Bound to Me (The Harbour Series Book 1)

by Christy Pastore

  “Fine, if it will get you out of my apartment.”

  She folded her arms against her chest, giving me a cold hard stare. “March to the shower, right now or I’ll kick your ass all the way there. And we are soooo talking about why you are here and look like fucking shit.”

  Amy was damn stubborn and for that I was grateful. I’d like to put up a fight, but I was much too tired and maybe I should have that conversation.

  My hand rubbed at the back of my neck. “Actually, could you call Ethan? For this problem, I’m going to need his advice.”

  Amy stood up and took my hand in hers giving it a tight squeeze. “Consider it done.”

  Thirty minutes later, I emerged freshly showered and found my apartment was back in order. Amy was a godsend. She smiled at me and, for a moment, I thought about confessing everything. My military career, Sasha, and how I nearly died on a mission in Istanbul. But, if I’d told her, she’d never have a restful night’s sleep again.

  I took a seat at the island. “You’re the best.”

  She leaned her hip against the counter, nodding slowly. “I am, and don’t you forget it.”

  The doorbell rang and I slid off the barstool. Amy rounded the island and I walked a step behind her down the hallway.

  After grabbing her bag, she opened the door. “He’s all yours, Ethan.”

  I caught her by the arm, and pulled her into a hug. “Thanks, sis, I owe you one.”

  “You’ll let me know if there is anything I can do?” she asked.

  “I will, I promise.”

  A few days ago this place had sat empty for months, and now it had been filled with one visitor after another. I welcomed my old friend inside and took the bottle of scotch from his hands.

  “Is Charlemagne branching out and making scotch now?”

  He laughed. “Funny, maybe brandy though.”

  He slapped my back as we walked into the kitchen. “Why didn’t you tell me that you were coming back?”

  I shrugged. “Honestly, I didn’t think I would be back unless it was a holiday or a high school reunion weekend.”

  “Didn’t you go to high school in Detroit?”

  I shook my head, and pulled two glasses from the cabinet. “Dude, I went to boarding school in Bloomfield Hills.”

  “Sorry I asked.” He held up his hands and nodded towards the bottle. “Just pour.”

  “It’s good to see you, E,” I said handing him a tumbler. “How’s the relationship?”

  “Good to see you too, buddy, but today’s not about me. Now, what is with all the Howard Hughes theatrics? You’re not pissing in mason jars are you?”

  “Fuck no. I haven’t gone off the deep end, yet.” I raised my glass in a toast, and then took a long sip. It burned all the way down, and it felt fucking good. I walked towards the window and stared down at the street below. People walked along the Riverwalk possibly arguing politics for this fucked up election or discussing their futures. Some could be breaking up, while others were making up.

  Who among them was hurting? Who among them had something to look towards?

  On that chilly spring night, all those months ago, I felt I’d hit my lowest low. Vince and Amanda had a baby girl and all the happiness in the world. Wracked with guilt, I still couldn’t shake the affair or Sasha’s death. Then Ella bounced into my world and suddenly I didn’t seem fixated on my guilt or broken heart.

  “So, what brings you back here? I’m assuming it’s a woman and it better not be Amanda.”

  I laughed. “No, I’m over her. But, yeah, I’m fucked up over a woman.”

  “Great, I can’t wait to get all sensitive and talk about your feelings.”

  “Strap in.” I smirked, swirling the contents of my glass. “It’s bound to be a bumpy ride.”

  Two hours and half a bottle of scotch later, I had sufficiently disclosed my feelings for Ella, and explained how the accident had paralleled how I felt the day that Sasha died.

  Ethan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I gotta be honest, you need to let Sasha go. You didn’t get her killed, and you most certainly weren’t the cause of Ella’s injuries.”

  “If I had been doing my job, Ella wouldn’t have been killed.”

  He stared at me wide-eyed. “You mean Sasha wouldn’t have been killed.”

  “Of course, that is what I meant, I said it didn’t I?”

