by Debra Kayn
The wind blasted Celina in the face on the boat ride back to the dock. The air dried the moisture out of her eyes and kept the tears from falling. Drake drove the boat back to shore, and alone, she pouted.
The boat rubbed against the rubber buoys along the dock. Celina plunked the heavy rope against the anchors and scampered onto the wooden dock well ahead of Drake. She observed another boat getting ready to leave while she waited for Drake to disembark. She only wanted to go back to Charles' house and lock herself in her room.
Without the cool breeze of the boat moving over the water, her heavy sweatshirt turned her skin hot and tight to movement. She adjusted her clothes and grimaced. The price of too much sun on her skin pained her. Not only did her skin feel two sizes too small for her frame, but her insides also suffered from Drake's rejection.
Drake jumped onto the dock, his arms full of supplies they'd brought with them for the day.
"You want to carry your bag, or your catch?" He held up her fish, sealed in a plastic bag, cleaned, filleted, and packed on ice.
"I'll take the fish." She took the plastic bag. "Thank you."
"No problem." He slung the rest of their things over his shoulder and walked ahead of her up the dock. "Let's go home."
The long day on the water, coupled with the air conditioning in the car, relaxed her. She closed her eyes. If nothing else, sleep would get her mind off the man who sat beside her. For how much disappointment filled her, even her body never quit responding to Drake.
The car slowed down, and Celina woke up. She lifted her head off the side of the door, and Drake pushed the garage door opener. She flinched taking the seat belt off her shoulder and groaned pulling herself out of the car. Her whole body was one big ache, and every movement was difficult.
After Drake slammed the car door, he hurried to open the trunk. She joined him, ready to take her fish into the house.
"Drake—"
The door opened, and Charles walked out to the car.
"Hey, kids. How was the water?"
Drake slammed the trunk lid down, and Celina jumped. She wanted him to explain why he acted so traumatized by her kiss. If she figured out what he found distasteful...maybe a book or someone with more experience would teach her what to do.
Charles looked from Celina to Drake, the lines on his forehead pronounced.
"Fine." She forced a smile.
"Good. It appears we have a fisherwoman living with us." Drake waved his hand at the bag in Celina's arms.
Celina held up the fish. Her arm trembled under the weight, and the sweatshirt shifted on her sunburn.
"Excuse me, please. I would like to retire to my room." Celina thrust the fish at Drake and wobbled into the house.
Charles waited until the door into the house clicked shut. He planted his hands on his hips and scowled at his son.
"What did you do to the girl?"
"Me? What did I do to her? She's hurting from sunburn. Hell," Drake threw the bags toward the door, "that woman sat around butt-naked all day long on the boat acting like a professional nudist!"
"What?" Charles coughed.
Drake paced. "You heard me right, Dad. She had the gall to tell me all about how she knows over two hundred sexual poses and she lays around naked with all the other women practicing ways to contort her body...to please men."
Charles slumped against the car. He closed his eyes and let his chin fall to his chest. "Please tell me you didn't take advantage of being in that position."
"Hell, no. I wanted to, Jesus...I wanted to." Drake continued to pace the concrete floor in front of his dad. "She's unbelievable. Freaking unbelievable."
"Alright, son. Let me think about how I should handle this." Charles rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "Go get cleaned up. You smell like fish."
Chapter Seven
The acid in Charles' stomach churned, and he opened the drawer in his desk for the bottle of antacids he kept for times like these. Popping two of the chalky tablets in his mouth, he hurriedly chewed them up and followed with a sip of water to wash the taste out.
Ever since Drake had come home from the boat trip, Charles' insides pitched war against him. He shoved the paperwork aside and leaned his elbows on his desk. How the hell would he get out of the mess he now found himself in?
He'd never questioned his motives in Antaka, but now he worried about his decisions. He really liked the young woman who now lived in his house, and the guilt on his part of bringing her to America lay heavy on his soul.
A soft tap on the door to his private entrance startled him, and he scrambled around his desk to open the door. He pulled the woman standing on the other side into his arms.
"I was afraid you wouldn't come." Charles brushed his lips across her lined forehead. He gave her an extra squeeze and leaned back. "Are you okay? No one saw you?"
Nat shook her head, sending her wavy brown hair swishing, and sunk down into the chair. He recognized the look on her face. Celina had displayed the same worry lines tonight at the dinner table. Women, he decided, were a mystery.
"Darling, I think we need to tell Celina the real reason she is staying with me."
"I can't..." Nat buried her head in her hands. "It's too soon. She wouldn't understand."
Charles kneeled down in front of the chair and gathered her hands in his. Her slim shoulders shook. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and protect her from all the pain. Nat had a lifetime of sorrow he realized only she had the power to repair.
"For some reason...Celina's set her sights on Drake." He lifted the corner of his mouth. "I'm not sure how much more my son can handle. Celina...Celina is a lovely woman."
"Drake and Celina?" Nat caught her lower lip between her teeth and looked up at Charles, her blue eyes wet with unshed tears. "I never thought of that. God, Charles, I've even screwed this up. If only I could—"
"Stop that. You did the best you could. We'll figure something out." He lifted her hands and kissed them.
