Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 132097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
“Damage? What damage?” I stare at the faded paper. “What did he do?”
“No clue. It doesn’t say.” Ethan folds up the two pieces of paper, shrugs, and puts them in his breast pocket. “I’ll take a better look later. Might explain why they were estranged my whole life.”
Weird.
I think back to what I know about Elvira Blackthorn, which isn’t much.
She didn’t exactly come around to see us when we’d spend our summers here. In hindsight, her absence was glaring.
Why did she avoid her father like he was poison?
From what little I’ve seen, she seems like a cartoon of wealth and power, living an easy life centered around chasing comfort.
She seems more concerned with social clout than she ever was with raising her kids. But if some tragic backstory made her that way, well, that’s a little more interesting.
But I shouldn’t get carried away.
This isn’t some amped up Netflix drama.
These are real people.
If Elvira has more dimensions than a showy love of wealth and luxury, that’s hardly a bad thing. Maybe Leonidas caused her to be that way.
Except I can’t believe that, either.
The rare times he mentioned his daughter at all, he always danced around the subject. Deep down, I think he was sad that Elvira kept her distance.
I eye Ethan’s pocket, wishing I’d had the guts to read the letter myself.
“Maybe we should take a closer look now?”
“No point. I’ll ask Mom later,” Ethan says, sounding as wary as I am about it. “I wonder if Mom found your hiding place before Margot did. Or hell, was it Gramps? Think that empty bottle next to it was Ouzo. He loved that stuff, always said it took him back to his trips to Greece when he was young.”
“It’s weird thinking about them coming here like we did…”
“Yeah.” His gaze lands on me and heats.
My dress feels too small.
“It would be a plot twist if you found a real skeleton digging through the old pirate ship. You Blackthorn men and your deep, dark secrets,” I joke, hoping for—well, something.
Him, opening up to me, telling me what little he knows.
Instead, a shadow crosses his face, almost too quick to notice.
His smile, when it comes, feels bittersweet.
Ares, bored of the boat, barks impatiently, basking in the evening sunlight on the sand.
“Yeah, we’re coming. Don’t get your long-ass ears into a knot,” Ethan says, taking my hand and guiding me forward.
Despite his touch, there’s a restless ache in my belly.
And it isn’t the first time I wonder just what secrets he keeps so close to his chest.
14
ALL TOO SUDDEN (ETHAN)
It’s a hard damn thing to accept when life starts going too well.
Most people just take it at face value.
They’re not naturally suspicious of happiness, but I’ve learned it’s the kind of thing you can’t trust.
It doesn’t last.
Life has this way of dangling it under your nose like a carrot, making you think you want it—making you think you can have it—right before snatching it away.
It’s been a few weeks since Hattie and I started fucking, and everything feels too easy.
That has its benefits. The thought of marrying her come July no longer feels like drowning.
That alone should worry me.
When I first learned about the marriage clause, I was livid. Disturbed the old man went that far to make sure I’d tie the knot with a woman I barely knew.
Now, I’ve accepted my fate.
Hell, I don’t mind it.
Six months of easy conversations and soul-soaring sex doesn’t scare me.
Another reason I should worry.
But my worries feel as distant as the receding shore as we take Gramps’ yacht out for one last spin.
It’s been a harder decision than I let on, coming to terms with selling the yacht and the old house. There are so many memories attached to this place.
The happiest times of my youth still live there, the days before I found out just how stifling and brutal life can be.
Ares sunbathes on the deck with Hattie’s flip-flops beside him and an old chew bone under his paws.
He seems comfortable in his new life with us, ready to lumber up for walks or deliver a few slobbery dog kisses between napping the rest of the day.
Surprisingly, Ares is the easiest part Gramps left behind.
Selling the house is going to take serious time and probably a lot of emotional second-guessing from Margot and Cleo. There’s also more inheritance to sort out with both of them, and I told Wilkes I wouldn’t interfere when the time comes.
Maybe I’ll keep the yacht after all.
It’s not like I have any special need for it, but it would be a shame to see it go. Especially when Ares is still around to enjoy the summer sunsets and the wind blowing his mile-long ears back.
I snort, shaking my head.
When did I go so soft? When did I start caring what this geriatric dog wants so much?