was off the yacht and in a restaurant with my friends. After the other night, a heavy feeling settled in my gut whenever I thought about Ollie. Something had seemed off about him. Something I could only describe as dark had seemed to linger in his eyes. However, he was his usual charming and attentive self at the restaurant. He had left Marbella now, called back to London by his father. That left tonight. One night without Hugo, without Ollie watching me closely.
The sound of voices from the Adley yacht drew my attention.
“You boring twat!” Eric Mason shouted to someone inside the living quarters as he walked out in shorts and a white linen shirt, his hair swept over to one side as always.
Freddie Williams was on his heels, slapping Eric around the back of the head. “He has business he’s got to get done, arsehole,” he said. “Or do you want to ring Alfie and tell him his son’s fucking off his work so we can go and get pissed instead?”
“Good point,” Eric said after pretending to think for a few seconds, and they left the yacht and headed toward the bars of the main strip.
“Ugh. At least they haven’t tried to get on board here tonight,” Freya said. She stood straighter when Benedict Shaw came over and took her hand, leading her to the makeshift dancefloor without a word.
“She’s so cock-whipped,” Arabella said, then practically fell to her knees when Cassius Lock came up to her too. She quickly turned her back and downed her margarita. When I smiled and lifted a questioning brow, she flicked her middle finger at me. “Dutch courage, okay? Don’t judge me.”
“Arabella?” Cassius said. He nudged his head in the direction of the bar inside. “You want to grab a drink?”
Arabella smiled widely at me as Cassius led her inside the yacht. I watched people we knew from home get gradually drunker. People paired off, and the sky grew dark.
“Come on, old boy,” a voice said from the Adley yacht. Charlie Adley and Vinnie Edwards were leaving the boat. Vinnie bounced as he walked, as if he’d been injected with pure adrenaline and his muscles had no choice but to move. Charlie, his arm around Vinnie’s shoulders, led him into a waiting car. They sped off, the taillights of the car disappearing into the distance.
I drank the rest of my sangria as the DJ cranked up the music some more. The people on our yacht all gravitated to the dancefloor, pills and shots immediately being passed around. I saw Freya near the bar and Arabella leading Cassius toward her room.
I stared at the people in front of me. Every one of them was wealthy. Every one spoke with received pronunciation like I did. Every one had attended a private school, and not just any—the best England had to offer. We all frequently lunched at the Bluebird in Chelsea—and we were all destined to marry into the same circles. Suitable “society” families.
I was no different.
And it was completely suffocating.
Placing my glass on a nearby table, I left the lights and pounding dance music of the sun deck and made my way to the back of the yacht. The music quietened as I leaned over the back of the boat and stared unseeing at the restaurants behind us.
The familiar smell of cigarette smoke cut through my reverie. Even in the darkness of the dock, I glimpsed the sight of a cigarette’s burning end, the orange flicker of tobacco morphing into ashes before it dropped to the ground.
Arthur.
I stood, seeing Arthur’s face illuminated as he took another drag. His yacht was in near darkness, barely a light in sight. But I saw the moment he caught me in his peripheral vision. His head cocked to the side, and his blue eyes ran down the length of my dress. It was purple and cut in a deep V to my belly button, the sides of my breasts peeking through the gauzy fabric. It flowed to my feet. My long dark hair was held back off my neck with a few well-placed grips.
I swallowed down my nerves as he drank me in. His hand remained in his pocket, his posture the epitome of calm. I tried to mirror his frame, but inside, my heart was beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings.
The people on this yacht were the furthest thing from Arthur they could possibly be. Arthur may have been richer than sin, but he was brought up