Chapter 2 - The Honeymoon Lie
Corsica looked like the kind of place rich people used to convince themselves the world was safe.
Blue water.
White stone.
Cliffs that dropped into a Mediterranean so clear Clara could see shadows of fish moving beneath the surface.
The resort occupied its own private peninsula, reachable only by boat or helicopter. Twenty villas stood along the cliffs and shoreline, separated by gardens of rosemary, lavender, and twisted olive trees.
Their villa had two bedrooms.
Clara noticed immediately.
Dominic noticed her noticing.
“You sound disappointed.”
She dropped her sunglasses onto the marble counter.
“I’m devastated.”
“You recover quickly.”
“Years of training.”
Dominic walked past her toward the terrace doors.
He did not admire the view.
He checked the lock.
Then the windows.
Then the terrace.
Then the cliff path below.
Clara watched him.
“You always inspect hotel rooms like somebody might be hiding in the curtains?”
“No.”
“Comforting.”
“Sometimes they hide in the closet.”
She stared.
He looked at her.
“That was a joke.”
“I’m learning your tells.”
“You’ve known me less than twenty-four hours.”
“And already you’ve made me suspicious of furniture.”
Dominic pulled out his phone.
“No calls from the room phone.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
Clara leaned against the kitchen island.
“That explanation worked better before the vows.”
Dominic dialed.
Arthur answered on the second ring.
Clara heard only Dominic’s side.
“Anything?”
Pause.
“Check again.”
Pause.
“No. Nobody from Boston.”
Another pause.
Dominic’s expression hardened.
“Call me if he appears.”
He hung up.
Clara waited.
Dominic began removing his cuff links.
“Who?”
“No one.”
“That’s usually what people say when it’s very definitely someone.”
He rolled his sleeves.
“Go swimming.”
Clara stared at him.
“Did you just dismiss me?”
“I suggested an activity.”
“You have the social instincts of a prison door.”
“And yet you married me.”
“My father married me to you.”
Dominic looked up.
A sharp silence followed.
Neither spoke.
Clara wished she could pull the words back.
Not because they were untrue.
Because something in Dominic’s face had reacted before he buried it.
Not guilt.
Something stranger.
Resignation.
He turned away.
“Dinner is at eight.”
Clara watched him leave the room.
For the first time, she wondered whether Dominic Costello hated this arrangement almost as much as she did.
That evening, they ate on a terrace above the water.
Candles flickered in glass lanterns.
The Mediterranean stretched black beneath them.
Their table might have belonged in a honeymoon advertisement.
Clara wore a cream silk dress.
Dominic wore black.
Naturally.
A waiter poured wine.
Dominic watched his hands.
The waiter noticed.
His smile became nervous.
Clara noticed that too.
After the man left, she leaned forward.
“Do you think everybody is trying to poison you?”
“No.”
“Only the staff?”
Dominic cut into his steak.
“The staff are strangers.”
“So am I.”
He looked at her plate.
“You’ve already eaten half your food.”
Clara paused.
“Did you just wait to see if I died?”
“That would be inefficient.”
She laughed before she could stop herself.
Dominic’s eyes lifted.
Clara immediately stopped smiling.
“Don’t look so pleased.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m eating.”
“You looked smug.”
“I’m rarely smug.”
“You’re constantly smug.”
Dominic drank his wine.
Their eyes held.
Something shifted.
Tiny.
Dangerous.
Clara looked away first.
The following morning Dominic was gone when she woke.
Clara found him near the dock speaking to two security men.
Not resort security.
His people.
One was watching the water.
The other held photographs.
Clara approached.
Dominic saw her.
The photographs vanished.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Morning.”
“Having a meeting?”
“No.”
She looked at the two armed men.
“Very casual breakfast, then.”
Dominic gave them a glance.
They walked away.
Clara folded her arms.
“I saw somebody at the airport.”
Dominic went still.
There.
Confirmation.
“You saw him too.”
“I saw several people.”
“Dark coat. Black sedan. He watched our plane.”
“No.”
“You’re terrible at lying.”
“I’ve been told the opposite.”
“By employees?”
“Mostly.”
“Then they’re terrified of you.”
“Probably.”
Clara stepped closer.
“Who was he?”
Dominic looked at the sea.
“Nobody you need to worry about.”
“I’m already worried.”
“That’s unnecessary.”
“That sentence has never made anybody less worried.”
He looked at her.
For a long moment, Clara thought he might answer.
Instead he said, “We’re taking a boat out at noon.”
Her mouth opened.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“The resort arranged it.”
“Is that supposed to reassure me?”
“It’s supposed to give you something else to complain about.”
