Page 50 of The Devil Wears Orange
Dressed in a flowingchiffon dress paired with a wide-brimmed hat and a pair of stilettos, I skip from one stone step to another towards the marina. Flats would be more appropriate, but considering the bathing suit under my dress, I judge the heel will do wonders for my calves, and I need all the help I can get. Omar had dropped me off and he seemed upset that I had disappeared on him the way I did. Though he didn’t say much, his responses to me were curt. I had to wonder, was I in trouble with Rashid? I’m certainly glad I had asked Jack to be here as I didn’t want to be alone with Rashid at the moment. Something was definitely off with him.
Taxis fly in and out of the parking lot, cyclists zip past along the boardwalk, and a couple with a bright pink selfie stick pose with boats to their background. A group of tourists embarks on a ship, slipping their arms through orange life jackets. I stroll past a small crowd of people mingling on the boardwalk.
“Charlotte.”
I turn. With all the distractions, I had walked past Rashid standing a mere twenty feet away and next to a boat calledShe Is Mine.I hope the reference is to the boat; still, I can’t ignore the misogyny of it all. I hurry along to him.
“Be very careful when stepping onboard,” he says, gets into the boat, and turns to extend a hand.
The boat, I realize, is not the yacht I had pictured. There will be no lounging on the deck in my bathing suit and no servants serving us supper. No, this monstrosity is a speedboat.Ugh, how I hate the way they smash against waves while racing, and worse still are the men with the need to drive them. Yet, Rashid doesn’t strike me as one ofthosemen. After all, he has real power, so why bother with imitation? I step onto the boat and sit in the bucket seat next to the driver.
“Are you driving this thing?” I ask.
“Yes, unless you would like to.”
I shake my head. “All yours.”
Looking back at the marina, I notice Omar at the pier some thirty feet away, his eyes on us. I thought he had left when he dropped me off. Then, a second man joins him, and together they both stare out to the boat. I am about to comment when I catch Rashid’s eyes flick towards this other man, and there, almost imperceptibly that I nearly miss it, is a nod. The unspoken glances between them arouse my suspicion.
“You know we don’t have to leave the pier? It looks pretty busy out there.”
Rashid looks briefly at the waterway dotted with boats. In a serious tone, he says, “There’s a secluded area we’ll go to.”
“Secluded?” I glance at the busy waterway and wonder where among all that, he will find a secluded area? More importantly,whydoes he want seclusion?
“Ready?” says Rashid, and without waiting for an answer, starts up the engine and pulls away.
Absolutely, I’m not ready! Not now that the presence of this unknown man has filled my mind with a million questions for which I have no answers. Dread consumes me as the boat moves me away from land, from witnesses, and from safety.
“Life vests,” I shout above the roar of the engine. “Where do you keep them?”
Finally, past the chaos of boats, Rashid kills the engine, and we bob. It’s a strange motion that makes me feel like a duck on water.
Duck.
Sitting duck. That’s the expression that best describes my situation.
“They’re in the side bench.”
I scramble to the bench he points to and pull out a bright orange vest.
Rashid’s gaze fixedly on me, he says, “You’ve been causing trouble.”
My body tenses, a rigidity I hope goes undetected.Get yourself together. He can’t possibly know. No one, I’m certain, followed me when I met Jack, yet, the more Rashid stares at me, the less confident I feel. I make a quick calculation as to how far the closest party boat is. I could swim to it if need be.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I say, trying to keep my tone even. The life jacket slips from my sweaty fingers.
“Charlotte,” he says, sounding more like my father than my own father ever did when he scolded me, “Omar informs me that you disappeared from the hotel without saying a word to anyone.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. He doesn’t know about my meeting with Jack. “Am I a prisoner?”
Rashid is taken aback. “Of course not. I have a staff to drive you wherever you wish to go. I can’t have you running off someplace dangerous.”
I lightly scoff. “Someplace dangerous? I’m a grown woman who’s well-traveled. I don’t need a chaperone.”
“You’re misconstruing what I’m saying.”
His avuncular tone makes me feel a little castigated. Perhaps I should behave like a petulant teenager and sulk and whine, but instead, I say, “Noted. I merely wanted to explore the city on my own. I ate enormous amounts of sweets and drank cardamon coffee,” I tell him. Nervousness has set my mouth to babble at full speed.
