Page 97 of Heart of Frost and Scars

She sighs.

Monty clears his throat behind me, causing me to whip my head around.

His lips press together, and his throat jumps beneath the bandage, swallowing whatever he wants to tell her.

Instead, he says, “Shall we?”

We board the yacht, and she veers into the command deck, her hands deftly checking the controls and adjusting settings. Of course, she knows her way around this vessel. It’s hers as much as it’s his.

Because they’re married.

The thought stirs a blizzard of emotions in me. There’s jealousy. Always. But also admiration. She’s too independent to be a passenger princess. She also has her own boat—the faded, rickety little cruiser in the adjacent slip—which she used to go to work every day. I love her even more for keeping that old thing.

“Frankie spent a lot of time on this yacht.” Monty leans in the doorway, the low rumble of his voice hinting at intimacies that make my hackles bristle. “She knows it better than anyone.”

Every surface, wall, couch, and bed.

I hear it in his tone, see it in his hooded eyes.

He not only fucked the only two women I’ve had sex with, but he also impregnated them. Not that I have any possessive feelings about Gretchen. I fucking hated that raping bitch. But my very complicated sexual history connects me to him in deeply disturbing ways that I try not to think about.

These are things I should be discussing with a therapist. Anyone but Dr. Whitaker. My session with him was a wasted hour of questions, which I refused to answer because I was too busy plotting his death with a growl in my throat.

And this was before Kody told me that the doctor put his hands on her.

“It’s been a while.” She looks over the displays and gauges with familiarity. “But I can still operate this fancy lady in my sleep.”

“You want to steer her into the Sound?” Monty asks.

“Nope. I’d rather sit on the sun deck.” She angles her neck, peering out the window. “Not a raindrop in the sky. You picked a great day for a cruise, Monty.”

They share a private smile, and I’m back to wanting to gut him.

As I help Monty release the mooring lines to depart, two security guards board the yacht.

Monty catches my eye. “I’m not taking any chances.”

I hadn’t considered the need for security on this excursion. Kody and I are so used to protecting her by ourselves. That’s our job. The thought of sharing that role grates even as I know it’s the right decision.

Back at the bridge, Monty explains the yacht’s controls to Kody and me. Frankie saunters off to the sun deck.

Then we’re off.

Kody and I take turns at the wheel while Monty directs us. There’s a lot to remember, but we learn quickly. Kody doesn’t say much beyond his usual grunting, but I see the smile in his eyes. He’s enjoying this as much as I am.

As we move farther from the shore, the vastness of the water spreads out before us. I saw the ocean from the plane when we flew in, but it was dark and distant. Down here, it looks bigger, breathtaking and deep, an endless ripple of blue beneath the cloudless sky.

Sometime later, she returns with a tray of champagne glasses filled with orange liquid.

“Mimosas.” She passes them out and sets the tray aside. “Champagne and orange juice.”

Monty raises his glass in a toast. “To family and new experiences.”

We all clink our glasses together, and Kody and I exchange a look.

This is a celebration, a moment of unity and shared purpose, even if undercurrents of tension and distrust remain.

The bubbly drink fizzes on my tongue, the taste sharp and sweet. I prefer Kody’s vodka.

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