UNMASKED: Volume 2 Page 3

  But if that were true, I’d already be arrested, wouldn’t I?

  I take a deep breath to calm my nerves and make a conscious decision to not worry. Turning to Nick, I see he’s already casting a devious sideways smile in my direction.

  “What are you smiling at?”

  He shakes his head. “Nothing.”

  “You don’t have to be shy,” I say, nudging him with my shoulder. “Speak your mind.”

  He looks me up and down a few times as we continue climbing the incline, then he stops walking and grabs my hand to stop me. “Can I ask you a favor?” I stare into his green eyes for a moment before I nod. “Can you pretend to be my girlfriend tonight?”

  “What?”

  He scrunches his nose in a shameful expression. “I know it sounds weird, but my family has been very concerned about me since I got divorced last year. That’s why I’m here. I grew tired of them trying to set me up on dates and giving me pep talks. I was just hoping you could … you know, pretend to be my special friend so they’ll stop driving me crazy.”

  “Your special friend?” His eyes plead with me not to make this so difficult for him and I begin to feel a little bad for questioning him. “I’m sorry. This is just very strange for me. I’ve never … had a boyfriend. I wouldn’t know how to behave.”

  I stare at the Real Madrid logo on the front of his shirt to keep from seeing the look on his face now that he knows I’ve never had a boyfriend. I’m not sure what Daimon was, but he definitely wasn’t a boy and he was much more than a friend. He was my lover and my enemy wrapped in one tasty package.

  “Alyssa?” I look up into his eyes and he’s grinning. “You drifted off for a moment. Is everything okay? You don’t have to do this. I just thought there was no harm in asking. I’ll understand if you don’t feel comfortable pretending.”

  I smile as I realize that I have nothing to be ashamed of. He’s the one asking me to pretend to be his girlfriend.

  I let out a relieved sigh. “Sure. I’ll pretend to be your special friend.”

  “Are you making fun of me?” he says, continuing up the hill.

  “Yes, I’m making fun of you for saying the words special friend.”

  “How should I introduce you? I can call you my novia, which means girlfriend in Spanish. Is that okay?”

  I look straight ahead so I don’t have to see the hopeful expression on his face as I contemplate this. I don’t know how long I’m going to be on this island. Is it wise for people to think I have a boyfriend? It might work to my advantage in keeping creepy men away (for their own good.) But there’s always the possibility that I’m being watched. By whom, I don’t know.

  Part of me believes there’s no way Daimon could have survived what I did to him. Another part of me knows I made a mistake that night. A mistake that could have everlasting consequences if Daimon isn’t dead.

  I shouldn’t care what Daimon would think of me moving on with Nick so soon. But I can’t help but feel an inkling of hope that I may have misunderstood. Maybe he did kill my father in self-defense that night on Hope Street. Maybe my parents did kidnap me.

  “Alyssa?”

  I look up and realize we’re standing in front of a small white stucco house with bright blue trim and teak shutters. The sun has set a bit more and half the sky is a dusky midnight-blue while the other half is a brilliant pinkish-gold. Why would anyone ever leave a place this beautiful?

  “Is it okay?” he asks again.

  I nod quickly before I can change my mind. “Yes, you can call me your nuvia.”

  He chuckles. “Not nuvia. Novia. With an o.”

  “Yes, that too.”

  He smiles as he steps toward me and takes my face in his strong hands. Then he lays a soft kiss on my forehead.

  “You have so much to learn.” He lets go of my face and I feel short of breath as he looks me in the eye. “Come. I want to introduce you to everyone.”

  As we walk up the front steps, a tall blonde throws the front screen door open, her eyes wide at the sight of Nick. “Nicolas!” she shouts in a gritty Spanish accent.

  He smiles at the exuberant greeting as he leans in to hug her. She plants a loud kiss on his cheek and he looks a bit embarrassed as he pulls away.

  “No seas tímido. No te he visto en casi ocho años!”

  She turns to me and holds out her arms for a hug. I give her a limp squeeze and she eyes me warily when she pulls away.

  “Y quien es esta chica?”

