Sweet Nothing (11 page)

We swim side by side, fingers laced tight, until Luke slows and motions for me to look straight ahead. Just a few feet away looms the remains of a shipwreck. Despite the decades it’s been since the wreck, the sailboat still manages to look intact.

Luke catches my eye, and I know what he’s trying to say. Together, we gulp deep breaths and kick beneath the surface. He leads me around the boat’s perimeter, pointing out a plaque on the ocean floor that commemorates the wreck. I drag an index finger across the sandy bottom, tracing our initials. Around us, cobalt and chartreuse fish glide from bow to stern. I hold my breath until it feels like my body’s going to explode, then kick to the surface and blow the saltwater from my snorkel.

Luke rises soon after me, then tears off his mask and lifts his head above water. I do the same.

“Pretty cool, huh?” He tosses his head to one side, sending his wet curls flying.

“Definitely,” I gasp. “Beautiful.”

“I think that’s what I like about it—how it’s like this broken thing that still manages to be amazing in its own way, you know? Like a message—there’s life after the wreck.”

A lump forms in my throat, and I can feel tears gathering. I hold my breath and let myself fall beneath the water line, allowing a few tears to slip out before I resurface.

“Tired? Out of breath? Need to tug your ear?” he teases, pushing my bangs off my forehead.

“Never!” I shriek, even though my legs are starting to ache.

“Come here.” Luke reaches for me, his strong arms encircling my waist. I can feel his legs churning beneath the surface. I drape my arms over his shoulders and wrap my legs around his torso. Our bodies rise and fall together in the water, our lips close.

Cupping the back of my neck with his palm, he lifts his mouth to my ear. “Relax. I’ve got you.”

I let my muscles go slack, let my body collapse against his. Even here, in the strange weightlessness of water, he is solid and strong, holding me up. My hands slip against his slick, wet body. Over his defined chest and arms, down his back. The man’s body is a work of art.

“Hold on,” Luke whispers before his mouth finds mine. This kiss is different from our first kiss. More urgent. He is everywhere, biting my lip, kissing my neck, his hot breath melting my skin in small patches. He holds me to him with one hand and roams my body with the other.

“Here.” I guide his hand over me, slipping it beneath my bikini top. Still kissing me, he traces my nipple with his fingertip, then pinches it just hard enough. I gasp, clawing at his back. My legs tighten around his waist. He pushes against me, and I can feel how impossibly hard he is. I’ve never been kissed like this, never been touched with the kind of hunger Luke has for me. It’s like he wants all of me. Everything. And I want to give it to him.

Somehow, we find our way back to shore and collapse breathless in the sand. The sun is almost directly overhead, searing the salt into my skin.

“You’re killing me, Elle,” Luke half moans, half laughs, stretching onto his back. “Although I have to say, it’d be a great way to go.”

“No kidding.” I drop next to him. Every nerve, every muscle in my body is still throbbing. I want to feel his weight on top of me, pressing me into the sand.

“Okay. Okay.” Luke rubs his face with his hands. “As much as I want to just… do… literally
everything
to you right here, right now, I have the feeling that the small children over there would not appreciate that.” He smacks the sand with an open palm.

“Huh?” I bolt upright and scan the beach. Not far away, a man and a woman are building sandcastles at the edge of the water with two small, tow-headed children. “Ugh.”

“You know what they say. Good things come to those who wait.”

“No, I think the more appropriate expression is: the family that plays together… ruins our perfectly good afternoon.”

Luke laughs, a deep belly laugh that sparks something warm in me. Then he rolls onto his side. “So I guess the next best thing would be lunch. You hungry?”

“Starving.” I hop up and towel-dry my hair while Luke unpacks a picnic lunch: green glass bottles of sparkling water, cuban sandwiches wrapped in thin white paper, and fat green grapes. The water is so cold it’s almost frozen. I chug most of the bottle.

“Careful,” Luke warns.

“What?” I feel a rumbling in my belly, and before I can stop it, emit a burp so loud, one of the kids turns to stare in admiration. “’Scuze me.”

“God, you’re sexy,” Luke deadpans.

“Oh, stop, you.” Playfully, I flick my layers over my shoulder.

“So...” Luke takes a huge bite of sandwich. It takes him a full thirty seconds to chew and swallow. “How’s Miami different from New York? I’ve never been up there.”

