The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

by Amelia Wilde

  Her belly tenses. “Don’t let go again.”

  “I’m going to let go again. You’re not swimming if a man has to follow you around and hold you up.”

  “Just not yet.”

  “All right.”

  This earns me another sidelong glance. “Seriously?”

  “Yes, seriously.” The rest of me is holding all of her tension and the unbearable want of her. This whole scenario is mild torture. But I came down here with a goal, and the goal is not to fuck around until sunrise, as much as I want to fuck with her. “It would be counter to the mission to let go of you, since you’d freak out again. So shut your pretty mouth and learn to swim.”

  Ashley laughs, and I start at the beginning. With kicking. With where to put her arms in the water. I make her blow bubbles into the surface of the ocean, then practice turning her head side to side in time with her strokes. I don’t actually give a fuck about the strokes. Most people, given enough time in the water, will figure out the easiest way to get themselves from A to B. I want her to be able to float, which means she can’t freeze up every time she jumps in without a buoy.

  I do not ask her what the hell happened in her life that her wealthy father never hired someone who wasn’t me to teach his daughter the basics. Or, if he did hire someone, what that person did to fuck it up this badly.

  We go over keeping one’s head above the water and what it actually looks like when a person is drowning. We go over what to do if she’s caught in a riptide. We go over ways to orient herself if she falls in.

  Ashley’s paddling now, careful to keep her face out of the water. Basically a dog paddle. The least graceful stroke in the history of mankind, but at least she’s floating. “So, look for bubbles as a last resort.”

  “Ideally, you’ll keep your breath in your lungs. But yeah. As a last resort.”

  The corners of her mouth turn down in a little frown. “This is all nice, but when am I actually going to swim? Or at least float.”

  My laugh bounces off the waves and the boat, doubling back on us and disappearing into the stars.

  “I mean it.”

  I hold both hands out of the water.

  Ashley gasps in a big mouthful of ocean. Sputters. Starts to sink.

  And catches herself.

  Her entire face lights up with this tiny victory, and she shrieks with pure, feminine delight. “Look,” she says. “Look!” She paddles toward me, beaming in the moonlight, and this time when her body meets mine, she’s light and free, not dragged down by tension and dread.

  She kisses my cheek.

  It’s sweet for a split second, and then she turns her head. Ashley’s lips meet mine in a hard press of salt and triumph, and it’s like she’s won a battle.

  I know what that’s like.

  I’m winning one right now, too. The difference is that I’ve decided to surrender to this insistent, obnoxious need and kiss her back. Fuck it. Fuck everything except this moment.

  Ashley might have finally learned to swim, but all of her is relieved when I wrap a hand around the back of her neck and pull her in close. The kiss gets deeper, dirtier. She nips at my bottom lip.

  And pulls away.

  “It got dark,” she says. And I feel it again—the fear that starts at her toes and works all the way up through her muscles to the top of her head. The kind of fear that will send you to the bottom of the sea. The sea is a jealous lover. It’ll keep you forever, if you give it the chance. Her teeth start to chatter. She hasn’t been cold all this time, but now things are different.

  She’s right to be afraid.

  She’s here with me, after all.

  I taught her to swim, not to save herself from me.

  Maybe I never will.

  I take her in my arms because I can, and because I know as soon as we're above the surface she’ll be freezing again. If her hands lock up while we’re climbing the ladder we’ll be out here longer. It doesn’t take long to swim us both back to the side of the ship.

  Ashley’s shivering after three rungs but doing a valiant job of trying to hide it. “You can’t keep carrying me everywhere, you know.”

  “The fuck I can’t.”

  She doesn’t fight me on it.

  13

  Ashley

  Poseidon either gets up early or doesn’t sleep. He’s not there when I wake up the next morning.

  Neither is a new ball and chain. It’s an improvement for sure, and I take full advantage of it. I stretch my leg high up in the air as I lie down in bed, emboldened by my new freedom. It’s something I could do every day of my life before this, but it’s not something I ever really appreciated until now, when it had been deprived.

