Page 49 of Mine

“Prishna! It’s Sabine. Open up. We need to talk.”

Still nothing.

I turn the handle, surprised when the door drifts open. It was unlatched. “Prishna?”

The lights are off, and the bed is made. A small rolling suitcase lies on the floor, next to a pair of black ballerina flats.

I think I hear something on the opposite end of the house, maybe a door shutting, so I backtrack, veering into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. I’ll have to confront her later. It’s not like I have much else to do.

The bay windows frame a stunning sunrise. Beams of fuchsia, yellow, and orange spear up from the mountains like a postcard.

I set the doll on the counter. “Stay put,” I say to it mockingly, then beeline it to the coffeepot.

I’ve just added creamer to my mug when Leo steps into the room, startling me. Everyone in this house walks like a damn cat. I wonder if “no noise” is one of Astor’s rules.

“Morning.” Leo joins me next to the coffeepot to refill his mug.

“Morning.” I take a step back, giving him space. He looks much like yesterday, his hair slicked back, wearing khaki tactical pants and a T-shirt. But today, streaks of dirt color his arms, and his boots are caked with mud. He’s been outside. Doing what, I wonder?

“Do you know where Prishna is?” I ask.

Leo shrugs, screws on the lid, dips his chin, and disappears down the hall.

Huh.

For a moment, I consider following him, but something outside catches my eye.

At the bottom of the sloped backyard, Astor is standing at the edge of the deck, his back to me. Ahead of him, the rising sun reflects in the lake, long streaks of light swaying gently on the ripples. I watch as Astor strips out of his T-shirt, revealing a chiseled, tanned back and shoulders that look like twin bowling balls. His wide chest fades to a trim, lean waist. I don’t need to check to confirm that a six-pack is on the other side.

I don’t know why I’m surprised. If there is one thing I can count on, it’s that Astor gets sexier every time I see him.

I lick my lips as he slips out of his jeans and kicks them to the side. In nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs, he drops from the deck and wades into the crystal-clear water.

I’ve never wanted to be a fish so badly. Or ever, really.

After nimbly crossing the large mossy rocks, Astor dives into the abyss.

I notice the outdoor thermostat—48 degrees Fahrenheit. The water must be colder than that.

His strokes are long and fast, and I find myself studying the ripples his body makes in the water. Small at first, then bigger and bigger.

I compare myself to that water. Static and complacent until Astor barges into my life with all his mystery and arrogance. And then, just like the water, I am altered in a way that I am unable to stop. Unable to control.

As I watch the ripples, I wonder if, much as the water does, I should simply give in to it.

Astor fades out of sight. Swimming laps, I assume. Probably a billion—like his bank account.

Sipping my coffee, I consider my own body and wonder what he thinks of it. Is it good enough for him? Am I good enough for him?

Stop, Sabine. Push away the poisonous thoughts. My body is just fine. No man will make me think otherwise. Not even a ripped superhero like Astor Stone.

I sigh and turn to the doll on the counter. “You probably cut off your own head, didn’t you? Years living with a man like that would make any woman go crazy. I get it, girl.”

I make my way into the living room, wondering what today will bring. Wondering what tonight will bring. The memory of Astor watching me climax sends a rush of heat through my body. I’m afraid that whatever this man does to me, whoever I am with him, is going to become very addictive.

My thoughts shift to the shrine of Astor’s wife on the mantel. The woman who, although dead, has a very prominent place in this house.

I study each photo again, and the half-heart pendant necklace she wears in all of them. A gift from Astor? One of many, probably.

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