So, after the first thing I bought being a baseball cap and new jacket, I kept my head down and bought what I needed, which had basically been everything. Then I dumped the flight attendant’s clothes and bag, now having new luggage of my own. The cocktail dress I had bought onboard after realising that if I wanted to leave my room at night and do so without sticking out like a sore thumb, then I needed to buy a dress.
Because as great as camping out in my room feeling sorry for myself for twenty-one days sounded, I had lasted about two days before that shit got old. So, instead I had fallen into a rhythm of life on board, which started with a morning art class. This was something I sucked at despite the sweet encouragement I would get from the retired ladies I had in my group.
Then after some failed art, I would go for a swim and dry on the sunbeds with a book from the library. After this the rest of my day pretty much centered around food, getting ready for the evening and planning what live show there was to watch or what new movies were scheduled. To be honest, as holidays went, then yeah, I could totally see the appeal. But for someone trying to get over heartbreak, then spending all this time by myself wasn’t ideal. Every fucking thing reminded me of him. The evenings were the worst, for every time I saw a blonde male in a suit from behind, I thought of Lucius.
I had even been hit on whilst at the bar, and the conversations always started the same way. What did I do for a living and what was I doing on the cruise alone? And let’s just say that telling them I was on the run from my Vampire ex-boyfriend who I caught kissing my mum, wasn’t exactly the most convincing of stories. Hence, why I had come up with my cover story long before getting on board. Telling people that I wrote articles for a travel magazine and next month’s issue was a feature all about life on board. I even had a catchy title for it, just to add weight to my backstory, it was going to be called,
‘Lonely or Lively Life at Sea.’
Of course, I think some of the ladies at my craft table got the wrong impression to this as I ended up with a different grandson’s phone number or email address every day, and I was gaining quite a collection. Enough at least to have my own black book half filled, should I feel the need to become a sexed-up floozy during this next stage of my life.
But through all the smiles and jokes told, I always ended the day stood in front of the mirror, removing my make-up and asking myself what the fuck it was that I was doing? I wanted to call home every damn day! I wanted to talk to my mum and hope that if I absorbed the lies enough, then I had the power to turn them into truth.
I wanted to speak to my dad and ask him how he was after what I had forced him to discover, feeling guilty of the fact every day since it happened. I also wanted to call Wendy, or even Ben, who admittedly I hadn’t spoken to since the day I left London…since I discovered he had been planted in the building and ordered to become my friend.
I wanted to connect with those I loved and cared about, but I knew that with everyone, there was a chance of a slip up. A chance that something could be discovered from the conversations we would have. I already knew that they had most likely got to Wendy, as I suspected they would. No doubt Dante would have been in charge of that one. Gods, I even felt guilty for that, wondering what I might have put her through.
But no matter how tempted I was and how alone I felt, I just couldn’t chance it. So, I would just have to wait. Because really, just how long was Lucius willing to hunt me down for my parents’ sake? Because he felt responsible?
I mean, it was clear that Lucius obviously cared for me on some level as I would be an idiot to believe anything else. But I also knew that he wasn’t above trying to lure me back by any means necessary. And it had become obvious that lying was already a skill of his that I had been a victim of far too many times before.
But what hurt the most was that I missed it. I missed the lie so fucking much that behind this closed door and in this small cabin, I couldn’t hide it. Not even from myself. Because the tears in my eyes that stared back at me every night wouldn’t go away. They just wouldn’t leave me. The pain wouldn’t go away.
Not even for a second.
No, all that would happen was that numbness you relied on to make it through the day and function. The cloak you wrapped around yourself whilst you smiled at others and made polite conversation. The cloak that made your heartbreak invisible to everyone around you. But it was a cloak that you had no choice but to remove at the end of the day, hanging it up by the door at the ready to use the moment you had to leave and face the world again.
Then there had been the couple dancing and something in me crumbled. I had watched that couple dance and the sight of their love for each other had set my cloak of fake smiles alight. Burning it to ashes at my feet as if I had just stabbed a rogue. I had tears streaming down my eyes and found myself stumbling back to my room after the wrong man had asked me to dance. After the wrong man’s hand was offered and I looked up to see it attached to the wrong man. That’s when my illusion to the world on board had shattered and six strong cocktails and the offer of a dance had been all it had taken for me to break.
To call him.
Oh sure, I had convinced myself it had all been solely for the promise of sleep, but it was a lie. I just needed to hear his voice. That beautiful voice that I just wanted to hear whispering sweet words of seduction in my ear as I slept in his arms. I wanted his teasing, his comfort, and his strength. I wanted his dark promises of pleasure and the stern command of his dominant sexual tendencies. But I also wanted his laughter to be the answer to my jokes and the sound of his amused responses to the silly things I said. Gods, but even his growls of anger and frustration were on the list of sounds I missed.
But most of all I missed the way he loved me…even if it was for a short time and wasn’t real, I still missed it.
I missed it all.
And by the end of it all, twenty-six days since first running, I ended my journey on the last night at the very back of the ship, looking out to sea with a glass in hand. With what I hoped was the last of my tears streaming down my face, knowing that I had done it…
I had really run from the only man that I’d ever loved. All because he could never fully love me back. Maybe the Fates had got it all wrong or maybe it was just me that had? Maybe there was no such thing for me as a Chosen One or maybe it was just all bullshit and the fucking Fates didn’t mean anything.
Which was why I had lifted my glass, toasted the moon, and said,
“Fuck the Fates and fuck love…I’m done.”
Then I downed the rest of my champagne, calmly placed my glass on the deck and walked away with what felt like the whole world at my back.
That was the first night I went to bed and didn’t cry into the mirror before it. My tears had finally stopped. Because now, the moment I walked off this ship I had a plan.
And like all the ones before it, this time I knew nothing was going to get in my way.
The real journey had just begun.
Lucius
Chapter 18
Map of Thieves
“Amelia!” I bolted upright with her name being once more cursed from my lips as I called out for her in my sleep. Then I reacted as I did every time I woke after yet another fucking dream of her, I bent my knees, hung my head, and dragged both hands through my hair in frustration as I hissed a curse in at least ten different languages. Then I looked up at the room that no longer felt like my own, but more like a fucking shrine to the girl. All her stuff remained around me, untouched and waiting for what felt like the ghost of her to come back and walk into the stack of empty shoes in my closet.