"Prince Joqua warned me about what could happen...How she was raised all these years." She removed her hands from his grasp and wrapped her arms around her middle making her seem smaller than her five-foot-two frame.
Charles stood up and limped to the window to stretch his legs. Old age crept up on him more and more lately. He walked the stiffness away and formulated a plan.
"We at least need to tell Drake. Hopefully he can hold Celina off until she learns more and can understand why this is all happening now."
"Oh, thank you, Charles. It's too soon for Celina to understand, but Drake can be there for Celina when she needs someone to lean on. She'd never forgive me if we tell her now. Let her get used to how things are done here first."
Charles walked to his desk and pushed the button on the intercom.
"Drake, can you come down to my office? Alone."
Chapter Eight
A vacuum ran in another part of the house, and Celina peeked out of her room. Good. No sign of Drake.
The last two days she'd played it safe and begged off any outings with him. Using her sunburn as an excuse not to go, she wallowed the days shut up in her room. She spent the extra time planning and plotting a way to pay for transportation back to Antaka.
Striding through the entryway into the kitchen, Celina slammed to a stop, the back of Drake's tawny hair so close she might reach out and touch him. She held her breath and lifted one foot to retreat. What was he doing home?
"You might as well come in and have some sort of breakfast."
He tilted his head back and slurped the milk out of the bowl, and Celina kept her position behind him. If she waited him out, maybe he would leave and she'd find something for breakfast on her own.
"Might as well come in and eat," he repeated.
She rolled her eyes and sauntered past him to the cereal boxes. Spying a new box that boasted about having extra marshmallows, she retrieved a bowl from the cupboard. She still couldn't get over all the vitamins and minerals packed into bits of cr
unchy sugary treats.
The milk sat in the middle of the kitchen table in front of Drake. Heaving a sigh, Celina marched over to grab the milk. She'd pretend Drake didn't exist. Just get the milk, fill the bowl, eat, and go back to my room.
Drake's hand closed down on her wrist. She gasped and glanced down at her nipples poking through her shirt; her body, she decided instantly, was a traitor she couldn't control.
"Can I have the milk, please?" She stared at his hand on her wrist. His thumb moved in little tight circles. Blood rushed through her veins, up her arm, and settled as warmth on her cheeks.
The jug in her hand quivered, and she set it down on the table.
"Join me. I'm going to have another bowl, and when we're done sharing breakfast, we can talk about what we're going to do today."
"Today?"
"Yes, today."
"I don't feel well."
"Tough."
He released her wrist, and Celina folded her arms. She stood rooted on the spot. Should she rush off to her room, or take up his invitation to share breakfast together?
"Please."
One simple word confirmed the decision for her, and she reluctantly placed the cereal and bowl on the table. Celina sat across the table from Drake and kept her attention on bringing the spoon to her mouth without dribbling milk down her chin.
"We've tried fishing, but you've already done that in Antaka. So, I was thinking we could do something you've never done before."
"It seems I haven't done anything you Americans have done." She ate a spoonful of cereal.
"True, but we are going to change that."
"And, if I don't want to?" She lifted her eyebrow.
"I think you will." He flashed a smile. "By the way, it's good to see you're learning to give your opinion."
Celina studied the pattern on the end of the spoon. Plan all he wanted, but she didn't have to go with him. Wasn't that what Charles had discussed with her? Having an opinion, and doing things the way American women do?
"There's a movie playing at the theater. Friends have said it's very funny." Drake pushed away from the table and set his dishes in the sink.
She kept her gaze on her bowl, but knew the moment he turned around to look at her he'd be able to read her thoughts. This was going to be harder than she imagined.
"What do you say? Game?"
"Game?"
"Would you like to go?" He threw up his hands and let them fall to his sides with a slap.
"No."
Her chair screeched backward. She stuck her nose in the air and strode past Drake. Her appetite vanished.
Turning on the water, she rinsed out both of their dishes and stacked them in the dishwasher. Mrs. Stevenson had shown her how to work around the more modernized kitchen yesterday, and she delighted in the chores. The contraptions Americans used every day amazed her.
"You'll get me in trouble if you don't go." Drake raised his brows.
She shut off the faucet and froze. "Who will punish you?"
"Dad. He gave me explicit instructions. I should spend time showing you around. Teach you how things are done in America, remember?"
She hadn't forgotten. Fine. She'd go to this thing called a movie. She shivered and hoped it didn't take all day.
"Okay, I'll go." She turned around and narrowed her eyes. "But, I won't have fun."
***
Even with the dim lights in the theater, Celina observed all the people who sat throughout the many rows of chairs. So far, nothing stirred inside her and forced her to laugh. The stage in front reminded her of the stage back home where the jugglers and clowns performed in the town square.
"Are you sure there will be no clowns? I really don't like clowns."
"Shh...wait and see."
The lights went out and pitched the whole area into darkness. Celina's reached for Drake and grasped his arm. The wall in front lit up with pictures that moved and people talked. Oh!
