I stifled my laughter for his sake. “I can’t,”
I confessed. “I don’t know how.”
“I could teach you.”
“Uhh, no thanks.” I didn’t want to admit it
out loud, but the idea horrified me. It was night, the ocean was
huge and dark, and I wasn’t sure I trusted Ayo to be able to teach
me when he didn’t quite know how he was doing it himself. But
despite her power, the sea was tempting. I felt grimy and foul, and
the water would refresh me.
I turned to check with Jenko, but he’d
disappeared into the cabin, probably in search of dinner. I
stripped out of my clothes, sighing with relief as I finally
unwound the bandage around my ribs, but I didn’t jump in. Instead,
I went to the back of the boat. I tried not to think about Donato
as I stepped onto the ladder that led into the sea. Everything
about the moment was set up to bring back the memory of that night,
except that I was utterly terrified. My hands shook. My knuckles
were white on the bars as I climbed down, until I was in up to my
chest and there were no more steps.
“Isn’t it great?” Ayo asked from behind me,
before diving down again into the water, like some kind of duck
bobbing for food on the bottom of the sea.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Great.”
The water did feel wonderful — that much was
true — but it was so huge and deep and endless and frightening. So
cold and unfeeling, ready to erase me completely. It took every
ounce of will to bend my knees enough to dunk my head and hair into
the water, but it was worth it. The coolness of it against my scalp
made up for the fear.
Still, I wasn’t about to let go of the bar, no
matter what Ayo said.
***
I woke in the night, my limbs tangled with
Ayo’s. I’d let him lead me to Donato’s bed sometime long after
sunset. I’d even managed to fall asleep before I had time to think
too much about the last time I’d been between those particular
sheets. But now, in the silent darkness, with nothing but the
gentle slap of the water against the hull of the yacht and the soft
sounds of Ayo’s breathing, Miguel came back to me like a dream. I
felt his hands on my body. I heard his whispered words in my ear. I
remembered how it felt to be made love to in this very bed, our
bodies moving with the rhythm of the sea. I remembered the smell of
our sex and the taste of his kiss.
When I opened my eyes, he was gone. I had
nothing left of him but the empty ache in my chest. I bit my lip,
fighting the urge to cry.
Not here. Not with Ayo near.
I moved quietly, so as not to disturb him as I
left the bed. I didn’t want to go upstairs naked, but the thought
of putting on the clothes I’d been wearing for the last two days
was equally unappealing. I slid open the small closet door to peer
inside.
Two of Donato’s jackets hung inside, and a
single shirt, hanging unbuttoned, with a tie looped crookedly
around its neck. And past that, a familiar white silk
robe.
The gentle ache in my chest grew, pushing into
my throat. Somehow, I’d known it would still be here, waiting for
me.
The train of silk twisted about my legs as I
made my way up the narrow stairs. The engine wasn’t running, which
meant Jenko had gone to bed for the night. I was glad for that. I
didn’t want to see him.
I emerged onto the deck, into the inky
blackness of nighttime upon the sea. The air was damp and cool,
with no hint of a breeze. I hugged the robe around me and gazed up
at the night sky. Stars upon stars upon stars. Tonight, they didn’t
love me. They didn’t worship me. They didn’t make love to me as
they had back then. They felt cold and distant. Lost, without the
moon.
They grieved as well.
I went to the back of the boat, through the
small gate that led to the diving platform, and the ladder that led
down into the black depths. Donato had stood on those steps while
anchoring me. I’d wrapped my legs around him and floated in the
sea. It had been the greatest gift anybody had ever given
me.
I turned away from the water, unwilling to
remember too fully, but unable to forget.
Above me, the stars dominated the sky. Below,
there seemed to be nothing but an eternity of darkness. Tiny hints
of light blinked in and out of being as the water’s cracked surface
reflected starlight, but they were gone quickly, lost in the
uncaring abyss. I sat on the edge of the platform, my legs hanging
over the side. My bare toes didn’t reach the water. I looked down,
almost believing it wasn’t there at all, as if our yacht had been
swallowed by the sky.