  This time, when I get to the galley, I can sit on one of those stools without awkwardly trying to keep the ball on my lap.

  It smells good in here. The oven opens and closes out of sight. “What are you baking?”

  The plate appears first, followed by the cook. He clears his throat. “Try one.”

  He’s given me a cinnamon roll, hot from the oven and drizzled in icing, a fork perched along the edge of the plate. Tears come to my eyes. It’s dramatic for a cinnamon roll. I know that. So I blink away the tears and pick up the fork. “I didn’t know you could make cinnamon rolls.”

  The first bite is like coming back from the dead. I haven’t had anything this good since the eggs yesterday, and before that, nothing compared.

  “Every good cook knows how to bake at least one thing.”

  It’s half-gone already and I could eat an entire tray. “And this is your thing?”

  A pot meets the stove, and the catch of the gas ticks and flames. “My daughter liked them. I thought you might, too.”

  Past tense. My throat goes tight, the ache contrasting with the sweetness and cinnamon on my tongue. “What else did she like?”

  The silence goes on so long I think he’s not going to answer. I wouldn’t, if I were him. I would ignore me until I stopped pestering him. He stirs a pot, and a utensil clatters in the sink. “She loved to swim.” He pokes his head out so I can see the arch of his eyebrow, the warmth of memory in his eyes. “Not like you.”

  I lay the fork primly on the plate. “I’m a beginner.”

  “So Poseidon says.”

  My cheeks heat, but Cook is back out of sight. I wonder which details about last night Poseidon left out. If he left any out.

  But it’s fine. If Poseidon can spend his spare time talking about me to the Cook, then turnabout’s fair play. Before I can get down from the stool, Cook slides a napkin over the pass-through. Inside is a crispy strip of bacon, broken in two, and a buttered English muffin.

  “Thank you,” I say over the kitchen noise.

  He doesn’t answer.

  I go up to the deck, which is a midmorning kind of busy that matches the peaceful sea. The usual cleaning is going on. Usual—like I know about how things work on pirate ships. A youngish man sits on top of a big shipping crate, looking over the sea. Poseidon is nowhere in sight.

  The guy on the crate looks approachable enough, so I take a bite of bacon and wade in. He looks down at my food and raises his eyebrows. “What did you have to do to get that? Seduce the cook?”

  I put a hand to the side of my face. “I would never.”

  He laughs, then sticks his hand down over the side of the crate. “I’m Jason. Put in a good word for me, would you? I’d kill for bacon.”

  “Ashley.” I shake his hand, then lean against the railing. “We could do a trade. I could tell the cook about your affinity for bacon, and you could tell me what Poseidon’s deal is.”

  One leg swings against the side of the crate. “I don’t know that much about him.”

  “It’s more than I know.”

  Jason purses his lips. He reminds me of Robbie in some ways. Cute. Easygoing, at least on the surface. Maybe that’s why I decided to talk to him first. “I know he’s got a family back home.”

  “Really?” My heart burns like the c
ook’s holding it too near a flame. “Like kids?”

  He snorts. “No. I mean brothers. I’ve heard him on the phone with them. He’s always threatening to throw his phone overboard.”

  Brothers. More than one. Longing feels hollow, so I eat half an English muffin to fill the space. I always wanted siblings. Maybe Poseidon doesn’t. “Where’s home, then?”

  A shrug. “A city, I guess. He’s never said. Maybe he’s looking for it out here.”

  “Looking for what?” The voice behind me turns out to be Nicholas, who is definitely the first mate. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

  Jason unfolds himself from the crate and hops down to the deck, giving me a salute as he goes. “Nice to meet you, Ashley.”

  Nicholas watches him leave, then moves past me to stand by the railing on the other side. There’s a tension all through his shoulders, like he’s on alert. I don’t see anything in the water, though, or on the horizon. Nicholas taps his phone with his fingertips, but he doesn’t take it out of his pocket.

  “Are you waiting for bad news?”

