Not What You Seem

by Lena Maye

  “I know it doesn’t.” She rolls her eyes at me. “That’s something I’ve been trying to tell you for years. But you were like this whisk that just kept beating the same egg.”

  “I’m a whisk?”

  “Kinda.” She shrugs a shoulder. “I get why you felt that way. But whoever that guy is, he’s not worthy of being my father. I’m better off without him.”

  “You are.”

  She sucks in a breath. “But Benny not being my father means something else, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I admit. “We’re not sisters.”

  She shakes her head. “Fuck that. We are absolutely sisters.”

  I laugh. “You picked a good time to start cussing.”

  She nods sagely. “I did.”

  There was no trial for my brother. He pleaded guilty and took a deal for ten years. No fanfare, no newspaper articles. Just a quiet agreement that was barely a blip on the screen for anyone else. He wouldn’t tell me what happened with Charles. But whatever it was, he must have felt like he needed to pay for it.

  Or like he needed to pay for the other things that happened before. He was a child, like me. But even so, it’s hard to escape the guilt.

  I sit in the little visiting room and wait for him, bouncing a little in my chair.

  Then he’s there with a guard looming behind him.

  Anthony’s put on some weight. Not a huge amount, but enough that it doesn’t look like his bones will rattle anymore. He reaches for me and wraps me in his arms even though the guard following him grips his shoulder.

  “No hugging. Sit.” The guard’s gruff voice doesn’t leave room for debate.

  Anthony gives me one last squeeze before letting me go.

  “How are you?” I sink down to a wooden seat that sticks to the back of my thighs. My ragged cut-offs feel like they should be more.

  “That’s a hard question to answer.” His words are quick, even. Sober, I realize. I wonder if I’ve ever met this version of my brother. He plucks at his brown jumpsuit, just a shade darker than our mother’s. “Although I’m like her now.”

  “No.” I lean forward. “You’re not.”

  He flinches at the words. Then he scratches his wrist and looks away.

  “You’re not,” I repeat. “Not if you don’t want to be. You know what I see? A man who’s trying to find his path through life and who’s taking responsibility for what he did. And this”—I gesture to the guard and the thick glass windows—“is not the answer I expected for you, but maybe it’s what you need. Learning how to deal with how we grew up. Taking steps forward.”

  He glances at the guard. “I’m not sure there’s any forward steps here, Elly.”

  “Maybe they’re just hard to see right now. But keep trying, okay? Don’t give up.”

  “Shit, Elly. When you put it like that...” He clears his throat. “Now tell me stuff.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugs. “How was the kite festival?”

  My mouth drops open. “You mean other than the obvious?”

  “Yeah, other than that.” His eyes narrow. “I did a lot of fucking paperwork. I don’t do paperwork for just anyone. I want to hear how it went.”

  “Well…” I blink at him. “We sold out of the cupcakes. And the bed and breakfasts are already filling up for next year. Turns out that all the media attention was actually pretty good for the festival.”

  “A silver lining.” Anthony leans back in his seat. “Carly told me those exist.”

  “And do you believe her?”

  “It’s hard believing anything in here.” He pulls at his jumpsuit again. “But, yeah, I’m gonna keep trying.”

  Dean

  I sit in the galley and absently flip through my father’s will. There’s nothing unexpected in it. Nothing I didn’t already know. When I took over for his healthcare, I was given power of attorney and so all this was already handled. It’s what part of the money from the Neverland had gone too—taking care of all the legalities. With one end goal in mind: the Heroine.

  I still double check what it says. Maybe I’m waiting for the last unexpected backhand to come. Like he can still reach me even after his death.

  But all the paperwork is in order. The Heroine belongs to Sebastian and me. There’s no last backhand.

  Footsteps move across the deck above and come through the hatch. I push myself back in my seat, and my side immediately starts burning. Not pain, really—just this over-heated discomfort. Never in a million years would I guess that I’d be shot. Lost at sea? Maybe. But a gunshot? Not possible.

