The Art of Persuasion: Book 4 of The Swashbuckling Romance Series

by Myers, Heather C.

  Is that-? It can't be... But.

  It is.

  I crack my eyes open only to find Matt staring down at me with his wonderful chocolate brown eyes and that smile that brings sunshine indoors. I don't think about the ridiculousness of the situation nor do I think about how this is possible in the first place. My only thought is Matt is staring down at me and I feel remarkably safe being underneath him. I don't care if this is a dream - it probably is a dream - but I'm going to ride it because this is perfect and it's exactly what I want right now.

  "The kids are waiting to break their fast," he says, sitting up so I can get a good view of his chest. I'm so distracted, the implications of his words completely go over my head. "You know how Isadora gets when she doesn't eat. She's like you, if I recall." He grins at this, like the very notion of me being cranky because I'm hungry is adorable, and then leans down and kisses my neck. "God, you're beautiful in the mornings."

  "Did you say we had children?" I ask, and I'm not terribly concerned with how this is turning out. I, myself, never really thought about having kids of my own - probably because I didn't think I'd ever meet someone I could foresee being in my life for the rest of it - but I've never been against the idea.

  Matt gives me a lopsided smile. "Three of them, if you recall," he says. "Isadora, Jane, and Ryan."

  "You're telling me I pushed three children out of me without a hospital or any medical drugs?" I ask, flabbergasted and somewhat impressed with myself.

  He smiles even though I can tell he has no idea what I'm talking about. It's hard to think when his hand has somehow found my thigh - my bare thigh, which has implications all on its own - and is caressing the inside of my flesh, in that sensitive area that somehow he knows about even though the guys I used to sleep with don't even know about it.

  "Do I like my kids?" I ask before I can stop myself. His grin gets wider and I'm glad he knows me well enough to not be offended by my comment. "I only ask because before you, I never thought I wanted children. And now I have three."

  Matt nods like he understands. "You told me that when we found out you were carrying our first child," he tells me, his voice warm as he remembers. I'm almost envious of him; I want the memory. He seems so fond of it, I wish I could pluck it from his mind and watch it like a movie. "I was so happy when you told me, I dropped to my knees and kissed your stomach and started talking to who would later be our daughter, Isadora. You told me she was the size of a bean and had not yet developed ears just yet. You knew everything about what it's like to carry a baby, what's healthy and what's not. Her birth was quick, with moments of pain for both of us. I think you may have broken my hand, if I'm being honest. But then you delivered our healthy baby girl. I've never seen you so in love. You're an astounding mother, a natural. I've never been so proud to be your husband."

  I clear my throat. Somehow, my saliva got stuck in there and I couldn't breathe for a second. "I'm sorry," I say and blink because I need to focus on him. "Did you say you're my husband? Are you telling me we're married?"

  "You're telling me you don't remember?" he asks. I know he's teasing me based on the familiar glint lighting his dark eyes.

  "I think I'm dreaming," I tell him honestly.

  "Are you?" He blinks like he's surprised by my assessment and glances down at me. He presses his hand further into my hip and his lips tease up into a mischievous grin. "You do not feel like a dream." I smile at him but there must have been something there, something in my smile that causes any indication of teasing to vanish momentarily. "Is this a bad dream?"

  "No!" My response is immediate and kind of sharp, which I don't intend for. I look him in the eyes so I know I'm serious. In fact, I reach out and cup his cheek with my palm. I have no idea where I got so bold, why I think I have any right to touch him so intimately, but I think that maybe because I know this is a dream, I can get away with more. I want to touch him this way. Maybe not all the time but whenever I feel the inclination, I want to be able to reach out and touch him, remind myself that he's mine, that I'm allowed to do this.

  "Is this what you want?" he asks and I can't blame him for the doubt that touches his tone, for the trepidation I see in his eyes. I've been going back and forth about what I want and what I don't. I know I haven't done anything wrong. I haven't led Matt on - drunken kissing totally does not count - but I still feel like he deserves to know what I want. I need to know what I want. I think I know but I'm afraid to really try and figure it out.

  "I do," I tell him. I don't even realize I've answered because my mind is foggy and thoughts are hard to come by. Something clears up in my chest as a result of that answer, however. It's like something I should have known.

  He smiles then. His face is literal sunshine and I have to squint because it's almost too much looking at him. He's beautiful, jaw-dropping, stunning... I can't even think of the appropriate word, and I realize then that of course this is what I want. I want to be the lucky girl who gets to make him smile like this all the time. How could I not have realized this sooner?

  "Excellent," he says. "This is good news. Now all you need to do is tell yourself the same thing when you wake up. And" - he says, as though it's an after-thought - "you need to believe it."

  I wake up then, and for some reason, my eyes fill with tears and I'm crying, I'm crying, because the dream is perfect and now it's gone. I want it back. Which is just so strange because domestication is the last thing that's been on my mind since before I can even remember. Even when I was a girl playing with my Barbie dolls, they were getting a good job or traveling to exotic locales, not playing house. And now, playing house is all I want just as long as it's with Matt.

