It’s early. The morning sunlight is faded against the horizon, clashing with the Aegean Sea, and I listen to the far off crash of waves and the lulling whirr of the treadmill under every beat of my feet.
Then I hear a splash in the pool around the corner of the villa. I’m assuming it’s Alexi up for his morning swim and keep my eyes trained ahead. They each stayed away from my room last night and sleeping alone, as delightful as the king-sized mattress was, felt strangely lonely. I spent the entire night pining, wishing one of them would come and wrap their thick arms around me, soothing me in the process.
In an instant the fears come into play. You know the ones? The psycho girl “you don’t like me anymore” fears that can actually push people away in the process. Yeah. I struggle with those. Remembering previous boyfriends and their short-term attention span when it came to me only emboldens the niggling of self-doubt. And I hate feeling self-doubt. I’m not one to ever admit it, probably because I’m too prideful, but I loathe this feeling because it makes me feel inadequate, unloved, and unwanted. I suppose I should be used to that feeling by now as my entire life sent me those messages. I should be comfortable in this mental state.
But, no. I find that tears are running down my cheeks as I run, and I increase the speed as I hammer my feet into the treadmill to force the pain away.
“You good?”
Rhett’s voice is at my back, and I stumble, flailing, trying to find my footing, and then I’m tossed backwards off the treadmill into a massive clay flowerpot. I jam my hip and elbow in the impact, stunned at what just happened.
“God, Allie,” Rhett lopes toward me, reaching out one hand to help me up. I smell the scent of smoke on the air as he holds a cigarette in the other, his eyes covered by black shades. He’s wearing a simple black t-shirt that clings to his working-man chest and loose dark wash jeans. It’s always surprising to me how he can pull off the rugged man look so effortlessly.
“I’m fine!” I say, recovering quickly. Fuck, my arm and hip hurt.
Rhett reaches out and grabs the side of my face, tilting it up so that he can see my features clearly. It’s like he wants to memorize every curve and line in my face. When his thumb swipes across the streak of tears, I pull away from him, despising that he’s able to read me so easily.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” he asks. “Care if you’re okay or not?”
“I’ll be fine,” I say, lifting my chin a bit.
Rhett goes around to the ash tray and rids himself of his cigarette. He shakes his head as he returns and makes no hint at how he’s feeling.
“I never took you as the type to workout,” he says, and I can tell beneath those dark shades he’s noticing the droplets of sweat beading on my brow and between my breasts.
“There’s a first time for everything,” I say, tone sassy as I go to grab the towel I’d brought with me and turn off the treadmill.
“Alexi has a modeling gig today and tomorrow and Shawn is going to try to track down the man who’s after you. He’ll come out soon and ask you questions. But tonight…you’re coming with me,” he smirks, and fits his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I’m co-hosting an art auction with a few friends of mine. And I want you to come as my date.”
The flood of emotions that I’d just dealt with have to move aside for the slither of excitement that enters my blood.
“An art auction?” I repeat stiffly, wiping my neck and face with the towel. “Is that all it is, or is this a front for something else? Am I going to be around bastards like James and Daniel again?”
Rhett lowers his face to hide his bright smile, and I can tell that he’s rolling his eyes at my suggestion.
“There’ll be a few there selling fake art pieces for quick cash, but most of the guest list are old, rich Greeks and Europeans who make a business of collecting art. It’ll be chill. You’ll be safer there than you would be with Shawn or Alexi, and that went into our decision on who you should go with.”
“And if the asshole I saw in the airport follows us there?” My brows raise in question.
“Shawn will be on his tail. And you’ll always be in my sight,” he says, and reaches out, grabs me by the upper arm and pulls me closer to him so that our bodies slide against one another’s in electric connection. I’ve finally found my breath, but this causes me to gasp again.
“I won’t let anything happen to you. Not this time,” he speaks low, nearly pleading with me to believe him. “Why were you crying, little angel?”
I am stunned by his words and swallow, trying to manifest the correct response. He’s referencing before, when he’d fallen asleep in the hotel while “watching” me and I escaped, having a near-brush with death.
“I don’t like feeling like this,” I explain, and swallow. “Everything that’s happened…it’s a lot. I don’t know how to deal with it. I feel like I’m a mess…I want to know what happened before, if we all fucked, how we fucked, how close I was to each of you…” Rhett grips the plump curve of my thigh in response. “But something inside me is telling me I don’t want to remember…it’s like if I remember then I’m unleashing the darkness inside of me. I think I’m aware of how bad it was maybe subconsciously, and the person I am today hates the idea of it.”
Rhett nods in understanding, resting his forehead against my scalp. He kisses me and wraps his arms around me, lifting me up so that I’m gathered in his hold and unable to move.
“There were a lot of bad things that happened. I won’t lie to you, Allie. Meeting you that day…it felt like the first time. I think for all of us. You are a completely different person. I don’t know how they did it but they did. For others’ safety and yours. Now you’re Allie. Although you look like Penny, everything else about you is changed…your mannerisms, how you speak, how you respond to…touch,” he lets his fingers glide down my side, each fingerprint he leaves acting like a disarming enchantment.
I reach up and let my hands run over the neatly trimmed prickles of his beard, tracing the clean edges and shutting my eyes as I breathe in the oaky scent of him and soak up the warmth of his form against mine.
“It was like meeting a new person,” he relinquishes in a deep exhale. “Although, your memories are mostly right, there is a lot that was taken from you. A lot that was reproduced within you or evolved to seem like something else.”
“Did I really shoot my stepdad?” I blurt, thoughts racing to this pivotal moment in my early twenties.
Rhett is silent for a moment, and then he draws a breath.
“Yes. But not for the reasons you think,” he divulges, and my chest tightens in response.
“Do I want to know the reason?” I whisper, hating that I don’t even know myself or who I am. Hating the fear that swirls in my stomach like a storm of sickness.
“I’d have to explain many things to you so that you could understand why you did it,” he says.
My heart aches, horribly twisted in my chest because of this. Because as much as I don’t want to know, there’s no way that I can exist and function normally without rewriting my past, gaining lost time, and relearning myself.