Page 23 of The Bratva Contract
“Is this yours?”
“For the day,” he says. “I wanted privacy.”
“Are you going to drive the boat?”
“Unless you want to. I know you have a boating license.”
“I do, but I’m not sure where we’re going,” I say.
“See that island?” He points across the bright azure water to a small isle, the steeple of an old church rising in the distance.
“Yes,” I say.
“That’s where we’re going. A fifteenth-century man-made island with a historic church, a prison, and a few submarine tunnels.”
“A prison? Submarine tunnels? I’ll go look at the church, and I’ll hang out on the beach, but I’m not touring a prison.”
“It’s up to you.”
“What kind of tourist attraction is that?”
“Not my style. I’ve spent decades keeping out of prison,” he says wryly, and I can’t resist smiling at that.
“We agree on that. Will you point out the sights and tell me historical facts?”
“I can, if you like.” He smirks and starts the ignition. “You’d better hold on, I like to go fast.”
I sink into the seat and catch my breath as he guns the engine. Water churns behind us, wind whipping curls loose from my carefully pinned chignon. He handles the controls like a pro, slicing across the bright water.
“In the fifteenth century, legend says a fisherman found an icon of the Madonna on these rocks. After each safe voyage, sailors began leaving stones here, and over time their offerings formed an island. The church was built in honor of Our Lady.”
“It’s beautiful, even from here. I like that story,” I say. He slows the boat and slides into a slip. “Is it a busy tourist attraction? I figure it will be crowded.”
“It’s very popular. The day trips book up months in advance. The top tour gives you twenty minutes at the church and a twenty-minute stop to see the blue cave and take photos.”
“That’s all? Who wants to rush around like that? I mean, besides you with your ten-minute timer,” I say.
“I am a busy man. I don’t like to waste time.” He shrugs expressively.
In casual clothes and bright sunlight, with his windblown hair, he looks younger and more at ease, and almost painfully handsome. Grateful for my sunglasses, I look away before he can see the hunger already on my face.
We step off the boat, and I’m a little unsteady on my feet. He takes my hand, sets it on his arm so he can help me until I have my balance back. I look around the sunbaked island, perplexed.
“Where are the crowds?”
“They’re not here today. I told you, I want privacy.”
“So, you just told everyone to leave the island for an hour?” I chuckle.
“Not everyone. The church’s caretaker stayed behind. Inside hangs a famous tapestry, which the artist spent twenty-five years weaving it while she waited for her husband to return. She went blind during the work and even wove strands of her own hair into it.”
I grimace. “That’s not exactly a charming story. She went blind waiting for her husband to come home. Please don’t expect me to weave a tapestry out of my hair because you think it’s romantic.”
“Not at all,” he says. “There are some beautiful icons and paintings.” He leads me into the church.
The imposing marble altar holds an icon of Mary, and I wonder whether it’s the same one the fisherman found. The silence is so deep in the shadowy interior that I don’t want to speak. I kneel, whisper a quick prayer, then step back to light a candle.My husband, it still feels strange to call him that, prays beside me before joining me. We study the artwork, and he points out Byzantine details. Outside, I linger to snap a few photos.
“The blue cave isn’t far,” he says, leading me back to the boat.