"Now watch," he whispered. She kept her gaze on the front of the theater.
Celina scooted out on the edge of her seat. She smiled and laughed. The man on the screen kept spilling things on the woman who dined with him.
"It's not funny, Drake." She glanced over at him just long enough to give her opinion before glancing back at the screen.
The other moviegoers laughed, and Celina scanned the theater. "Drake, why are they laughing? What didn't I understand?"
"They think it's funny that the male character called his date by the wrong name."
"That isn't funny. Doesn't he know her?"
"Yes, he knows her." He chuckled.
The lights came on, and the credits rolled across the screen. Drake got to his feet and waited for Celina, who tried to read the credits.
"Celina? It's time to go."
Outside the theater, Celina covered her eyes from the glare of the sun, and Drake gathered her other hand into his and guided her to the car. With him holding onto her, she wanted to skip, but she walked beside him. The last few days had been miserable without Drake's company.
He turned on the car, set the air conditioning on high, and buckled up. She fastened her own belt and turned to Drake.
"Thank you for taking me to the theater. The movie made me laugh—and forget...for a little while."
"Yep, it was a good movie." Drake looked into the rearview mirror and pulled out of the parking spot.
"I wish my sisters could see the movie. They will never believe what I viewed on the wall. We don't have movies on the island."
Drake sped up and entered traffic going up Seventh Street.
"Are we going back to your home?"
"We don't have to. What would you like to do?"
"You choose. I like doing the things you take me to."
Drake drummed the steering wheel with his fingers. She opened the compartment in front of her and flipped through the owner's manual.
He chuckled. "I got it. How about we go putt-putt golfing?"
Her shriek filled the car, and Drake's shoulders came up. She bounced in her seat and hurried to replace the book.
"Oh, putt-putt golf. That will be fun." She clapped her hands.
"You've played before?"
"No. I don't know what putt-putt is, but it sounds fun."
"Yes. Yes, it does." Drake threw back his head and laughed again.
***
The mini houses and windmills scattered around the grounds caught Celina's attention. She bent over and tried to glimpse the insides of the miniatures. Drake handed her a golf club and did his best to explain the game to her, but she couldn't understand why someone would want to hit a ball all over the ground. Did something jump out of the homes and make it dangerous to walk by?
"I'll go first, and you can see what I do. To win the game you have to get this ball in the hole." He held up the tiny white ball and pointed to a hole in the ground.
Drake bent over and held the club in his hands. He narrowed his eyes, and lines appeared on his forehead. He appeared so serious, and she laughed at the sight of him. The ball he hit went through the windmill and spat back out at him.
"I win!"
Several people playing the course turned in Celina's direction. She jumped up and down. She loved to win.
"This is fun, Drake. Go again. I bet you can't put your little ball in the hole."
A young boy on the next course laughed and elbowed his sister. Celina waved and stuck her arm in the air in victory.
"The game isn't over. See the different setups farther ahead? We have eighteen courses to go through before we add up how many times it takes us hitting the ball into each hole. The person who hits the ball the least is the winner."
"Oh, I can do this."
The brother and sister team stared at Celina, giggled, and turned back to their game. She pursed her lips and sized up the course. The angles across the course reminded her of geometry, and she would need to find the right angle to hit the ball into the hole.
She imitated Drake's s
tance and swung her club. The ball sailed up the little mound, straight toward the windmill. She moved along the course and kept the ball in sight. The ball traveled past the moving windmill, through the hole at the base, and landed a few inches short of the hole. She contained her excitement to a huge smile.
Celina led the game by fourteen strokes. She stood at the eighteenth hole, the most difficult one she'd played so far. The ball needed to go straight up the ramp and dodge a lot of little holes.
"Aim for the bull's-eye. The center of those colored circles." Drake pointed at the end of the course.
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and kept her eye on the bull's-eye. The game came down to this last hole. Easy.
She drew air into her lungs and held her breath. She pulled her arms back, let go, and hoped she gave it enough power to get the ball all the way up the ramp.
Up.
Up.
Up.
A siren rent the air, and lights flashed overhead. She jumped back and thought she'd broken the game.
"What did I do?" She covered her cheeks and stepped closer to Drake.
"You won!"
"What did I win?" She leaned closer to Drake to hear him over the noise.
She still couldn't hear him and leaned closer. She raised her head, but he didn't repeat himself. He gathered her face in his hands and kissed her. Ever gentle, his mouth skimmed over her lips, tasting, exploring, and teasing.
The victory of winning forgotten, Celina stumbled back a step, touched her lips and tried to make sense of why Drake had kissed her. Here? Right now? What was it she did that seduced him?
"Congratulations, Celina. You won a free game of putt-putt golf."
***
The sunset placed shadows inside Drake's car. She dug the free pass out of her pocket, amazed the man at the booth let her keep the piece of paper.
"I have never received a prize for winning before."
"They don't have games in Antaka? Party games?" He patted her leg.
She slid the ticket back into her shorts, scratched her forehead, and tried to think of a way to explain how she acted in Antaka.