  He shook his head. “No, you said Ella.”

  Well, shit.

  I let that sentence roll around in my head for a few minutes. It didn’t take a therapist to tell me what that meant. Actually it did, because my own therapist had explained that loss of control was my weakness. Dying was something I couldn’t control, but as my profession—a protector, I’m constantly battling for the control. I’m human and I’m supposed to control death. That was one sharp, double-edged sword.

  “I’VE DECIDED THAT MY next place will most definitely have a pool,” Nabila announced, slinging her legs over the lounge chair. She tossed her sunglasses onto the table and then jumped into the water.

  I smiled and continued reading the article about Charlotte Ricchetti’s new boutique opening around the corner from mine this fall. We would both have shops here in The Harbour. Still, I couldn’t believe it, and she’d even attended my grand opening party a few weeks ago. Charlotte told me I had a real eye for style and loved the French aesthetic of the store. That was enough to put me on cloud nine for a few days.

  My parents, my sister, Molly, Ronan and Holliday, even Gavin showed up to support me in my new adventure. Nabila had told me that she couldn’t make it, but the little hussy ended up surprising me. On top of that, since it was August and with all of Europe on holiday anyway she decided to stay a little longer. Having her here made me feel a little less lonely.

  I didn’t hear from Alex the day La Vienne Rose opened. Not directly, anyway. He’d sent a bouquet of flowers with a note that said simply said: Congratulations. Love, Alex.

  Nabila attempted to dump the bundle into the trash, but I managed to save them from an early grave. At least the flowers let me know he had thought about me.

  I had certainly thought about him. How could I not? I was here living in his house and the reminders of Alex lingered in every corner and on every surface. At first the nights were the worst, I cried buckets. One night, I broke down and had that ugly shower cry. I missed him that much.

  It didn’t help matters that HBO Family was apparently running some adorable mouse themed movie marathon where I bawled my eyes out whilst watching Cinderella and an American Tale.

  Nabila was doing her best in helping me to find a new place, but I found fault with every space. My default excuses included cost and distance to the store.

  I would never admit this to her, but I continued to stay here in case he came back. He would come back, right? A little bit of time was what he said he needed. I couldn’t be mad at Alex for leaving.

  Was I frustrated? Absolutely, but this was something that he needed to work out.

  “It’s just not a proper Sunday unless you’re sipping champagne in a bikini.” My eyes lifted to see Nabila walking back from the pool bar with a drink in her hand. I hadn’t even heard her get out of the water. I picked up my phone to check the time. Why hasn’t Alex even texted me? I know he needed time to clear his head, and I was trying to respect his wishes, but I felt myself crumbling more each day.

  No, you’re fine.

  “Ella, you need to turn that frown upside down.” Nabila grabbed the towel off the back of the lounger and then wiped off her face.

  I flashed her a smile. “I’m fine.”

  I’m fine. Everything was fine.

  After toweling the ends of her hair, she dropped back onto the chair. “It’s been over a month since he left. It’s probably safe to say he is not coming back.”

  After shoving my phone underneath the towel, I placed the magazine on the table. “He has to come back. It’s his house.”

  “Are you go
ing to stay here or come back to London?”

  I hadn’t thought about returning to London permanently. The weekend Alex asked me to move in with him, I spent the flight home compiling a list of things I needed to do in order to move. I wasn’t going anywhere.

  “As I told you before, Alex asked me to move in with him and I intend to do just that.”

  “Yeah, and then he took off a week later to get his head on straight.” She said the last three words with air quotes attached. “Honestly, Ella, I don’t know how you are putting up with this man’s behavior right now.”

  Actually, he “took off” closer to two weeks later, but that wasn’t really the point.

  “I don’t believe I am putting up with anything. What I do believe is that this man is hurting deeply and needs some time away to heal. I love him, so until he gives me a reason to not trust in his words. I choose to believe he will be back and we will start our life together.”

