Page 33 of Ruby Mercy

“Then you better hurry and make your castle taller before it starts to collapse.”

Her eyes widen in horror and she gets to work, her tongue pinched between her teeth.

Half of being a parent is figuring out how to get your kid to play by themselves for five minutes so you don’t lose your sanity. I’m getting pretty good at it, if I do say so myself.

I lie on the beach and stare up at the sky. The bright blue is turning darker by the second, but we’re too close to the city to see any stars. Those don’t come out until it is full dark. Even then, we only see a fraction of a fraction of the constellations that are actually hanging above our heads.

I’ve reminded myself of that often over the years. Things are never as dark and hopeless as they appear. There is always more light to be found.

I’m still supine in the sand, Yuliana working happily next to me, when a shadow cuts across the sky.

I scream and jolt up to see Surfer Boy Marcus, shirtless and carrying his surfboard, stepping back. “Sorry about that! I should’ve done a bird call or something to announce myself.”

I press a hand to my racing heart. “Or a normal greeting. That would have worked, too.”

He chuckles and runs a hand through his hair. It’s damp and water clings to his chest and abs. It should be doingsomethingfor me, right? A glistening, shirtless man standing less than five feet away from me?

But there is nothing. No fluttering in my stomach. No tightening of my chest. He might as well be a seagull picking at the remnants of someone else’s picnic.

“Sorry. I actually wasn’t even sure it was you. I didn’t know you had a kid.” He gestures towards Yuliana like I might not know which kid he is talking about. He lowers his voice. “She is yours, right?”

“Yes. She’s mine.”

“Cutie pie.” He smiles over at her, but Yuliana barely spares him a glance. She gets nervous around new people.

“You going surfing?” I ask.

“No. Well, yeah. I mean, I was surfing. I’ve been surfing for a while. Did you not see me?”

“I guess not,” I admit.

He runs a hand down his shaved jaw. “I noticed you when I was out there. You’re kind of hard to miss with the shorts and—erm, you look great. Is all I meant.”

I feel an embarrassing kind of heat creep down my back. I sit up and wrap my arms around my legs, suddenly feeling a bit too unclothed. “Thanks.”

“I’m making a real mess of things,” he mumbles. Marcus sticks his surfboard into the sand and wraps an arm around it. His hands drum nervously on the surface.

I already think I know what is coming. Instead of looking Marcus in the eyes, I turn my gaze back to the water, hoping that if I ignore him, he’ll stop talking and disappear.

The sky has darkened even more along the horizon. Lights are starting to blink to life across the water. A few smaller sailboats are heading back towards the dock and the yacht anchored offshore stands out more starkly. Golden light pours out of its windows and spills across the water.

“Listen, Rayne,” Marcus continues, “I’ve been wanting to ask you since basically the day we first met, but will you—”

The rest of Marcus’ sentence is lost to me as my eyes move down the length of the yacht and catch the boat’s name painted on the side in a dark green cursive font.

The Ilya.

My breath catches in my throat. Goosebumps break out across my skin, sending shivers down my spine.

“Oh my—” My voice is nothing more than a rasp.

Marcus clears his throat. “What?”

“Whose boat is that?” I blurt, pointing openly at the yacht. “When did it—How did it—Who?”

I sound damn near incoherent. Ifeeldamn near incoherent.

There is only one person I know who would name their boat—nay, theiryacht—The Ilya.

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