  Nick looks at me, smiling apologetically. “She’s asking who you are.” He turns to the blonde. “Alyssa es mi novia. No habla español.” He turns back to me. “Alyssa, this is my cousin Veronica, but everyone calls her Vero.”

  “Mucho gusto,” I say to Veronica with a nod. I do remember how to say nice to meet you.

  She looks confused, and rightly so. If he’s been here three days, his family has probably already gone to see him in his cottage. And I wasn’t there.

  We didn’t think this through. We’ll have to confess the truth soon or this lie is going to keep growing.

  Veronica smiles and exchanges a short conversation with Nick in rapid-fire Spanish, then she heads off down the hillside. Nick opens the screen door for me and I step inside, feeling even more intimidated than I did before we arrived.

  He closes the door as he enters behind me, then he leans in to whisper in my ear. “Don’t worry. My other cousin, Beto, speaks English.”

  I shoot off a few more mucho gustos as we navigate through the crowded living room. Nick explains to everyone that I don’t speak Spanish and they all smile and nod at me while trying not to stare too long at my discolorations. I smile and nod back. It all feels so very awkward and forced, until we get to a small kitchen where a young guy is stirring a pot on the stove.

  “Oye, pedo!” Nick shouts and the guy whips his head around and his eyes light up at the sight of Nick.

  “Did you just call him a pedo?” I whisper to Nick.

  He laughs and shakes his head. “That means fart in Spanish. It’s a nickname.”

  “Fart?”

  Nick and his friend embrace and, like Veronica, this guy kisses Nick on the cheek.

  “Alyssa, this is my cousin, Beto.” Nick introduces us and Beto holds out his hand for a handshake. “Beto, this is my girlfriend, Alyssa.”

  The lie sounds even worse this time than the last ten times he repeated it.

  I shake Beto’s hand and he pulls me into a hug. He kisses me on the cheek, his warm lips lingering a bit too long, until Nick claps him on the back.

  “Hey, hey. That’s enough.”

  Beto lets go and winks at me. “Forgive me, Alyssa. It’s very rare that we get American women on this island.” His eyes quickly glance over every inch of my face and hair. “You’re quite exotic.”

  With his dark eyes, messy brown hair, and fair skin, he reminds me a bit of the actor, James Franco. He’s gorgeous, though not as good looking as Nick. But the low timbre of his voice is quite mesmerizing. It reminds me a bit of—No! I must stop thinking of Daimon. I’m here to have fun.

  “I’ve never been called exotic, but I’ll take it as a compliment. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Are you hungry? We have arepas and bacalao. And if you’re thirsty, my Tia Nancy made some delicious sangritos.”

  “I have no idea what any of that stuff is, but I’ll have a drink.”

  “Good choice!” Beto says, giving me a thumbs-up.

  Apparently, a sangrito is sangria mixed with mojito: rose wine, white rum, crushed mint leaves, and fresh fruit combine to make a lethal cocktail. After one glass, my face is numb. But I haven’t thought of Daimon in at least thirty minutes. So I tell Beto to pour me another.

  “How long are you staying on the island?” Beto asks me, handing over the freshly topped off glass of sangrito.

  I should probably let Nick answer this question, but instead I blurt out, “As long as it takes!”

  Beto laughs and glances at Nick. �
��As long as what takes?”

  Nick looks concerned. “Alyssa, sweetheart, are you okay?”

  I wave off his concern. “Pfft! I’m great.”

  “Maybe I should take you outside to get some fresh air,” Beto offers, resting his warm hand on my bare shoulder.

  Nick peels Beto’s hand off me and coils his arm around my neck. “I’ll take her.”

  I assume he’s going to take me to the backyard, but he takes me back through the front door. Then we start off down the hillside.

  “Are you taking me home?” I slur. “I don’t want to go home yet.”

  “I think you should probably rest.”

  My sandals slap against the pavement as gravity carries us down the hillside much faster than when we ascended. But Nick maintains a firm grip on my hand, and he yanks me back to stop me from plunging into the intersection. The small pickup truck that was about to run me over passes by and I giggle nervously.