  He flicks his eyes up to me. “Not bad news. Just news.”

  More curiosity stirs itself up like the breeze. “Don’t tease me like that, Nick.”

  A gruff laugh. “Nobody calls me Nick.”

  I take a chance. “Not even your sweetheart back home?”

  He shoots me a look. “Sweetheart?”

  “You’re dying to check your messages. I can tell.” I’m dying to check mine too, but there’s no help for it. I don’t have a phone, and I’m not going to have one until this ordeal is over. I still miss it. I keep looking for that damn thing every time my mind wanders.

  The corner of Nicholas’s mouth turns up. “I’m waiting for news about our next destination.”

  “More shipping stuff?”

  A sidelong look at me. I do my best to keep my face pleasant and neutral. Interested, but not too interested.

  Nicholas gives in. “We’re in this part of the ocean for a personal detour. Not sure where the stop is. Depends on the information I get.”

  “For Poseidon, you mean.”

  “Yeah.” He folds his arms over his chest. “That’s what I mean.”

  “A personal detour,” I muse out loud, letting the sea breeze toy with my hair. “Is he a collector, then?”

  Another pause. I’m taking a lot of risks today with all these questions. I’m past due for my luck to run out. But then Nicholas shifts. “He’s been looking for the damn things for years. I don’t know what’ll happen when he finds all of them.”

  My heart races. I live for this. I can’t help living for this. It’s the closest thing I have to the life I left. It’s that and more. I lived in the text conversations and group chats because it was my life. Poseidon is more than my life. My skin tingles, being this close to knowing about him, knowing a fact that makes Nicholas look out over the sea with concern in his eyes. The air seems supersaturated, too bright for my lungs.

  Play it cool, Ashley.

  “Finds all of what?”

  “Finds the….” Nicholas turns toward me, his back against the crates. His eyes focus on a point over my shoulder. One of his feet moves like he wishes he could back up another step, put more space between us, but there’s no room.

  “Nicholas,” I say, pitching my voice low, keeping my body relaxed. “What are you looking at?”

  “I can’t say.”

  The wind moves, a subtle shift in direction, and the cries of the gulls that were resting on the far railing fade away. Waves roll up to the side of the ship, the splash intensifying, as if the sea is excited.

  “He’s sneaking up on me, isn’t he?”

  Nicholas holds his breath, then lets it out. “Yeah.”

  “How far?”

  “Twenty feet, give or take. Fifteen.”

  Every nerve sparks, firing fast, and I reach forward and shove my empty napkin into Nicholas’s hand.

  Then I turn around and rush Poseidon.

  He was sneaking before but now he’s running flat out, the space between us pulling tight in a second. Cut right! flashes through my mind, but I don’t. I run straight at him, the sea’s own anticipation singing in my veins.

  I’m expecting a crash, a hard stop against harder muscles, but instead we meet in movement. I’m off my feet, off the deck, my jump propelled by Poseidon’s own leap up the side of the railing and over the top. “How dare—” I manage, but we’re suspended for a glimmering instant above the sea, the cloudless sky wheeling overhead. Poseidon’s laughing. We’re falling. We’re flying.

  14

  Ashley

  Something very soft hits me in the face.

  I’m so tired that I consider ignoring it completely. Last night, Poseidon pulled me out of bed and threw me over the side of the ship. I’m proud I didn’t scream on the way down and only breathed in a little ocean water before I got myself back to the surface. It was choppier last night, less predictable, almost like he increased the difficulty of the sea to test me.

  Who knows? Maybe he did.

  The soft thing is completely over my face, making it hard to breathe.

  I roll over onto my back and lift it away. A sun dress with an ombré pattern, white running down to blush-pink. Poseidon stands at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, sea-green eyes impatient.

  “Where did you get this?”

  He quirks his lips. “Would you believe me if I told you Amazon Prime delivers to the ocean?”

