’m not a cheap date. You’re not just going to use me for my body,” he said and felt her pinch his side. He smiled and kept going.

  The place he had in mind was ten minutes away. The sun shone off the water and warm wind caressed his whole body. Everything looked bright and new, as if things were as it should be. The traffic was light, most people heading the other way this time of day. He felt her relax behind him, felt her breasts press into his back. This was nice. It felt like they had stepped away from everything and everyone, just taken a moment—stolen more like.

  He pulled into the small carpark along a small stretch of shops. There was a café with wooden chairs and tables. Large plastic parasols to keep the sun away and worn ashtrays dutifully scrubbed clean. The place was run by a British couple and they did a good breakfast.

  “What do you feel like?”

  “Just coffee. It’s too early for me to eat.”

  “Some toast then,” he suggested.

  “Fine,” she relented.

  The order was a full English breakfast for himself and some toast and a coffee for her. There were some other couples there, mostly older, sitting in bright athletic clothes, tucking into their eggs benedict and pots of tea at the end of their morning jogs.

  They grabbed one of the tables outside. Only the one without the parasol was left, but luckily the sun wasn’t too hot just yet.

  “So, you’re insisting on feeding me,” she said as they sat down. She did look a bit overdressed in her dress. No one here would overlook that she was still making her way home from last night.

  He placed his elbows on the table. “Just thought it would be nice.”

  Trish crossed her arms and her legs, sitting slightly sideways in the chair as if she would run at any moment. “I suppose it makes up for me completely caving on my morals and determination by sleeping with you—yet again.”

  “Maybe you have to admit that it’s just that good,” he smiled.

  She shook her head, but he could see the smile trying to break through. “You’re aggravating.”

  The food came. They were quick here, one of the things Cory appreciated about this place. They did a decent coffee, too. The plate was brimming with food and Cory took his knife and stabbed the egg, which oozed yellow yumminess across the plate. He cut and started eating, while Trish took to her toast with a crunch.

  In truth, he hadn’t quite known why he’d taken her here. It had felt like it wasn’t time to finish their thing yet. He was stretching it out, making it last a few minutes longer. Perhaps also to do something other than fucking each other’s brains out, because so far this was the first time they had stretched to include something else.

  “Seeing anyone?” she asked after a while watching him eat.

  “No. You?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Chrissy says you’re not.”

  “Chrissy is a cow and you can’t believe anything she says.”

  “True, but I’d be the first person she would tell if you were.”

  “That’s true,” Trish conceded.

  They ate for a moment and Cory finished his food. Trish still took a tentative bite of the second piece of toast. She took the coffee cup and brought it to her mouth, puckering her sweet, pink lips as she placed them on the rim of the cup. Was everything she did sexy?

  “Can we just acknowledge that we have a thing for each other?” he said. “To me, you’re hot like no one else. I seriously get a hard on when your name is mentioned. Saying that, I’m a shit person; I will acknowledge that. You’re a much better person and there is no way I could refrain from screwing up. I just want to make that clear.”

  She put the cup down on its plate and considered him. “Well, thanks for admitting what you did to me was shitty. I do appreciate it. So now what? What do you want from me?”

  “I’m hoping we can be friends and it not be so awkward between us. We hang out in the same group. We’re not a couple, even if we share this twisted, compelling sexual past.”

  “You mean like five minutes ago?”

  “And occasionally, we fuck.”

  She gave him a pointed look, but he saw that some of that suspicion in her eyes had alleviated. Good.

  Chapter 17

  Tierry wasn’t answering the texts Shania had sent him. He was supposed to be picking her up after work, but he was nowhere to be seen. After waiting another ten minutes, she fished out her phone and dialled, but it only went to voice mail. “Damn it, Tierry,” she swore. Okay, he wasn’t the most reliable person, but it sucked being left stranded in the middle of the night.

  A car slowed and then pulled to a stop, and Shania was annoyed when they stopped right where she was standing, which meant she had to move to a free spot. Rude much?

  Two guys stepped out and they were big, wearing suits. It took her a moment to realise they were Russian, and of the strong-arm variety.

  “Where’s your boyfriend?” one of them asked in his hard accent. Shania bit her lips together instinctively, knowing not to talk to these guys. Whatever they wanted, it wasn’t good for Tierry if they’d come looking for him. They walked closer and she backed up as far as she could before hitting a wall. “You’re boyfriend run, huh?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Shania said, hoping her voice wasn’t quivering. These guys had no issues breaking bones, or more. They had no mercy for anyone—thugs if she had ever known them, and judging from the things Tierry was involved with, these guys could be a bad as you could get—mafia type shit.

  “You don’t know,” one of them said. “You better learn.”

  “If he’s run, why would he take me with him?” she said, swallowing the lump of fear.

  One of them grabbed her by the throat with a huge hand. “You better find him. Someone will be paying his debt.” The man’s gaze travelled down her front, stopping at her cleavage. She felt revolted, nausea twisting her gut. The implication was clear.

  With a push, the guy let go of her throat and blew her a kiss. Shania blinked back tears and clenched her insides to stop herself from embarrassing herself. These were not the guys to fuck with.