I thought of pushing myself forward and
slipping soundlessly into the void. The emptiness seemed so pure
and comforting. I could hear Donato’s voice in my head, so clear I
could almost believe he was sitting next to me, speaking the words
he’d said that night.
Close your eyes. Spread your arms, like
wings. Forget your fear and let your body go soft. Let it find its
natural buoyancy. Let the water lift you up.
But this time, I
wouldn’t let it lift me. Instead, I’d slide quietly into the
silence. The water would be cool and gentle. I could become one
with the night. No more sex.
And no more wine. Just
sleep.
Yes. I could sleep. Out there, with nothing
but starlight.
But I still wouldn’t be with him. I’d never
have another evening like that one, the erotic heat of the wine
coursing through my veins, him moving inside me, whispering to me
of my beauty, telling me he loved me. I’d never lie with him again,
wrapped in his arms, blissfully lost in the pleasure of his touch.
Yes, there had been violence, and rage at times too, but on the
deck of his yacht, surrounded by reminders of the best night of my
life, those blights felt as insignificant as shadows on a wall. I
had loved him, and he had loved me.
The lump in my throat pushed past my guard.
Tears flooded my eyes, turning the pinpricks of light in the sky
into blurred starbursts, reaching for the horizon on all
sides.
I gave up and let myself cry. I cried for
Davlova, and for Anzhéla, and for Frey. But mostly, I cried for
Miguel Donato. My shoulders shook with the force of my sobs. The
boat rocked me, but gave no comfort. I had hated the man, yes, but
I’d loved him too. And at that moment, I didn’t want to face
another day that didn’t include him.
“Misha?”
It was Ayo, calling softly from the cabin. I
curled in on myself, both unable and unwilling to stop the flow of
tears. I didn’t want him to see, or to know, but the grief of
having killed the man I loved could no longer be denied. The
thought of turning away from it hurt more than letting it free. “Go
away,” I wanted to say. But I could no more speak than I could stop
the boat from bobbing on the unfeeling sea.
“Misha, I couldn’t figure out why you’d left.
I was scared.” Ayo was closer now, standing only a foot or two
behind me. The gate squeaked as he let himself through to the
narrow platform on which I sat. “What are you doing out
here?”
I wrapped my arms around myself, wishing the
silk was as warm and substantial as my lover had been. I bit back
anther sob
. I’m grieving. I’m trying to find the courage to slip
into the sea and find him again
.
“Are you crying?”
I didn’t try to deny it. I didn’t try to face
him, either. I stared into the uncaring night and let the tears
bathe my face.
“I can’t believe it,” Ayo said, his voice
suddenly cold and hard. “You’re crying for
him
?”
The accusation hit me, piercing my skin,
striking at my heart. I curled tighter on myself, like a seashell,
wanting to protect that part of me that had loved them both. Yes,
he’d been cruel on occasion, but I had to mourn the part of him
that had been kind. “You don’t understand.”
“You’re right. I don’t.”
My chest ached from the force of my tears, as
if it could no longer contain the entirety of my grief. I breathed
deep of the night’s emptiness, letting it fill me, willing it to
erase the pain. “Ayo…” I leaned against the cool metal bar at the
top of the ladder, finding some small amount of comfort in its
solid presence. “I loved him.”
“Loved
him? Have you forgotten what he
did to me? Or to
you
?”
I shook my head. “Of course not.”
“You must have. How else could you cry for
him, when your face is still bruised and your lips swollen from
where he hit you? Your ribs are covered in bruises. Your back too.”
As if to prove it, he nudged me there, pushing roughly on a spot
where Donato had kicked me. I jumped at the intrusion into my
space, wincing at the pain. It was testimony that Donato had lived,
only a few short days before.
“It’s hard to explain—”
“Have you forgotten that he nearly killed you?