  I grab a potato chip and toss it into my mouth. Sebastian’s been doing the shopping while I’m recovering, and he basically just brought home spinach and potato chips. That’s it. I need to text Ella and see if she can bring something else so I don’t have to subsist on this strange diet.

  “Hey, man.” Sebastian steps into the galley and eyes the sea of papers on the table. And then his half-eaten chips. “What’s all this?”

  I set down the will. “Since I’m not capable of helping topside, thought I’d do some organizing down here.”

  He crosses the room and then sits across from me. He snags the will and reads a few lines.

  “And I wanted to talk to you,” I say. “About an offer.”

  “An offer?”

  “For the Heroine.” I rub my hand along my jaw, feeling the unfamiliar rough stubble. Raising my hand to shave hasn’t been comfortable. Although Ella seems to enjoy the change.

  “You’re serious?”

  “Yep. Grayson. He sold that schooner we refurbished last summer, and now he’s looking for something different.” I reach for a chip, but then decide I’m better off without it. “He’d mentioned he was interested in the Heroine before. So I called him, and he wrote us an offer.”

  “Okay.” Sebastian nods, that cleft in his chin deepening. “But this is your boat, Dean. It always has been. If you need to keep her—”

  “I don’t.” I take a piece of paper off one of the stacks between us. The one that has the amount of Grayson’s offer. And it’s not small. “I need to do the opposite, actually. Just let it go.” I slide the paper toward Sebastian, and he stares down for a long moment.

  “That’s more than she’s worth,” he says,

  “Not to him.” I nod toward the chips. “And then you’ll be able to afford more than spinach and potato chips.”

  Sebastian glowers at me. “I told you to give me a list. You never listen.” He picks up the slip of paper. “Are you sure about this?”

  I nod.

  “That’s a lot of fucking money.”

  I can’t help but smile. “I know. What are you going to do with your half?”

  His glower shifts into a grin. “I don’t know yet. You?”

  “I’ve got an idea.”

  46

  Ella

  Dean and I sit on the dock and watch the Heroine arc around the harbor. The sun cuts across white sails, making her glow. He studies her as if he’s seeing her for the first time. And maybe he is.

  “Have you ever watched her sail from land?” I lean my head against his shoulder, and he kisses my forehead.

  “Not since I was little,” he says. “It’s strange to watch her from here. To not be in control.”

  “Does it worry you not to be?”

  “Nope. Your sister and Dev have it covered. Well, Renee does, at least. She’s a fast learner. She might be out-sailing me in a year or two.” He studies the boat before his gaze flips to the horizon. “And the boat will be Grayson’s at the end of the season. He’ll take care of her.”

  I stare at him. He seems quiet today. Pensive. But he told me to meet him here for a surprise, so I didn’t hesitate.

  When the Heroine nears, he stands carefully, pushing himself up with the cane he’s been using since he got off crutches. The doctors assure him he’ll be walking normally in a few more months.

  I expect him to turn toward the bo
at, but he surprises me by extending a hand. “Walk with me?”

  We turn away from the Heroine as she slides up against the dock, the water displaced behind us with her size. Renee shouts something to Dev. Dean doesn’t watch any of it. He steps onto the smaller dock that’s lined with fishing boats and dinghies, his dock shoes soft against the boards. He pulls me to a stop in front of a little boat with a blue sail.

  “What are we looking at?” I ask.

  “A sailboat.”

  I laugh. “I know that part.”

  “Okay, how about this? My sailboat.”

  “Yours?”

  He tilts his head. “Well, mostly. It kind of depends on something.” His gaze floats around my face, those blue eyes suddenly so alive. The only thing keeping me from pushing up to my toes and kissing him is whatever he’s going to say.

  “What does it depend on?” I ask.

  He raises an eyebrow. “Will you take a trip with me?”

  My heart lodges in my throat. “Are you asking what I think you’re asking?”