  She gave me a sympathetic smile. “You don’t think that makes you weak, waiting around for a man?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “I’m not waiting for him. My life has gone on. I could have pushed back the opening of the boutique, but I didn’t. It’s not as if I’m sitting around crying or drowning my feelings in ice cream.”

  Yes, I did that at first, but could anyone blame me? One morning, after feeling the regrets of swallowing a pint of cherry-vanilla ice cream, I decided I wasn’t going to be the woman who wallows in tears and eats myself sick. And I most certainly didn’t want to be the woman who says to herself, “I should have known better. I should have known that he would break me.” Loving Alex was a good feeling, better than good, it was wonderful.

  “It’s my last night here before I fly back to London. Can’t we put on some cute dresses and go dancing in the city? I’ve heard amazing things about Indigo Row.”

  I groaned. “Do you really want to be out dancing and drinking all night and then get on a plane for a seven-hour flight?”

  “We can stay in the city overnight and then I can get a cab to the airport.”

  Picking up the magazine again, I mulled the idea over while skimming an article on a list of the hottest yoga retreats. Even reading about post yoga activities in Turks & Caicos and hot stone massages couldn’t hold my attention. All I thought about was the last time that I was in the city drinking and dancing I had met Alex. I’d much rather go to one of the quiet wine bars in The Harbour. Even though I was putting on a brave face, I didn’t know what trigger would take me down.

  Remember, you’re fine.

  “Come on, it will be a total blast.”

  “Let’s do something here. I could make your favorite meal, and then we could have a bonfire on the beach and drink copious amounts of wine.”

  She waved her hand at me. “Ella, even if you’re not being honest with yourself, I know that you are hurting. You need to leave this bloody house, and I don’t just mean for work.”

  Shit. I really hated that Nabila could see right through my bullshit, but I also loved that she cared enough to call me on it.

  “Okay, fine, but it’s your fault if you’re hungover and tired on your flight.”

  She smiled and then muttered something in French. I assumed that she was cursing, but the French accent made it seem like beautiful poetry, even if she might have suggested that I suck a dick.

  “Hey, Marcus,” I called towards the guesthouse where he’d been residing since Alex left.

  He emerged from the doorway shirtless, his six-pack on full display and his black basketball shorts hanging low off his hips, totally the professional bodyguard wardrobe.

  Nabila turned to me. “Fuck me, how did you get lucky to have that delicious man looking out for you? Seriously, what is in the water around here?”

  I chose to ignore her comment, but she wasn’t wrong in her opinion. Marcus was handsome, he had gorgeous, golden brown eyes, light mocha skin and if that wasn’t enough to catch your eye, his height of six foot five would easily.

  “How can I help you?” His voice was cool, as he gazed the grounds. I’d seen this look a hundred times, another reminder of Alex.

  “Nabila wants to drive into Manhattan tonight for some cocktails and dancing. Do you think we can make that happen?”

  His hand scratched at the back of his neck. “I don’t see why not, but I did hear there was pretty killer end of summer party happening over at Castle Hill Beach House.”

  I eyed him over the top of my sunglasses. “How do you know about this party?”

  He smirked, stretching his hands above his head. “I know everything, Ella.”

  That was true enough. Marcus was a trained professional through and through. And apparently that included having his ear to the ground where cocktails and parties took place.

  Nabila was practically frothing at the mouth, and crawling out of her skin at the mention of this party. “Okay, that settles it. Tonight, we party on the beach.” She jumped up and then twirled around on the deck.

  “Fabulous,” I said, settling back in the lounger. “Marcus, can we make arrangements for Nabila to get to the airport tomorrow?”

  He cleared his throat. “She’s on the jet’s passenger list for a flight to Manhattan. Miss Nabila will arrive in plenty of time to board her flight. Weather reports show no delays. I can escort her, if you like.”

  I tilted my head. “I thought the jet was in Grand Rapids?”

  “It was, but Alex thought Nabila might be more comfortable flying to JFK. He also arranged for a town car if you prefer.”