  My head throbs, reminding me of what happened last night. Maybe all that strange eighteenth century alcohol caused my dreams to get so vivid. Maybe I'm still a little bit drunk. Regardless, remembering his lips on mine, of us making out for hours or minutes - I can't remember the time frame but it doesn't really matter anyway - makes the tears come down harder, like the rain when thunder and lightning make their grand appearance.

  I'm never this way. Not only about this whole domestic issue but when I'm hungover, I'm quiet and reserved up until my headache goes away and I get coffee inside my system. I don't cry. I'm not emotional.

  But that stupid dream...

  It wasn't stupid, a voice tells me, taunts me. It's everything you didn't even know you wanted. Don't blame the dream.

  I roll my eyes at the voice because clearly I'm having issues in this moment. My head still hurts. I don't want to see anyone - I don't want anyone to see me this way, especially not Matt.

  Matt...

  What's going to happen between us, exactly? Are we going to talk about it? Are we going to pretend like nothing between us ever happened and go back to the way it was? Because I don't want that. I want to talk. I want to figure this out. Because I want him, I want to be with him so much...

  I shake my head and slide further under the covers. I'm not ready to leave the sanctuary that is my bed, and instead, I curl up under the covers and close my eyes. My intention is to fall back asleep and live in that dream, if only for a moment longer.

  Chapter 14

  A few days go by. Another prostitute was murdered, this one Karina, strangled as well. Nothing gets resolved, not with the bodies, not between Matt and I. Even now, I have no idea what we are, what we mean to each other. I don’t think he knows, either. I’m not sure if it makes a difference. If Matt knew the way I feel about him, would that change anything between us? We shared a drunken make-out session. I’m not sure if I actually said anything incriminating. I don’t think I did; then again, everything is blurry when I try to remember the kisses, the touches, the whispered words.

  And I want to badly remember it all. I want to remember the feeling because I’ve never felt this way about anyone before and it’s a feeling I want to be consistent and common and expected. I don’t know if Matt is this one in a million guy. I don’t know if I believe in t
rue love or soul mates. I used to be absolutely sure against it. There was no way one person is destined for somebody else, not when there are so many people on this planet. I don’t think my feelings for Matt have entirely convinced me otherwise. What they have done is ensure that from this point forward, I accept nothing less.

  I always thought I was a happy person. My career was developing the way I wanted it to, I was on my own successfully, I had a guy I was seeing, and I had people who genuinely loved and cared about me. But I realize now that that was all a mask. It covered up the real issue of the lack of love I felt for myself. If I loved myself, I would let people in more, whether they were my parents, my friends, or my lovers. I wouldn’t feel the need to push people away, trying to protect myself from them. The truth was, I was protecting them from me. Because I didn’t truly believe I was worth being with. I didn’t think I was the type of girl worth committing to.

  Matt changed that. Or, at least, my time here with him did. I didn’t see it until I came here. I was happy – I thought I was happy – in my bubble of protection, content to observe the world around me happen without ever truly interacting with it. Without truly immersing myself in it.

  Here, I have no choice. I’m constantly required to make choices and of they don’t work out, time is too important for me to mope about it. I’m required to make more choices that may or may not work out. I don’t get to be a victim here. Life just doesn’t happen here. I take an active role in it. Which means, I’m forced to trust myself. It’s only then that I realized I hadn’t before. I didn’t trust myself. I didn’t love myself enough to trust myself.

  I wasn't happy. What a joke! I don't even know what I was but it wasn't happy. Here, in this time, I'm happy. I mean, I'm not smiling constantly and there are things I find myself stressing about like a murderer on the loose and potentially being in love with an outlaw, but I'm content. I'm starting to trust myself more and more lately and that makes me... I don't know what the word is because I've never felt this way before. But it's a feeling that's important to me. It's one I want to cultivate so my body is used to it, so it won't accept anything less than this complete and utter faith in myself and the decisions that I make. Decisions that have real consequences like whether I live or die, whether I get arrested, whether something happens to Matt or Sarah or Henry as a result of that decision.

  And then it hits me, like someone threw a brick to my face. I trust myself to make decisions. Important ones. Which means I can make the decision of whether or not to stay here. I can do it.

  Suddenly, my shoulders roll back and as I stare up at my ceiling, I realize that that has been holding me back. This fear I'll make the wrong decision and live to regret it for the rest of my life. Because once I do make this choice, I can't take it back. I can't ask for a do-over. I can't change my mind. It's one and done and that's it. And the weight of potential repercussions no matter what I choose has been holding me back from actively trying to figure it all out. I've been afraid. Because I don't know what I want. But even that is a cop out. We all know what we want, we're just afraid. Afraid of what that means. Afraid of admitting it to ourselves, to other people. Just afraid.

  I don't want to be afraid anymore. I want to figure my shit out and get it together and make informed decisions without worrying. Because when I worry, I avoid, and when I avoid, the Universe happens to me, and I won't be a victim to my circumstance.

