Page 77 of Point of No Return

“Why do you even have-” she starts to say but she must think better of it because she stops herself. “It doesn’t matter. Where are we going?”

“Do you want me to request a car?” Crew juts his chin toward me, readjusting Aleks to hold him over his back by an arm and a thigh.

“Put him in the SUV. I’ll drive us.”

Crew takes the dismissal in stride, and I nod my thanks at him.

“Where?” Charlie presses, and I pluck up my suit jacket as I stroll toward her slowly.

Her lipstick is blush-pink today, not at all at odds with the white sundress she’s wearing. The sleeves are tied off at the shoulders, and her hair is braided back, baring her neck. I’m oh-so tempted to press my lips against her pulse as I dip down to grab the duffle bags.

I don’t know where the thought comes from, but the thoughts only strengthen when I straighten upright. I’m less than six inches away from her and those green eyes are wide as she looks up at me.

“Thought we should take a trip back to the villa.”

“Okay,” she nods thoughtfully but then a devious smile lights the fire in her eye. “But only if I drive.”

God help me.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Charlotte

By the time we’ve unloaded our bags, it’s long past eleven. The moon casts a faint white glow over the villa, the house just as gorgeous as last time. Ivy crawls across the white pickets of the front gate, and a sprawling garden still blooms in the path from the car to the front door. From the front porch, I can still hear the river rushing by behind the house, and a faint breeze has the trees swaying lazily over the garden.

Skar carried Aleks up to one of the other bedrooms while I loaded my things into the same room I stayed in last time. I have the room all to myself, but even with the sound of the river rushing by, sleep is mostly fitful.

There are servants around this time, and upon washing up and finding a hand-written note on the bathroom counter, I know that Josie is around should I need her. The servants are making breakfast by the time I trudge downstairs. A fresh pot of coffee is still brewing on the burner in front of Aleks whose head is buried in his palms. He’s hungover and slowly getting over the drugs in his system. Or likely both. I approach cautiously, unsure of what his reaction might be.

“Good morning.”

I quietly take a seat beside him, letting the thin, breathable dress I’ve worn today flow behind my seat as I adjust my bathing suit. Aleks doesn’t acknowledge me, but I know he’s aware of me. If he’s ignoring me, that’s his own prerogative. I’ll say my piece and leave him alone.

“Is Skar out on the dock?”

“Why don’t you go and look?” his voice is hoarse, choked as he shakes his head. “Maybe you can leave me the hell alone while you’re at it.”

That’s a yes then.

I huff, smiling as I round the counter and pour three mugs of coffee. “You boys are great company in the mornings.” I drop a mug in front of him, and with full hands, I push the porch door open and cast one glance back inside. “Truly. Good luck with the withdrawals.”

I don’t wait for his response before I step out into the breeze. It’s cooler than it had been in August that week after our wedding, but the sun still rises in the east, a breeze carrying the promise of a mild day.

Skar’s probably at work in the boathouse again, and I take my time limping down the length of the boardwalk. The water trickles underneath the planks, so cerulean blue that it’s nearly blinding as I stop near the edge.

Not that I will ever admit it out loud, but I actually grew rather fond of this place the week we stayed. Skar and I each formed our own routine and occasionally they overlapped. We spent more than a few mornings on the patio in silence, just admiring the scenery. Perhaps it’s the only aspect of our marriage I can ever look upon and smile: Neither of us feels the need to fill the silence.

The dock shifts, the wind making the water choppy, and I feel my heart stumble. I grip the coffee mugs tighter, wandering down to the boathouse. It’s nothing more than four walls and a roof with wooden shingles and nautical trim. It’s probably older than I am, and when I pull on the door, it creaks, rattling on rusty hinges.

The air is heavy when I step inside. Immediately, the smell of gasoline and timber fills my nose. There’s two storage closets on either side when I walk in, and a raised boatlift bobs on the water directly in the main room. A boat sits in the cradle, paint and varnish chipping away at the hull. At a table in the corner, a rather rusted contraption of machinery is being disassembled.

Skar pops his head over the top of the boat, and when he sees me, he stands to his full height, toweling black soot off his hands. His white t-shirt is flecked with the same black oil, and when he hops onto the landing, I’m surprised to find his jeans in the same condition.

Jeans. I don’t think I knew he owns a pair-and dear god, I wish I didn’t. Because as good as he looks in a suit? He looks ten times more incredible in denim.

He’s quiet but looking at me with that inquisitive look on his face, smirking when he catches the fact that even covered in dirt, I think he’s sexy as hell.

God dammit.

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