  I sit up and bury my face in the dress. Compared to the linen and canvas I’ve been wearing it feels like the clothing of angels. Jesus, I took all my nice things for granted. For so long. The shame of this makes my face heat. Lucky for me, it’s hidden behind a cute, soft sundress. “No, seriously. Where can I get more of this?”

  “Get dressed, princess. Let’s go shopping.”

  I lift my head from God’s own perfection in a mass-produced dress and stare at him. “Say that again.”

  “I’m leaving the ship in ten minutes. Be on the deck, or no shopping.” Poseidon gives me a pointed look and leaves.

  The mad sprint to and through the bathroom takes less than five minutes. I have nothing but the comb, so it’s fast. The sundress hits at the ankle in a delicious flow of fabric. Given my complete lack of underwear, I’m surprised he didn’t choose a shorter dress. Then again, it doesn’t get much more embarrassing than not being able to swim in front of a pirate.

  Poseidon waits on the deck, and when he sees me, light flashes through his eyes like a secret in dark water—gone in a twist of silver. A glance down my front confirms that he can in fact see the shadows of my nipples through the white top of the dress.

  “I hope we’re not swimming there. Otherwise, I’m going to be putting on a show for the cashier.”

  “You’re already putting on a show,” he says as I meet him at the railing of the ship. “Don’t fall in, and you should be fine.”

  “Fine?”

  “Dry, at least.”

  We climb down the side of the ship and into a dinghy tied to the ladder. Poseidon sets us free and aims us over shallow turquoise water toward land.

  Toward close land.

  At the sight of it, tears come to my eyes. This isn’t home, but it is a place where I can get my legs under me again. I brush the tears away before he can see. Poseidon brings us up alongside a narrow dock and loops the lines onto the dock cleats. He sticks a hand down to help me out and lifts me onto the dock. I touch one single step on the way up.

  “Oh, it feels so good to be—”

  I don’t finish the sentence because I’m falling. The dock tilts to the side, taking my balance with it. Poseidon stops my inevitable headfirst crash into the dinghy with one big hand and an enormous laugh. The heat of his palm through my dress shouldn’t matter. He touches me all the time. Instead of doing nothing, his touch brings me back to the bed and the ball and the chain and the pull of it on my ankle while he fucked me with thick fingers and dro
wned me in his eyes.

  “Don’t tell lies.” Poseidon puts both hands around my waist and centers me in the middle of the dock. Unsteady wood rocks beneath my feet like the deck of the ship. “Being on land is a curse.”

  “We’re not on land yet.”

  “Close enough.” He circles my wrist with two fingers and presses his thumb into a spot below my palm, his other hand on the small of my back like he’s going to escort me to a ball. “It goes away faster if you keep your head up and walk.”

  So I lock my eyes on the small town springing up from a hillside in front of us. It looks old. Plaster buildings in different colors wind around a center street. A stone fort presses itself to the blue sky at the top of the hill. People move back and forth in the street. Their voices come to us on the breeze. I could be arriving at a destination vacation, it’s so vibrant and beautiful. Only I wouldn’t be land-sick—is that what this is called? Land-sickness?—on a destination vacation.

  And there wouldn’t be skeletons.

  Hanging bones make me stop dead at the end of the dock, one step away from earth. How did I not see them before? Cages, hanging from the wall of the fort. Bones inside, bleached white from the sun. Poseidon follows my gaze and tugs on my waist to get me to take another step.

  “It’s an old pirate town. Those are warnings.”

  I swallow against a newly dry mouth. “Pirates built the town?”

  “Pirates were frequent visitors.”

  “And they still are.”

  A grin as sharp as a slash flickers across his face, leaving traces of amusement in his eyes. “Less frequent now. But a reminder of the consequences for stealing never goes out of style.”

  We move off a narrow beach and onto a cobblestone pathway that widens into the center street of the town. Poseidon lets go of my wrist, and I don’t fall. My balance is back. The feel of the earth under bare feet gives me a rush of courage.

  Almost as soon as I feel it, his hand is back on my wrist. I follow his tight grip up his arm to his eyes, which have gone dark, like the ocean at night.