  “Oh, shit. That was close.”

  “Too close,” he mutters, sounding a bit annoyed. “Come. I’m taking you home.”

  “I don’t want to go home.”

  I repeat this a few times, imagining it to be some sort of magic phrase, like there’s no place like home. Only this time, I won’t be whisked away to the false safety of my home. This time, I’ll be carried away to some place magical and adventurous.

  Nick’s laughter gets my attention.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You,” he replies, reaching up to brush a piece of hair out of my face. “I get it. You don’t want to go home. So I won’t take you home. I’ll take you somewhere else.”

  We walk right past Nick’s house and my house until we reach a set of stairs that leads down to the harbor below. We pass a few shops and restaurants that are closed for the evening, though one bar remains open and quite lively. We cross through a small parking lot and Nick stops at a guard station near the entrance to the docks.

  He carries on a short conversation with the guard, then he leads me down the dark dock. A flitter of movement on my right gets my attention, but when I turn my head all I find is a forty-foot sailboat. I laugh at my paranoia when I see one of the riggings fluttering in the soft evening breeze.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Right here,” Nick replies, stopping next to a small rowboat at the end of the dock.

  My stomach vaults at the sight of the boat as horrible scenarios play out in my mind. I imagine us rowing out to sea and a storm sweeps us away. Or our boat overturns and we’re gobbled up by sharks. Or stung to death by jellyfish.

  “No way. I’m not getting in there.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s totally safe. I’ll get in first so I can help you in. Come.” He steps into the boat, then he holds both his hands out to me. “Come closer.”

  I step forward until the toes of my sandals are hanging over the edge of the dock. Nick reaches up and clasps his large hands around my waist. Then, as if I weigh nothing, he picks me up and sets me down in the boat.

  I immediately lose my footing when the boat rocks and I fall back onto my butt. Despite my embarrassment, I laugh harder than I have all night. Nick holds out his hand to help me up, but I wave off his offer of assistance.

  “I think I’m much safer down here.”

  He laughs as he unhooks the rope from the dock and tosses it onto the floor of the boat somewhere behind him. “I think you’re right. And I think I’ll join you.”

  I howl with laughter when he plops down next to me, then I scream when the movement causes a small bit of water to splash onto my arm.

  “It’s just water, Alyssa.”

  I sit up and the slight rocking of the boat combined with the alcohol sloshing inside my belly are making me queasy. Not one to admit defeat, I grab the two wooden oars lying under my right foot and hand one to Nick.

  “Sit up and row,” I order him.

  He raises his eyebrows at my bossiness, but he can’t hide his smile as he sits up across from me so we’re knee-to-knee. Then we row. I grip the handle of the oar in both hands and push it forward. It dips into the ocean and I pull the handle backward to propel the boat through the water. It feels good to do something physical, considering all I’ve done since I arrived on the island five days ago is walk the streets.

  About ten minutes later, I begin to feel the burn in my arms and, looking up, I notice we’re quite a ways from the docks. The harbor lights twinkle in the distance and the moonlight paints the surface of the water a sparkling silver.

  “Wow… Why has it taken you eight years to come back here? It’s beautiful.”

  Nick takes the oar from my hand and, for a moment, I have a weird feeling he’s going to throw them into the ocean, along with me. Instead, he sets both oars back on the floor of the rowboat. Then he grabs my hands as he scoots forward a little so one of his knees is between my thighs.

  “Beauty appreciates beauty.” He reaches up and softly runs his fingers through my white streak of hair, sending a chill through me. “My mother taught me that only beautiful people are able to see the beauty in the world.” He delicately traces his fingertips over my cheekbone and down to my jawline. “All this is wonderful, but your true beauty lies inside here.” He brings his hand to rest on my chest. “That is what makes you able to appreciate the beauty this island has to offer.” He leans forward and lays a soft kiss on the corner of my mouth. “And why this island has so much to offer you.”

  His other hand lands on my thigh as he kisses me. And, though his insight on beauty reminds me of Daimon, he doesn’t seem to measure up otherwise. I begin comparing the movement and pressure of his lips and tongue to that of Daimon.

