Page 67 of The Next Mrs. Parrish

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. What now?

He pivots around to me. “I thought we’d take a romantic moonlight boat ride tonight. Just the two of us. You know, maybe help get your mind off your sad breakup this afternoon.”

“I told you we were just friends. There was nothing to break up.”

“You’re lying, Daphne.” He lifts the glass to his lips and drinks until it’s empty. “But I’m going to give you one more chance.” He slams the glass down on the cart and walks toward me. “Let’s go, my dear,” he says, taking my hand and leading me to the front door.

“Wait. What are you doing? I’m not dressed for a boat ride. And what about the kids?”

“All taken care of. Boat’s gassed up, there are clothes for you, and Chloe knows it’s an important date night for us. She’ll be with the children. Come on,” he says and pulls me along.

I try to talk him out of this boat ride the whole way over in the car, but Jackson won’t be moved, and the fear inside me builds with each mile we travel. The sun is setting and the air thick with humidity when we arrive and walk along the pier to the boat. The gold letters on the transom that spell out the name,Bellatada,seem to mock me. Jackson boards first and extends a hand tome.

Once on board, I see that he’s made preparations. A bottle of Veuve Clicquot sits in a bucket of ice next to two crystal flutes. A silver tray holds caviar along with toast points, lemon wedges, and crème fraîche. My stomach roils at the sight of it all.

Jackson says nothing as he starts the engine. We glide slowly from the slip and motor for almost an hour, until we are so far out onto open water that the lights on the shore are barely visible. The sickening realization that I am completely helpless in the middle of nowhere with a madman keeps playing over and over in my head. We’ve still not said a word to each other when Jackson turns off the engine and lowers the anchor. He leaves his seat in front of the wheel and comes over to where I’m sitting, pours two glasses of champagne, and hands one of them to me. “Drink up,” he says and sits close tome.

The glass shakes in my hand as I bring it to my mouth and take a slight sip, hoping to keep it down.

“You’re shaking,” he says. “Are you cold?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Or maybe you’re nervous?”

I press my lips together to keep myself from crying out in frustration. How am I here?

“Listen, Daphne,” he says, and suddenly his hand is moving up and down along my back. “I would like tonight to be the beginning of something good between us. We had it once, didn’t we? Those long nights of lovemaking when my mouth explored every part of your body and brought you to the boil.” With this, his lips are on my neck and his tongue flicks along its side and up to my ear. I want to vomit. He stops and sits back to look at me. “Remember those nights, Daphne? No one will ever love you the way I did. We can have all that again.” He pours himself another glass of champagne and downs it in one gulp, then leans in and kisses me, thrusting his tongue into my mouth. “Let’s go below,” he says, his voice husky. “Let me show you how much I want you.” He grabs my wrist and wrenches me from the cushion.

“Jackson, no, it’s too soon. We need to wait.”

But he’s not taking no for an answer and continues to drag me behind him, pulling me as I stumble down the steps to the salon. Hespins around and takes me into his arms, kissing me, his hands rubbing my breasts and pulling at the buttons on my blouse. “I need you, Daphne. Can’t you feel how much I need you?” he whispers into my ear and shoves his groin more forcefully againstme.

“Jackson, stop,” I scream at the top of my lungs.

And in that instant, he releasesme.

I’m shaking, and Jackson freezes. He looks like he’s in shock. I need to lower the temperature, to try and reason with him. “I told you, Jackson, you must give me time. We’ve talked about this already.”

His face is a dark mask. “You’re right, we have. In fact, we’ve talked too much about it, don’t you agree?”

I don’t like where this conversation is going. “I don’t know. But it’s hot down here. I need some air.”

“Of course, whatever your little heart desires. We wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable, now, would we?” His voice is contemptuously solicitous.

I say nothing and go to the stairs, where I feel his body close behind mine as we ascend. Once we’re topside Jackson refills the glasses.

“Come,” he says and stands at the railing, holding the glass out tome.

I hesitate a moment and then go to him. We stand next to each other looking out over the deep inky water. Night has fallen, and there’s a slight chill in the air. The haze from the day has not lifted, cloaking the moon and stars and leaving the sky dark. The only sound is the lapping of the water against the hull.

“Have you ever wondered, Daphne, how many people have drowned in Long Island Sound?” Jackson doesn’t look at me but continues to stare out across the water. “Did you know that the Sound is a combination of salt and fresh water? Quite an amazing estuary. The salt water lies under the fresh water. A body sinks faster in fresh water. Did you know that?”

Alarm bells are clanging in my head, but something tells me to stand my ground and show him he can’t intimidate me. “I didn’t know that. Be careful that you don’t slip and fall in, Jackson.”

He turns to me and smiles. “That’s my Daphne. I like it when you show courage. But here’s the thing, Daph. You’re either with me or with no one. Do you understand what I’m saying? Tonight is decision night. You dump that piece-of-shit chump in California and you come back to me and your family. I’m hoping you’re telling the truth and he hasn’t touched you. I can’t abide the thought of another man’s hands on you.”

“Jackson, I told you—”

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