Page 14 of Lair

I turn, heart pounding, to greet Mr. Voper. Even on holiday, he hasn’t changed into more casual clothes, nothing to indicate he’s in the sun-loving Mediterranean. He’s buttoned up in a dark fitted suit like a priest or mortician: cool, urbane, closed off. His sunglasses glide to me, and I feel sparks and chills sweep me head to toe. Jesus, am I that terrified of him? The moment comes, I open my mouth to speak—

Mrs. Colding steps between, her mouth a grim line. “Stay here and wait for them.” And she follows Voper into the yacht.

I stand there, stuck with a vague feeling of rejection. How ridiculous. I snap myself out of it and go stand on one of the foldable platforms extending like a balcony out from the yacht, hands clasped behind my back. Far off, the Jet Skis thunder across the water, followed faintly by Emmie and Lucia’s squeals of delight. I crane my head and look down the length of the yacht. Sunlight flares off its polished exterior, but I can see Voper pacing behind the darkly tinted windows of the main salon like a hungry shadow, watching the models, too. It must be lonely, being rich. Lonely and alienating, imprisoned in your own wealth. Though he has Mrs. Colding there at his elbow, with her baleful looks and her inscrutable, fanatical loyalty. What is it with the two of them? What strange relationship do they have?

It’s almost half an hour before the guests return. Emmie is giggling and pushing at Jason, and they both tumble laughing into the water. I grit my teeth. And when Emmie climbs voluptuously up the swim ladder as if vamping for a magazine shoot, she flicks her hair back in an arc of sparkling water droplets and struts over to take my offered towel, her expression suddenly contemptuous. “Water,” she says without any inflection at all.

My teeth are outright grinding now.

When I open the cooler in the beach club, I’m at a loss at the number of brands: Evian, Voss, Fiji, Acqua Pana. I’ve no idea which one Emmie takes, but I can’t admit that. So I go for the most expensive. Evian it is.

When I hand it to her, she looks me up and down—and grabs it, breaking the seal with a brutal twist. She jerks her head at a dripping Lucia. “You gonna get her one, too? Or did you wanna try her shoes on first?”

I flush a deep red. Lucia puts her hands on her hips, shares a smirk with Emmie.

So. This is how it’s gonna go.

Great.

As I turn back for the water cooler, Lucia mutters loud enough for me to hear, “And I thought the peasants in my country were bad.” Emmie snorts water as Lucia calls after me. “You think if you were tall enough to walk a runway, you’d be in one of the VIP suites with us? Those shoes won’t make that shit any prettier, querida.”

My blood is boiling now. Why can’t I stand up for myself? I look over my shoulder at Jason, who’s removing his water jacket behind them, and he rolls his eyes. I can’t help but grin. Maybe it’ll be bearable after all.

It’s just enough of a boost in confidence for me to mutter under my breath, “Too bad your prettiness is only skin-deep.”

There’s an astonished silence behind me.

“What did you say?”

Shit.

Blood thuds behind my eyes. When I turn around, the mouths of the models are hanging open in gobsmacked fury. Jason has to turn away to hide his grin.

I fight down a prickling of shock, my hands trembling at my sides—What did I just do?—and plaster an oh-so-innocent smile on my face. “I said, Which kind of water did you want, miss?”

When I glance up at the salon windows again, Voper is watching me.

We anchor near Ajaccio for the night. I do cabin turn-downs, help Mrs. Colding and Thea clear dinner—Voper never even looks at me—and after some laundry I’m let go for the night. I barely notice; I’m still a little in wonder at what I’d said. That I’d had the balls to say it, mutter though it was. And my lie had hardly fooled Emmie and Lucia—they’d glared at me all night.

Too bad I’ll never have the confidence to say something like that to their faces.

When I shamble like the undead into the cabin, Thea is still up. “Well?” she says, hanging her head off the side of the top bunk as I sink into mine. “How was your first full day?”

I heave a sigh, and Thea arches a brow. When I tell her about the shoes she rolls away, throwing her head back in delighted laughter and clapping her hands together. “You didn’t. You didn’t! Oh my God, you’re so screwed.”

I lay a forearm across my eyes and groan.

“You’ve got issues, girl.” She’s still cracking up.

“Tell me about it. I kinda gave her and Lucia some lip today, too.” I pause. “And then there’s Voper...”

Thea is still with curiosity above me. “What about him?”

I glance at my cell. I’ve got no less than twelve texts from Cailee. The last one reads: ARE YOU DEAD?? CALL ME!!! Time to spare her the agony.

I hop out of my bunk. “I gotta make a call.”

Thea rolls on her side. “Good luck with that.”

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