  I wish I had someone to talk to about this. I wish I had one of my friends. Maybe even Becky. Becky would help me. Regardless of her lies, she was still my friend. I have to believe she still wants what's best for me. Maybe I can find her. Maybe she'll listen and give me advice and I'll be able to finally figure out what I want.

  I spring up from bed and rub my hands together. Finally. I have a plan I can actually do something with.

  I pull on some clothes and run a brush through my hair. I don't bother with makeup (I tell myself it's because I don't have the time, not because of what Matt told me the night we got drunk together) and slip on my shoes. Sarah took me to Becky last time; perhaps she knows where Becky is now, if she's staying somewhere permanent I can go to.

  I head down the two flights of stairs. I know I can find Sarah behind the bar. She's good at serving drinks and it's the perfect place for her to keep an eye on both her girls and the johns without coming across as a hardass manager. I also think Sarah likes being behind the bar because it's her only real opportunity to socialize with people. She's not the most social person ever - which, because of her upbringing, I can understand - but she's softer when she's behind the bar, and she tends to smile more too, making her look years younger.

  Except, Sarah's not behind the bar. It's empty. For the most part. I see the back of Corsa, one of the whores who I had been introduced to when I first got here. She's pretty, with pale skin, almond eyes and dark hair. She’s slender, on the skinny side, but her face is so beautiful and the curves she does have are supple that it's hard to pass her by. She's not as beautiful as some of the others, but she's striking. A head turner. A woman who usually received a double-glance. It's easy for me to figure out that it's her because of her long, luxurious hair clipped up in an expertly-woven braided bun. She also favors bold colors and silk - and with the way she earns her money, she can afford it. Today, she wears a fuchsia-colored gown with black lace. It looks great with her skin tone.

  She's on top of someone. At first, I think it's a potential customer, another john who finds her beauty exotic, her personality alluring. To be honest, I feel like I should start taking notes when I'm around the girls. They know how to draw a man in with not only their looks and how they present themselves but with their personalities. They know how to adapt to every individual and be the perfect woman for each of them, no matter how different that is. Not that I feel I need to change myself for anyone but if I ever need to employ my feminine charms in order to get what I want, that is the skill I need to learn.

  However, I draw closer and it's not just a john, it's someone I know. It's someone close to me. It's someone I think I may love. And I need to leave. Like, yesterday because... Because... Because...

  He takes his hands and wraps his fingers around her shoulders before pushing her away. I know I should have already hightailed it out of there. I know that. But I can't stop staring. Like some goddamn fool. Like a fish with my mouth hanging open, staring at some stupid collision that's on the side of the road. And I shouldn't look but I can't help it. I can't.

  "I already told you," Matt growls, narrowing his brown eyes at her, "I don't want you" -

  It's then that he notices me standing there. I'm sure I look so stupid staring, like some kind of voyeur. I shake my head and I smile, like this is a mistake. Like I have no control over the way my mouth spasms. I look away and point to the empty bar. I have no idea what I'm doing anymore. Sarah is not at the bar, which is completely inconvenient and annoying. I open my mouth to speak but words won't come out because I have no idea what I'm trying to say. Then, I close my eyes and I think I say something nonsensical like, "Yeah..." and then I walk off.

  "Isla," he calls after me but I keep going, back up the stairs, up to my room, because the tears have started to form and I can't have him see me cry. I won't.

  I rush out the front door of the brothel and head into town. I have no idea where I'm going but the cold air feels good on my face and the smell of the sea is distracting enough to shift my focus. I can breathe now but there's a burning in my chest that hurts when I do.

  My feet keep walking even though I don't have a clue where I'm going. That's okay. I don't need to know. And this town is so small I'm not afraid I'll get lost just as long as I don't take the trail out of town and into the greenery that makes up the island. It would be lovely to explore at some point - I do love hiking and I miss it ever since leaving home - but only if I go with someone familiar with the terrain of the island.

  I'm so consumed in my thoughts that I don't look where I'm going and I bump into
someone, knocking both of us down.

  "Hey!" a highly feminine voice calls. "Watch where you're going!"

  I can barely make out what she's saying due to her heavy Cockney accent. "I'm so sorry," I say, picking myself up and offering her a hand. When I see her, I recognize her. She's one of Sarah's girls - Stephanie. "I know you."

  The girl looks like she's going to respond when she finally takes a look at me, really looks. I can't blame her from averting her gaze. I was the same way back on earth. I didn't want people to see me, really see me. I didn't want the unnecessary attention. I didn't want to feel judged by my face or my hair. I didn't want people to read me. I didn't want them to know me. This girl is probably my age, maybe a year younger than I am. She's not wearing anything inappropriate - a nice worn dress with a high neck and long sleeves. The majority of her body is covered. Her hair is up the way society says it should be and her eyes are cast on the ground instead of out in front of her. Even though no one would know who she is, even though she's pretty and should be more confident in herself, she doesn't want people to see her. She doesn't want them to know. And to be honest, I get that.

  I blink, realizing something. When did home become back on earth? I'm on earth just in a different time. That doesn't make this place my new home. It doesn't matter that I'm getting more comfortable here, more familiar. It's not home. Not yet, anyway.