“Say it.”
“Yes. I’m yours.”
He let her go with a shove and she moved herself over to the passenger’s side of the front seat, gathering herself into a heap.
“We don’t even have to make the marriage public—at first—but I’m done with chasing you around the goddamned country. Look at you.” He studied her. “You look like a tramp—a fucking whore. I heard he made you look like this. Billy Rapp…”
Nora closed her eyes.
“You aren’t even pretty.” He shook his head. “I don’t know why I even care about you like I do. I’m just a nice guy. You’re gonna get back and wipe that shit off your face.”
Nora sighed loudly like she was bored. It was dangerous, but she couldn’t help herself. She was tired of running from this man.
This move infuriated Clint. The veins on his neck began to swell and his face began to turn red. “Still think you’re better than me?” He hit her on the head. “I can make it so you go down for his death. You know that, don’t you? You stupid, stupid bitch.” He grabbed her head and began hitting it on the steering wheel again and again. “Don’t you know I made it look like a suicide. I did that! You cross me… or you don’t marry me? You’re going down for his murder. You get me?” He held her up by the hair.
Quietly she mumbled, “You killed him, didn’t you?”
“Of course I fucking killed him, Norma. You are mine. Why don’t you see that? Are you stupid?” He laughed. “Funny thing is, I didn’t need to kill the bastard. He was never sleeping with you. The whole thing was a farce.” He looked over at her, went a few miles, and put his hand between her legs. Fortunately, she was wearing trousers. She shuddered and Clint mistook it for desire. “You wanna pull off the road? Does the fact I killed him turn you on?”
“No,” Nora snapped. “I have to get there before the boat goes out.”
“I figure I’ll manage your career,” said Clint, gaining his composure.
Nora closed her eyes. After a few more miles, they pulled into the harbor and Nora quickly got out of the car. Clint came around and pulled out her suitcase. Backing her against the car, he kissed her hard and his hand found its familiar place around her neck. “You little bitch. You go on this fucking little trip and then you get your ass back here and you’re going to do it my way or I’ll fucking kill you, too. Do you understand me?”
Nora couldn’t breathe, but she tried to nod.
“Is there a problem here?” It was a voice behind Clint. On instinct, he released her. She saw him smile before he turned.
Nora saw a man with caramel-colored hair lighting a cigarette beside the boat.
“No problem,” said Clint. “The missus is just being difficult.”
At “the missus,” Nora thought she’d be sick. She would have to run again. Clint would eventually kill her. She knew that she had to leave Los Angeles and never return.
“Are you Nora Wheeler?” The man took two steps to retrieve her suitcase.
“Yes.” She stepped away from Clint toward the man.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” said the man. He turned to Clint, dismissing him. “Thank you.”
Nora could tell that Clint didn’t care for the man and cared less for the dismissal. He was handsome, in the way that the camera picked up—the cheekbones, the thin face. The man had tanned skin and deep, soft-blue eyes. He looked like he’d been in a few bar fights in his life. There was something about him that put Nora at ease.
“You remember what I said, Nora.” Clint turned and got into the car.
The man helped Nora onto the boat. There was another man in a white server’s uniform holding a silver tray of food.
“I’m Luke Varner.” The man put Nora’s suitcase down and put out his hand. “This is my boat, the Aurora.” He pointed to her head. “You’re bleeding.”
“Oh.” She touched her hair and could feel a sizable lump where Clint had hit her head against the steering wheel. “Am I the only one here?”
“You are the first,” said Varner. He motioned to the man in white. “Can you take Miss Wheeler’s bag down to her cabin?” Varner walked around to the bar, poured a full glass of champagne, and handed it to Nora. “Let’s have a drink. I’ll get you some ice and a towel, too.”
It sounded like a good idea to Nora. Luke left the room and returned with a white towel twisted around several ice cubes. She put it to her head.
“To new journeys.” Nora downed the champagne quickly, and Luke refilled it. “That man,” he said. “Is he as bad as he looks?”
“Worse.”
Varner came around the bar and looked at her neck. “He left marks here, too.”
Nora looked into a mirror that was hanging near the door. Red handprints were painted across her neck. She closed her eyes, embarrassed.
“You’re safe here,” he said. “I promise you.”
She laughed bitterly. “Oh, Mr. Varner. I’m afraid I’m not safe anywhere.” Nora took another big gulp of her champagne.
“Do you want to rest for a bit in your cabin?”
Nora nodded.
“Come on.” He helped her down a set of stairs. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”
“Can you call me when Lillibet arrives?”
“Of course.”
The room was modest but comfortable. It had a window and she could see out to the expanse of the Pacific Ocean. A sudden wave of drowsiness overtook her. Nora sat down on the bed. She would just rest for a minute. Her eyes were heavy, and she rolled up in a ball onto the bed.
Church bells. Seven of them. Nora woke slowly, getting adjusted to the light that was pouring into the room. Something seemed off with the scene around her. She sat up and looked around the room—and it was a room—on land, she was sure of it. Confused, she tried to remember the last memory she had. She’d been in her stateroom on the Aurora, where she’d had several glasses of champagne. She felt her head. The bump was still there—at least that was still normal. Looking around now, she was in a bed—a big bed with drapes and an elaborate rug. Light was streaming in through the French doors—two sets of them. This was not a stateroom. She looked down—she was dressed in a silk nightgown, not the sweater and trousers she’d worn on the boat. Sliding out of bed, she walked over to the window and pulled back the sheer drape. It was a strange sight. She was on the third floor. Cracking open the door, she stepped out onto the balcony and looked down at the busy street beneath her. This was definitely not Hollywood—this wasn’t even America. She could hear people laughing and calling to each other. “Allez,” said a man calling to a young boy. Where on earth was she?
Nora looked around the room for her suitcase. Opening up the armoire, she found six dresses hanging. She pulled the first one out—a knee-length powder-blue dress that she knew would fit her perfectly, as well as a silk-and-velvet gown that clung tightly through the hips and hung just below the knee. Nora checked the labels. They were all from the top French designers and perfectly sized for her. At the foot of the bed, a matching silk robe was draped. Nora pulled it around her and opened the door to the hallway. Everything was quiet, but she could hear the ticking of a clock. At the bottom of a grand staircase was a foyer with a round table and fresh flowers. Nora padded down the stairs, wondering if she should be wearing shoes. Off the foyer, she opened the double set of doors and peered in. It was a sitting room with a grand piano and bookcase and marble fireplace. Nora did a double take on the piano. Something about that particular instrument felt familiar. The painting above the fireplace caught her eye. It was a curious thing. Standing under it, she contemplated the mournful look on the girl’s face.