“Um, where do I start?” My laugh is short, nervous. Now more than ever, I don’t want to lie to Luke. Not when I’m feeling this close to him. “Some things feel the same, actually. Like in my high school, there were a lot of kids with really powerful parents. Kids whose families had a lot of money.”
Like mine.

“Kids like Hayden Santiago,” Luke nods. “Heard he’s been giving you a hard time.”

“I can handle him.” I slip a grape into my mouth, feeling the skin pop. “But yeah. Kids like that.”

“What was it like for you, growing up… like that?” I can hear in his voice that he wants to know if I come from money.

“It was normal, you know? Normal for me. I guess everybody has their own version of normal.”

He nods. “And what about your family?”

“What about them?” I draw my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them.

“You said you lost your parents, right? Was that when you were really little, or, like, recently?” He pauses and catches my eye. “You don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to. I’m not trying to be nosy. I just… I want to know you.”

“No. It’s okay. I… lost them pretty recently. My dad sixth months ago, and my mom… after that.”

“Think you’ll ever go back?”

My laugh comes out in a sharp, bitter explosion, and I can see the surprise in his eyes. “No. I don’t think so. No.”

He reaches for my hand and squeezes three times. His
I’m sorry.
“It can be rough, thinking about going back to the place where something tragic happened. My grandparents keep asking me if I’ll ever go back to Greece. And I just don’t think I can.”

I squeeze back. “Plus, it’s like, after I lost them, the way people acted—it made me feel so weak.”

“People suck,” Luke announces. “Whenever anything bad happens, they just, like, shrink away from it. It’s escapist. It’s like, I’m uncomfortable, I can’t handle your shit, so I’m just gonna run away.”

“Yeah,” I whisper, even though his words don’t exactly ring true. People didn’t run away from me when my family fell apart. They lurked, swooped like vultures feeding on my family’s misery. For days, weeks, months, leading up to the trial, they splashed my image on the covers of magazines. Waited outside my house, followed me to document my misery. People did suck. But I wish they had run away. I wish they’d left me to grieve in peace.

“Listen, I…” Luke’s gaze travels my face. “…we don’t have to talk about this anymore. I didn’t mean to push.”

“It’s okay,” I exhale. My hands find my face, and I’m embarrassed that my cheeks are wet with tears. “Really. It’s not your fault.” As much as I fear slipping up and exposing something ugly, it’s freeing to talk to Luke this way. Releases just the tiniest bit of pressure. I haven’t spoken about my family since I got to Miami. I realize how much I needed to acknowledge that I had a family, and that they’re gone now.

“Come on.” Luke stands and pulls me to my feet. “Let’s take another dip.”

“Sounds good,” I sniff. “Race you?”

But before I can make a break for the water, he pulls me in close for a short, tight squeeze. “I don’t think you’re weak,” he whispers fiercely. “I think you’re the strongest woman I’ve ever wanted to know. Got it?”

“Got it,” I whisper back. And I let him hold my strong, broken self.

Elle,

Still loving the Hamptons, despite the super awkward dinner last night where David’s mother had four too many glasses of scotch and asked me (and this is a direct quote) whether I “approved of my father’s actions.” David cut her off, but seriously? Does she think that just because I’m his kid, I’ll let a little death and destruction slide? (Sorry.)

Love you for infinity,

A

Late afternoon winds its way into evening as I kick off my soaked, sandy sneakers by the front door. When my cell pings I start to scan Aria’s latest Email, then decide against reading it in its entirety. I feel too good right now; don’t want to spoil it.

“Anybody home?” I call as I enter the kitchen. My body is stiff with saltwater and more relaxed than it’s been in months. The muscles in my legs and stomach hum. I’ll be sore tomorrow. But right now, I feel incredible. Cleansed. Opening up to Luke, even just the tiniest bit, felt natural. It felt like he understood me, like he saw the real me. And somehow, the universe didn’t implode.

“Well, well, well. Where’ve you been?” Waverly chirps from the kitchen table, where she and Gwen are both apron-clad, bent over a giant ball of what looks like wet newspaper. Paintbrushes, glue, stacks of newspaper, and a ceramic bowl crowd the table. “We were starting to worry.” She glances up and blows her bangs away from her eyes, looking intrigued. “How come you’re wet?”

“What is this stuff?” I pluck my damp halter away from my stomach, waving it dry.