  As they hopped in the car and drove away, Shania started walking. She wanted to be away from there, where they knew her to be—in case they came back.

  She dialled Tierry’s number, again it went to voice mail. “Tierry, call me back now. What the fuck is going on? Russian muscle just came by work and threatened me. What’s going on? Call me back as soon as you get this.”

  Her mind raced as she paced along down the road. She didn’t really know where she was going; she just had to get away. They could easily change their minds, deciding they wanted some entertainment for the evening. “Fuck!” she screamed. She wasn’t stupid. Some shit had just hit the fan, and these cretins obviously knew she worked at Shine. They probably even knew where she lived. It would take them two minutes to find out. She wasn’t safe.

  Finally a cab went past and she flagged it down. Initially she was going to go to Tierry’s place, but obviously these goons would be hanging out there, waiting for him and she would walk straight into it—and they might not let her go next time. Instead, she went home, somewhere she’d hardly spent any time lately. The place was dark, so Trish was obviously out somewhere.

  Tucking her legs to her chest, she sat down with her phone next to her, even refusing to turn the lights on, in case there was someone watching. But she was too amped to sit still. Adrenalin burned in her veins, urging her to move, to run, to something.

  This was bad, like end up dead in the gutter bad. If there was one thing she trusted, it was her instincts. They were obviously looking for Tierry, which meant they didn’t have him, so he was okay. Most likely, he’d already split, leaving her behind to deal with the consequences. No, that couldn’t be true; she was being cynical. He would call her and they would take off somewh
ere.

  Her whole leg bounced in agitation as she waited.

  The sun woke her. She was still on the couch, fully dressed. At some point, she must have fallen asleep, and been subjected to uncomfortable and intense pressure dreams. Picking up her phone, she looked, but there was no call from Tierry. She tried his number, but again, it went straight to voice mail.

  The implication from the goons last night had been clear: they would come looking for her if Tierry didn’t front up, and there was no way he would do that. Tierry wasn’t stupid or noble like that. He was probably a million miles away from here, or dead somewhere by now. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Everything had been good and now it had all turned to shit.

  Agitation made her stomach too unsettled for food and she didn’t dare leave the house. There was no way she could go to work tonight. They would be waiting for her and there was nothing anyone could do.

  Hours passed and not a single call on her phone. It was starting to dawn on her that Tierry probably had split and left her behind. Fucking bastard, she thought as she paced around the small apartment.

  Okay, she had to think. She had no money and she wasn’t safe here. Work was out, so rent was out. She truly was fucked. The worst was that these Russian fucks were everywhere, all over the city, wherever she went, they could be there; they could find her. She needed to go somewhere they weren’t. If she had the money she could go back home, but that just wasn’t an option right now.

  Reaching for her phone, she scrolled through the numbers, finally settling on one—a recent one she had only acquired last week. She dialled.

  “Hi, Esme,” she said when the girl answered. “Do you remember me? We met at Blanca Beach the other week.”

  “The American girl,” Esme said. “Hi.” Shania could hear the confusion in the girl’s voice. Why was she calling her? it said.

  “Hey, I need a huge favour. I’m kind of in a bind. I just had this really bad break up and I need somewhere to stay.” Her heart was beating a million miles a minute. If she hadn’t been so scared, she’d be feeling shit about having to ask someone to stay with them.

  “Sure, of course,” Esme said.

  Shania broke down in gratitude. “Thanks,” she said through shuddering breaths.

  “Should I come pick you up?”

  “Are you sure? I can get there on my own.” She was clearly crying now. She couldn’t help it.

  “Of course, just let me know where you are and I’ll be there,” Esme said, concern lacing her voice. Esme was such a cool girl; she genuinely wanted to help.

  “Okay,” Shania said, not having the energy for pride anymore. She gave her address and hung up. A few changes of clothes fit in her backpack and she took a last look before leaving. It wasn’t an option to come back here and she locked the door before taking the stairs. She was even too terrified to take the lift in case Russian thugs cornered her. As unlikely as it was, she was not taking any chances, even if her fears were a little irrational.

  She waited on the curb until Esme pulled up in a silver convertible merc. Esme wore a light green dress and had a headband in her artificially tussled hair.

  “Thanks,” Shania said as she got in. “I can’t tell you what this means to me.”

  “No problem. Things have gone a bit pear-shaped, have they?”

  “In a really bad way. I’m going to be forever grateful for this.”

  “What are friends for if not rescuing one in a terrible breakup?” Esme smiled and pulled away. If there was anywhere these fucking thugs couldn’t reach, it was behind the guarded gates of one of these million dollar mansions.

  Chapter 18

  Paul was extraordinarily excited about the upcoming trip down the Italian coast, particularly as they would be doing so on Alexi’s yacht.

  “It’s one of those things I’ve never done,” he said as he carried his bag downstairs. “I’ve been here a year and never been out on the Med. It’s almost embarrassing, but something to shortly be remedied.”

  Rosalie wasn’t entirely as convinced that it was a good idea. There was something about this reunion with Alexi that made her uncomfortable. He was really nothing like the young man she’d known. He was something else entirely, and truthfully, spending days on one of these pretentious yachts was not something she relished. Because, no doubt, Alexi’s would be the most pretentious of them all.