That he wanted to kill me? Have you forgotten the belt, Misha? Or
the way—”
“I haven’t forgotten!” I turned to stare at
him. Even with his pale skin, I could barely see him in the
darkness. I wished the stars could burn brighter for me. I wished
they could make him understand what I’d lost.
Yes
, I
thought,
let him see my bruises. Let him see my tears too.
“He wasn’t always like that with me.”
He watched me for a moment, his expression
lost to me in the starlight. “I didn’t know.”
I turned away again, back to the sea. I had no
strength left. No will to try to make him understand. The harsh
truth was, I barely knew Ayo, but Donato had been my lover in every
sense of the word. I’d wanted only to be alone with my guilt and my
grief, but even that seemed lost to me now. Even that must become
part of my past.
“We’ll be in Deliphine tomorrow,” he said at
last, his voice fragile and small.
The sudden change of subject confused me. “I
know.”
“Will you sell me there?”
“What?” The question was so surprising, and
said in such a matter-of-fact tone, it brought me instantly to my
feet. “Why would you even ask that?”
“It’s the logical thing. I’d bring a good
price. Then you’d have the money—”
“No!” I cupped his soft cheek in my hand. It
was wet with tears, and the weight of my guilt increased, nudging
my grief aside. I brushed my thumb over his full, soft lips. “Ayo,
I’d never do that to you.”
“Why would you keep me, if he was the one you
loved?”
The question was simple, but the answer was
far too complex for me to even piece together in my own mind, let
alone put into words. It wasn’t about “keeping” him or not, since
he wasn’t a slave. I wanted to be with him, but I was afraid of
telling him that, lest he feel he was required to stay with me, or
worse, to treat me as his master. And yes, I’d loved the man who
had abused him for years, but my feelings for Donato existed
alongside whatever it was I felt for Ayo.
“I loved him,” I conceded. “But I killed him
too.”
His breath caught in his throat. He stood
utterly still, his eyes turned up to me, his soft lips still moist
with tears. “Why?”
“For you. Don’t you see? I did it all for
you.”
He trembled in my arms. Tear spilled over his
perfect lashes. “Misha—”
I leaned down and kissed him, because it was
the only thing I could do. Partly because I wanted to stop his
questions. To still his mind, and mine. But more than that, I had
to taste the sheen of tears upon his lips, shining in the starlight
like an invitation. I pulled him against me, one hand on his back
and one buried in his golden curls. My kiss started gentle, but
grew bolder as his arms crept around my neck. He tasted like pure
sunlight, if such a thing was possible. I felt the darkness of the
night fall away. The desire to leap into the abyss was gone, and
all that was left was my desire to be lost in him. I wanted not
only to taste him, but to know every inch of him. To worship him.
To somehow pour every ounce of grief and guilt and confusion into
his soft flesh, and to emerge clean on the other side. I imagined
ravishing him, and being baptized in the cries of his
pleasure.
I wanted that, and nothing more.
I pulled at his hair, demanding further,
deeper entrance into the sweetness of his mouth, and he gasped. He
went limp in my arms. His labored breath became a deep, tremulous
moan. I felt movement against my thigh as he began to grow
hard.
I’d heard those moans before, and they weren’t
associated with anything erotic in my mind. Alarm flared in my
brain. I broke the kiss, panting and breathless, trying to put a
sliver of space between us on the narrow platform without either of
us falling into the sea.
“Why did you stop?” he asked.
Because I wanted him too much. Because in my
urgency, I’d hurt him. Only a little, to be sure, a seemingly
innocent tug against his curls, but it had been enough to trigger
his program. It had instantly cast us in our roles, him as slave,
and myself as his master.
That was the last thing I wanted.
“Don’t you want me?”
“Goddess, yes, but not this way.”
He nodded, although I sensed his confusion. I
could feel his unease. But for better or worse, questions weren’t
his nature. Or maybe they simply weren’t in his program.