Gwen snorts. “What
is
it? Or what is it
supposed
to be? It’s
supposed
to be a papier-mâché bust of Shakespeare for my classroom.”

“But it
is
…” Waverly wrinkles her nose at the soggy ball between them. “…a complete failure.”

“Effing Pinterest,” Gwen mutters, slapping a wet strip of newspaper over the top of the ball. She looks genuinely pissed, so I pinch my lips together to contain the laugh rolling around in my stomach.

“It’s… creative?” I poke gently at the back of the bust’s head.

“Hey! Watch the nose!” Gwen swats me away.

“Wait. I thought that was the mouth,” Waverly frowns.

“Screw it.” Gwen ditches her paintbrush and tugs furiously at the strings on her apron. After a few seconds, she gives up, ducks out of the halter, and shimmies out of the apron like she’s pulling off a pair of jeans. “Please tell us you’ve done something cooler with your Saturday than this.”

“Well, I was actually with—”

“LUKE!” Waverly squeals. “I called it.”

“Yeah.” I pull out a chair and drop into it. “He wanted to show me this place where he snorkels. Half Moon Preserve.” I can feel a wide smile spreading over my face, and I don’t try to hide it. It feels good to be excited.

“So it was a date, right? You guys are dating?” Gwen grabs the Shakespeare head and pitches it across the kitchen. It arcs over the steel island in the center of the kitchen and lands in the sink. “Three pointer.”

“No, we’re not—I don’t know. We’re just getting to know each other for now.”

“For
now
.” Gwen’s eyes sparkle as she takes the seat next to me. “Until you can’t take the tension anymore and decide to bang.” She wipes her hands on a piece of dry newspaper.

“Guinevere. Elizabeth. Markley,” Waverly takes the chair on my other side. “Don’t say bang.”

“My name is Gwendolyn. And my middle name is Rain. You know this.”

“Guinevere is better,” Waverly insists. “And Rain is a weather forecast. Not a middle name.”

Gwen sighs. “Tell us everything.”

“Well, we went snorkeling, which was awesome, ‘cause I hadn’t done that in a long time. And the wreck was just really beautiful. And after that, we ate a little something on the beach, and then we swam some more, and then—”

“And then you banged!” Gwen says gleefully.

“GUINEVERE!” Waverly whips Gwen’s forearm with her apron string.

“And then he brought me home,” I laugh. “That’s it.” I leave out the part about our make-out session in the surf, or how we rolled around in the sand after the wholesome family of four had left for the day. Or how Luke had cupped my face with his hands and kissed me slowly before I’d walked in the door. I wanted to hold these things close. Keep them just for me.

“I doubt that’s
it
,” Gwen says slyly. “But whatever you say.”

“We’ll get it out of her eventually,” Waverly smiles.

“Good luck.” I tuck a few damp strands behind my ear, suddenly freezing. “It was a really good day, though.” I lean back in my chair, happy and drained. “I’m taking a hot shower and going to bed early tonight.”

“Ohhh, no you don’t.” Gwen grabs my wrist and yanks me to standing. “Don’t conk out on us yet. You’ve got plans tonight.
We’ve
got plans.”

“Guys, I’m seriously exhausted.” If I can’t be alone with Luke, I want to be alone with my thoughts about Luke. In a hot bath.

“Too bad,” Waverly sings. “We’re taking you out tonight. And you can’t say no, because it’s Saturday night in Miami and you can’t officially say you live here until you’ve been to the clubs in South Beach.”

“Clubs?” My worst nightmare. I’ve never been a club person. Not even in New York, where there was always some hot new club with a ridiculously misspelled name opening in the Village or the Meatpacking District. Aria loves clubbing, but I’ve never understood why a person would stand in line for hours just to buy overpriced drinks and listen to music so loud you can’t even hear yourself think.

“Believe me, I get it,” Gwen says. “But it’s a cultural experience. Kind of like a right of passage. You know, popping your club cherry.”

Waverly’s cheeks go pink, but this time, she ignores Gwen. “You probably have time for a nap if you want. Dinner’s at nine, and we’ll head out by ten.”

“You should ask your new boyfriend if he wants to come.” Gwen wrinkles her nose at me.

“He’s
not
my boyfriend,” I protest. Although the idea of having Luke there does make the idea more appealing. “But maybe. You guys wouldn’t mind?”