  Paul finished the last of his coffee and placed the mug in the sink.

  “Now you haven’t forgotten sunblock, have you?” she asked, seeking out Paul’s eyes.

  He looked confused for a moment. “Do you think we’re going to need it?”

  At times it was amazing that Paul managed to tie his shoes. “Yes,” she said incredulously. “You will burn yourself to a crisp. Has the revelation that sun damage causes skin cancer entirely bypassed you?”

  “No, of course you are right,” he said, looking uncertain what to do. “I have some somewhere.”

  “Perhaps we had better stop off at the pharmacist on the way. They do expire, I hear, and who knows how old yours is.”

  “It shouldn’t be that old, but then I have no idea where it is. Alright, then,” he said, clapping his hands together. “Shall we move?”

  She was pleased he was so excited about this trip. For herself, she had brought some books, choosing good old paper books because the sun would make it impossible to read on a tablet. This had occurred to her as she’d planned what she needed to take while lying in bed a few nights ago.

  It was that there was no escape that really sat ill with her. She wasn’t always in the mood for company, but then Alexi was probably right that the best way to see the Italian coast was from the sea.

  Paul was already in the car when she walked out to the carport and got in. He drove quickly, stopping off at the neighbourhood pharmacy and quickly ducking in to emerge with a large bottle of sun block.

  The breeze was warm as they drove down to the marina where a young man waited to take their car.

  “Valet,” Paul said as he watch the young man get into the MG. “I hope it will be stored somewhere safe.”

  “I’m sure it will be. You do have insurance, don’t you?” She wouldn’t put it past him to have slipped his mind.

  “Yes, of course.”

  The sun was almost blinding down here, reflected off the water and a field of white plastic, chrome and glass. Rosalie pulled her sun glasses off her head and her eyes thanked her. Heat radiated off the concrete of the jetty as they walked down.

  “Welcome,” Alexi said, holding his arms out. The yacht was huge. Rosalie didn’t dare think what it cost. It had several stories. The Sylphania, it said on the side in large, gold writing.

  His significant other, Malin, walked out in a flowing turquoise silk dress as Rosalie and Paul stepped onto the gangway to the back of the boat. Two large staircases swung around the edge to the level above, where a large table was surrounded by chairs. Rosalie wondered if that was where they would take meals.

  “Mr. Sumneroff,” Paul said. “This is an absolute pearl. What a beauty.”

  “Alexi, please,” Alexi said.

  He stepped forward and Rosalie kissed him on one cheek, then the other. He smelled different, a deep, rich and spicy scent. Before her was very much a man, as opposed to the boy she’d known. He was broader and his face a bit rounder, although still with an angular jaw and a sharp nose. His skin was more tanned too, compared to what it had been. In fact, he barely looked the same now that she truly looked at him. It was remarkable she had recognised him at all.

  “And you remember Malin,” he said, indicating to the woman beside him. Malin stepped forwards and kissed Paul first then her, a kiss so light it was like a butterfly. She also smelled of flowers, making Rosalie conscious that she hadn’t even thought of perfume. It was only on very special occasions she did, one of the new Calvin Klein ones she’d bought. She couldn’t remember its name, but it had smelled nice in the shop.

  Alexi’s arm wrapped aroun
d the tall, willowy creature’s waist. They looked good together, relaxed and confident.

  “Jens can take your bags. He will prepare your cabins,” Alexi said and turned to the lounge behind them.

  “Gorgeous couple, aren’t they?” Paul said.

  “Yes,” Rosalie agreed, her eyes trying to take in everything around her. The exquisite panelling of the cabinetry—modern obviously, nothing old like she was used to seeing. In fact, that was interesting all in and of itself. They were so used to seeing and appreciating old things, they rarely noticed new ones, but this boat showed that there was artistry in the modern age, beyond the incomprehensible thing called art. Even for an academic like herself, the modern art world was all together beyond the capabilities of her knowledge and skill level. In fact, some pieces of the discipline were gracing the walls. To her it looked like a collage of patterns, but to the connoisseurs she knew it represented something much more profound.

  The thing about knowledge was that you chose what to specialise in—art was just not a topic that interested her. Herself, she would rather enjoy the beauty of a Botticelli than try to discern meaning in the mundane—which was likely the point, but she found no pleasure in teasing these messages out. And what was the point of knowledge if it’s gaining didn’t provide pleasure? Where was her bag? She turned around the looked for it before she remembered that the Germanic-looking boy was supposed to have whisked it away somewhere.

  “Now what will you have to drink?” Alexi said. “Melany here will take any drink order you have, in fact, anything you need, Melany can provide.”

  “Hello, Melany,” Paul said brightly. “I think I will have … something Italian, a Cinzano? What do you think? Cinzano?” he said turning to her.

  “That sounds good,” Rosalie said.

  “We might have to go searching for some treasures in Italy to stock up the bar at home,” he said with a questioning look. “Who knows what little treasures we’ll find?”

  “The Grappas are always nice,” Malin said.