  He pulls me to him with his free hand, his arm sliding down my back until it settles against the curve of my lower spine. “I want you to go around the world with me.”

  “I would love to,” I say softly. “But what about everyone else? Renee? The bakery? Wait…” I point an accusing finger at him. “This is what Renee was talking about.”

  “Well, she kept asking questions. She wouldn’t leave me alone until I answered them. But I also knew that she’d be your first concern.” His fingers trace patterns on my lower back. “We’ll get a satellite hotspot and check in whenever we can. And if we need to be here, then we’ll get here.”

  He leans closer to me. “But maybe going away is exactly what we need to find out where we belong.” He kisses me lightly before pulling back. “There’s no pressure. I know it’s a long time and—”

  “Dean,” I cut him off. “I want to sail around the world with you.” Renee is right—we need to keep living our lives. And I trust that she’ll tell me if she needs me.

  I circle my arms around his waist, and that feeling of safety surrounds me. It always does with him, but it’s stronger when he’s so close.

  “Say it again,” he says.

  “I want to sail around the world with you.” I smile. “And, yes, we’ll figure the rest out. Together.”

  His kiss is deep and sudden, his tongue smoothing over mine as he pulls me against him, forcing a whimper of surprise out of me.

  “Now I’m thinking about my other wants.” His voice is low and so warm I could bask in it.

  “Hmm… That sounds promising.” I tip up to kiss him again, but he stops me.

  “You.” Blue eyes so clear and present. “I love you.”

  I stare up at him, my heart leaping well past my throat. Above my head. Up into the sky.

  He grins. “I said it.”

  “I noticed.”

  “I was nervous.”

  “And now?” I raise a teasing eyebrow.

  “I’m still nervous.”

  “Because I haven’t said it back?” I slide my hand to the top button of his chinos and give it a little teasing tug before smoothing my fingers lower. I smile at what I find there. “Are you ever not hard?”

  “With you around? No.” He emits a low growl. “Fuck, now I’m nervous and turned on. It’s a strange combination.”

  “I plan on taking care of both those problems.” I smile up at him—those stunning blue eyes. And behind that, a blue sail that we’ll take around the world.

  “I love you, too,” I say, savoring the words. They are so easy to say. A truth that runs deeper than words.

  “Well, now I’m not nervous anymore.” He gives me that teasing grin. “Care to offer a solution to the second problem?”

  I push up to my tiptoes, lingering a few inches from his lips. “I’ve got a few ideas.”

  His gaze flares with heat, but his smile doesn’t fade. “Then we’d better get to it. Because I want to try them all.”

  Epilogue

  Six Months Later

  Dean

  Ella stands before me, wearing nothing but bikini bottoms. Ones with little side ties that I can pull off with one yank.

  Blue sail and sky above. Water just behind my back. We’ve been anchored here—aboard the Ever After—for three days next to a tiny island to the northeast of the Galápagos on our way down to Marquesas. Two cruise ships passed our first day, but since then, it’s been only Ella and me along on a stretch of blue-gray ocean.

  In other words, my life is heaven.

  I don’t hide the way my gaze crawls over the little anchor tattoo peeking out from her bikini bottoms. She got it in Key West before we pointed ourselves on the Southern route. It healed while eating ackee and saltfish in Jamaica. It burned while we waited in the locks in the Panama Canal. And now it winks at me while Ella wraps a length of nylon double-braided 3/8” dockline around her fingers. Nervously.

  Of course, she would just call it a rope. And I know that word is repeating over and over in her head. Along with a thousand other things as she stands there twisting it around her fingers.

  We’ve been here before. We’ve talked about it. Long conversations where she tells me her fears. And I tell her that I’m fine with whatever she wants to do. If she never ties me up, that’s okay too. Not all fantasies have to become reality.

  But standing here, watching her twist and untwist that dockline with worry lines crossing her forehead, I’m beginning to realize that I was wrong. This is like a wave we keep crashing up against. I’m not sure how to pull her over the top of it, but I’m starting to see that I need to. We can’t keep fighting this battle because it’s holding us back.