  Nabila cast a wide-eyed glance my way. “Well, color me corrected. I like Mr. Robertsen a whole lot more now. I’ll take the jet, dahling.”

  The blush crept across my cheeks and I used my fist to hide my smile.

  A glimmer of hope was all I needed. I believed in the sun even when it wasn’t shining, and I believed in Alex even when he was silent.

  After two hours of dancing and drinking, my feet were killing me.

  “I need another cocktail,” Nabila called out as we made our way back to our booth.

  I plopped down into the chair. “I am so tired. Are you sure you want another?”

  She nodded, sipping the rest of her drink—a Blushing Kiss Martini, the signature drink for tonight’s party. I asked that they substitute the gin for grain free vodka. The bartender gave me some attitude, but after Marcus gave him a helpful suggestion he was all too happy to make my request. I was going to find this recipe on Pinterest or call the bartender and make him give me the recipe. Perhaps Marcus should make that call.

  Loud screams came from door as a bridal party entered and the DJ flipped the tune to “Celebration” by Kool and the Gang.

  So fucking cliché.

  As much as I wanted to hate it, I couldn’t and I found myself bouncing and clapping along with the rest of the bar.

  “Ella, will you please be a dear and get me another pretty drink?” She gave me a pouty look and I nodded.

  I motioned to our server and ordered another round of drinks. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Marcus standing a few feet from the bar. I nodded and held up two of my fingers. Earlier, he requested that when we ordered drinks to let him know so he could keep an eye on the bar activity. Apparently, there was a rumor some bloke had slipped Klonopin into a young woman’s drink a few weekends ago and she was rushed to the hospital. Marcus didn’t say as much, but I knew that was code for possible date rape.

  “I’m going to use the loo,” Nabila sang out, as she pushed to her feet.

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “Ella, I stopped using the powder room with my girlfriends after university. I’ll be fine.”

  I watched as she twirled through the crowd, and I looked towards Marcus whose cool steady gaze was on her as well. Just like Alex, always aware of everything.

  When our drinks arrived, I immediately pulled out the sprig of thyme and tossed it onto a napkin. I twirled the grapefruit wedge in the glass. I hated thyme, the smell was awful a
nd it tasted like dried mold to me. Rosemary, sage and oregano were high up on that list of herbs I hated. In fact, I couldn’t think of a single dried herb that I didn’t hate.

  Sipping my drink, I watched people spill onto the beach from the dance floor. The taste of grapefruit on my tongue reminded me of bergamot and bergamot reminded me of Alex.

  Stupid thyme.

  “Oh good, this drink is exactly what I needed,” Nabila confessed, and bopped her head to the beat.

  Secretly I was hoping she’d come back from the bathroom and decide she was tired. I glanced at my phone screen, it was half past nine.

  “Get this,” Nabila said, leaning across the table. “On my way back from the loo, some bloke asked if you and I were fashion models.”

  I tilted my head away from her. “What? You can’t be serious.”

  “Right? I laughed in his face.” I watched as she twirled her thyme sprig. “Even after I told him that we weren’t, he still wanted to know if he could photograph the two of us.”

  “That’s not creepy at all,” I replied, before taking another drink.

  She giggled, and shook her head. “No, not at all.”

  “Is he still here?”

  She stood and gazed around the bar. “No, I don’t see him. He was tall, about two meters in height . . . six feet or so with dark hair.”

  “So odd, but good to know in your slightly intoxicated state you can identify a potential weirdo.”

  “Are you a fashion model? Seriously has to be the lamest pick up line in the book.”

  I nodded and took a long drink. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you all night.”

  Despite not venturing into New York City tonight, a previous reminder from that truly amazing evening washed over me. I guess Alex and I would always have a little piece of that Manhattan sidewalk in our hearts. At least I knew I would.

  I stared out in to the night watching as the moon and stars sprinkled the waves and sand with light. And as stupid as it sounded I really hoped Alex was looking up at the same sky.

  I hear you Fievel, I know he’s out there somewhere.