  Daimon wouldn’t swirl his tongue like that. Daimon wouldn’t open his mouth that wide.

  So stupid. Of course, Daimon wouldn’t do any of those things, because he’s dead.

  Nick moans into my mouth as his hand pushes up the skirt of my dress.

  I lay my hand over his and pull my head back to stop him. “I think I should go home.”

  “So soon?”

  “Yes.”

  He sits back and I can’t tell if he’s disappointed or angry. “As you wish.”

  He insists on working both oars on the way back, but the movement of the boat begins to make me queasy again. The moment the boat arrives at the dock, I let a stream of vomit loose into the ocean.

  “Sorry, fishies,” I groan, swiping my hand across my mouth.

  As soon as Nick helps me out of the boat and onto the dock, I vomit again on his Real Madrid T-shirt.

  “Sorry!” I shriek.

  He smiles as he shushes me. “We have to keep it down. There are people who live on these sailboats. And don’t worry about the shirt.”

  I agree to spend the night in Nick’s bed after he explains to me that I can die if I choke on my vomit in my sleep. I don’t remember much of the walk up to his house other than my vomiting in front of the guard station and onto the stairs leading up to our street. All I know is that, once I’m lying in Nick’s bed, and he spoons me, I forget all about Daimon’s kiss.

  Chapter Four

  I open my eyes and the sunlight streaming through the window is shining right in my face. A sharp pain pulsates behind my right eye and I hold my hand up to block the light.

  “You’re awake.”

  I’m suddenly aware of something heavy draped across my belly. Looking down, I see it’s Nick’s arm. I turn sideways and he’s lying on his belly, his cheek nestled against the pillow, wearing a devilish grin.

  A burning sensation builds inside my belly. At first I mistake it for butterflies, but as soon as he moves his arm, I realize I’m going to be sick.

  “Where’s your bathroom?” I shout my plea as I jump out of bed. “Which way?”

  “In the corridor. First door on the left.”

  I race out of the bedroom and into the tiny bathroom with the gray walls and marble floors. Slamming the door behind me, I kneel in front of the toilet and
gag mercilessly. But nothing comes up, save for a mouthful of bitter, stinging bile.

  I rinse my mouth and wipe the tears produced by the effort of my dry heaves. I’m never drinking again. Why would anyone willingly put themselves through that? Humans are strange mammals.

  I take a deep breath and I can smell the coffee in the bathroom. Nick must be up. Coming out of the bathroom, I put on a big smile when I find Nick standing next to the kitchen counter, pouring some coffee into a green mug.

  “Sit down. I’ll make you my hangover cure.”

  “I should probably get going.”

  He brings me the green mug of coffee and puts his hand on the small of my back to guide me toward the kitchen table. “You need to eat something. I promise. This will kill your hangover.”

  Kill my hangover, I think to myself as I take a seat. Interesting choice of words.

  “I’m really not hungry. You don’t have to make me anything. I just want to go home and take a shower. And maybe go back to bed for a while.”

  “You can take a shower here,” he says, taking a skillet out of a cupboard.

  “I don’t have any clothes. I’ll just wait until I’m home.”

  He chuckles as he grabs a whole slew of ingredients from his refrigerator: eggs, tomato, onion, potatoes, and a few ingredients I don’t recognize. He’s probably going to make me an omelet. I guess since we’re in Spain, it would be a Spanish omelet. The thought of eating eggs right now makes my stomach clench and I take deep breaths through my nose to keep from gagging.

  “I’m sorry. I really have to get going,” I say, rising from the table and quickly heading for the front door. “I’m not feeling well, but I do appreciate this.”

  “Wait. I’m—”

  “I’m sorry!” I shout as I hurry outside and quickly close the door behind me.

  I rush down the paved walkway and out the garden gate, never looking back. The smell of the ocean is like a soothing balm for my lungs. I realize then just how cooped up I felt in that house with Nick.

  As I cross the street, I hear footsteps behind me. My heart races as I imagine Nick running after me. I turn around, prepared to tell him to go home, but there’s no one there.