Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 98226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“Good morning, Miss Dawn,” he said, like I wasn’t a complete mess before him. His eyes were kind and wrinkled at the edges like always, his smile polite, voice calm.
“I told you to stop that,” I said.
He shrugged. “My apologies. Habit, now that you and Mr. Whitman are…”
Wayland paused, not finishing that sentence, and my stomach cramped because I wasn’t sure there was anything to even finish that sentence with.
“Just call me Aspen. Okay?”
Wayland smiled. “As you wish.” He held up the carafe in his hand then. “Claude is making breakfast now, but I thought you might like some coffee.”
He set down the carafe first, followed by one mug — not two.
“Will Mr. Whitman be joining me?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound as pathetic as I felt.
“Unfortunately, he’s already gone to shore. Business. I’m sure you understand,” Wayland said.
I nodded, throat squeezing tight again. “Of course,” I croaked out.
He watched me for a long time, and I felt the weight of his sympathetic eyes until he sat on the bed next to me. “We have a saying in Jamaica, one my mother said many times to me.” Wayland paused, furrowing his brows before the thickest accent I’d heard yet from him made an appearance. “De more yu luk, de less yu si.”
He poured some coffee into the mug he’d brought for me then, handing me the steaming cup.
“The more you look, the less you see?”
Wayland nodded. “Exactly. It’s a reminder that it’s impossible for us to know all the details about everything in life. And usually, the more we badger ourselves to try to figure it all out, the narrower our scope of understanding becomes.”
I frowned, staring at the black liquid in my cup and watching the steam rise slowly.
“What I’m saying is, I can see that you are troubled — and perhaps what’s troubling you most is that you’re trying to get a concrete answer for something that may not require it. Perhaps letting your mind rest is the best cure for what ails you.”
Wayland arched his thick, dark brow at me then, tapping my knee before he left me. But regardless of how beautiful the sentiment behind what he’d shared, I still slumped back into the bed once he was gone, determined to waste the entire day away there.
It didn’t matter that the sun was back, that it was a perfectly beautiful day on one of the most gorgeous islands in all of Greece. There was nothing I could do to block out the black clouds hanging over my heart, and they were all-consuming, the kind of despair that couldn’t be erased by anyone other than the person who caused it.
I didn’t eat breakfast. I didn’t eat lunch. I didn’t do anything but lay in bed, wafting in and out of a restless sleep. I was too tired to do anything active, but too anxious to let myself fully rest. It was the most exhausting push and pull, like an unrelenting barrel of waves taking me under over and over, barely letting me catch my breath in-between.
Sometime in the late afternoon, Wayland knocked again, and this time, he entered carrying a piece of clothing on a hanger covered by a black fabric protector.
“I’ve been instructed to take you to shore at six this evening, Miss—” he caught himself, smiling sheepishly at me as he said, “Aspen.” He hung the mysterious clothing item on the back of the closet door. “You are to wear this.”
I sniffed, squinting through my hazy sight at the black bag, then at Wayland. “Where am I going? Will Theo be there?”
“I’m afraid I don’t have any further information,” Wayland said, but there was a small smirk on his lips, and he ducked away before I could pepper him with more questions. “I’ll meet you on the main deck at ten til six.”
“Wayland!” I tried, but he just waved me off and shut the door behind him with a soft snick.
I sighed, staring at the black bag hanging on the door like it was a bomb waiting to go off. I didn’t know why my anxiety was prickled even more at the lack of information and demand to be ready to go ashore, but it was.
Is he kicking me off?
Is he going to take me to dinner and then have Wayland pack my bags?
Is this it, is this when I let him go?
I steeled a breath against the onslaught of what ifs, wrapping myself up in the bed sheet and tip-toeing over to the closet. I unzipped the bag, and when I did, I gasped.
Hanging inside was a cream, long-sleeve top that weaved together in the front in a stunning criss-cross of thick, ribbed wool. It had a deep but elegant V neck, and around the hanger, there were three delicate gold necklaces of varying size to illustrate how they should lay on my neck. The shortest was just a chain choker with small balls of gold, the next was slightly longer with a small key, and the longest ended with a gold heart about an inch wide.