  From the second I first laid eyes on this woman, I’ve wanted it all with her. Sailing around the world. Asking her to marry me. Children and a future. I want to change the direction of both our family legacies. To pull it out of the darkness and create something strong and secure. And this moment that we keep crashing up against—it needs to happen before the rest can follow.

  I stand, and a small shot of pain runs down into my knee. It’s better, though—better every day. We’re both still healing.

  I cross the few feet that separates us and take her trembling hands in mine. “I want you to tie me up.”

  Yep, I know that was pretty direct. But I also know it’s time. And apparently other parts of me know it’s time too because my board shorts just got that much tighter. Or maybe it’s just being within a ten-foot foot radius of Ella. Who, as I said, is wearing bikini bottoms only. Her wild hair dances in the breeze. I smooth a finger down her soft skin and over a tight nipple that makes my mouth water. Trace a line over her rounded hip. And if I start thinking about her ass, then I’m not going to be able to focus enough to have this conversation.

  She bites her bottom lip, looking up at me. Squinting a little from the bright sun behind me. I sidestep and pull her with me so that it’s not hurting her eyes.

  She glances down at our linked hands. The dockline clasped between our palms. I take it from her and tie a slip knot. I slide one hand into the loop, pulling it tighter around my wrist.

  Her eyes widen. “No, I can’t yet.”

  “Yes, Ella. You can.” She didn’t say anchor. So I keep on going, pulling the line until it’s taut.

  “I have too many thoughts.” Her fingers run over the small scar on my side. It’s just a small red divot at this point, but she touches it absently when she’s thinking about what happened. “I can’t sort it all out. It’s just…”

  She looks over my shoulder, her gaze roving over the boat. She’s chewing on that bottom lip now, and still running her fingers over my scar.

  “Forget about the line for now.” I let the other end fall. But it’s still looped around my wrist, and I don’t take it off. I lean down to kiss her, bringing my unbound hand up to her cheek. Stroking down the side of her neck and over her shoulder. She tiptoes up into the kiss, her t
ongue responding to mine, a soft moan coming from her. She’s so responsive—every time I kiss her, touch her, pull her against me. She just opens up. It’s sexy as hell.

  And her hand leaving my side to smooth over the front of my board shorts is also helping that sexy-as-hell feeling. I smile into our kiss and then pull at the string of her bikini bottoms. One side already undone, I reach for the other and they fall.

  Ella deepens our kiss and tugs down on my board shorts. They go nowhere. She tugs harder.

  Yep, still not moving.

  She leans back, eyeing them. Another useless tug.

  I laugh because I get what’s happening—I’m so hard it’s stretched the fabric and made them too tight. I think Ella must too, because she pulls the front away and then tries to wiggle them over. Which also isn’t working so well. Although her trying to tuck my dick against my stomach and yank down on the board shorts is making me all sorts of turned on.

  She smiles. “You need to wear a swimsuit like mine.”

  “You want me to wear a bikini bottom with ties?” I pause. “Yeah, anchor for that one.”

  Her mouth falls open a little. “Did we actually just stumble on something you won’t do?”

  “Apparently we did.” I help her with my board shorts, and she smiles as she wraps a hand around my freed shaft. Hell, I smile too. Then she starts to stroke me, and I have to set my feet to keep standing.

  “What if…” She pauses, watching her hand move up and down. Fuck, the way she likes to watch is ridiculously hot. A few more strokes, and I’m already thinking about being inside of her. Picturing her arching back as she comes. Damn.

  She continues stroking thoughtfully as if she’s got no clue about my inner turmoil.

  I keep my bound wrist tucked carefully out of view. We both know it’s there, but this is what we needed. Easy and sexy first.

  “What if…” Her thumb smooths over my head and around the tip, and I can’t help but let out a groan.

  “What if,” she continues with a smile, “they were manly bikini bottoms with ties?”