She nearly smiled again.
Damn him.
At noon, the sea was calm.
Their boat was a sleek thirty-foot cruiser with a local captain named Luc and a young deckhand named Rémi.
Dominic inspected the boat before boarding.
Clara watched him crouch beside the engine compartment.
Luc looked amused.
“Your husband knows boats?”
Clara glanced toward Dominic.
“My husband knows paranoia.”
Dominic heard.
“Paranoia is fear without evidence.”
“And what do you have?”
“Experience.”
They traveled along the coast for nearly an hour.
Clara stood near the bow while wind pulled at her hair.
For the first time since Boston, she breathed without feeling observed.
Dominic joined her.
He handed her sunglasses.
“You left these.”
She took them.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
The politeness felt stranger than the threats.
She looked at him.
“Do you ever relax?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“I’ll let you know.”
Clara shook her head.
“You know, for a honeymoon, this is extremely romantic.”
“I can arrange flowers.”
“That would only make it worse.”
The boat turned around a rocky headland.
Behind them, the resort disappeared.
Luc slowed the engine near a quiet cove.
Clara removed her sandals.
Dominic watched.
“What?”
“I’m wondering how long until you fall.”
“I grew up sailing.”
“In Boston Harbor.”
“Water is water.”
“Those are famous last words.”
She walked past him.
Her shoulder brushed his chest.
Neither acknowledged it.
Ten minutes later, the engine died.
Not sputtered.
Died.
The silence was immediate.
Luc frowned and restarted it.
Nothing.
Rémi opened the rear hatch.
Dominic stood.
“What happened?”
Luc shook his head.
“Electrical maybe.”
Dominic’s expression changed.
Clara had begun recognizing that look.
The businessman disappeared.
Something colder replaced him.
Dominic moved to the stern.
“Don’t touch anything.”
Luc frowned. “Monsieur?”
“I said don’t.”
He crouched beside the compartment.
Clara approached.
Dominic looked back.
“Stay there.”
“Oh, we’re back to commands?”
“Clara.”
His tone stopped her.
Dominic reached inside.
Then withdrew his hand.
Between two fingers he held a severed wire.
Clean cut.
Luc stared.
“That is impossible.”
“No,” Dominic said. “It’s deliberate.”
The boat rocked.
Clara felt her stomach tighten.
Rémi stepped backward.
Dominic looked at him.
The young man went pale.
“I didn’t—”
A sharp crack sounded beneath them.
Then another.
The floor shifted.
Water rushed into the rear compartment.
Luc shouted.
The boat tilted.
Clara grabbed the rail.
Dominic turned.
“Life jackets. Now.”
Everything moved at once.
Rémi ran forward.
Luc shouted into the radio.
No response.
Dominic opened a storage locker and threw Clara a life vest.
She caught it.
“What happened?”
“Hull damage.”
“From what?”
“Put it on.”
Water climbed around their ankles.
The boat leaned harder.
Clara’s fear arrived suddenly and completely.
This wasn’t mechanical failure.
Dominic knew it.
She saw it in his eyes.
He secured the straps on her vest when her hands shook too badly.
“Look at me.”
She did.
“We’re less than a mile from shore.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“It should be.”
“Why?”
“Because I can swim a mile.”
Clara stared at him.
“You’re impossible.”
“I know.”
The stern dropped.
Dominic pulled her toward the side.
“Jump.”
She hesitated.
“Dominic—”
“Now.”
They hit the water together.
Cold.
Salt.
Chaos.
Clara came up coughing.
Dominic grabbed the back of her vest.
“Breathe.”
“I am breathing.”
“You’re panicking.”
“I’m allowed.”
A wave hit them.
Clara swallowed seawater.
Dominic wrapped one arm around her and pulled.
The boat tilted farther behind them.
Luc and Rémi were in the water too.
Dominic pointed toward shore.
“Swim.”
They did.
Minutes became meaningless.
Clara’s dress dragged.
Her arms burned.
Dominic stayed beside her.
Every time she slowed, he pulled.
Every time she told him she could manage, he ignored her.
The sky darkened faster than expected.
Clouds gathered over the mountains.
By the time they reached shallow water near the resort, Clara could barely feel her legs.
She stumbled.
Dominic caught her.
The beach lights had begun turning on.
Warm gold against blue-gray storm clouds.
The exact kind of beautiful evening people paid thousands to photograph.
Clara thought she might vomit.
Dominic put her arm around his shoulders.
“Walk.”
“I am walking.”
“You’re falling.”
“I’m doing both.”
He almost smiled.
Then his expression changed.
His gaze moved past her.
Toward the wooden walkway connecting several waterfront villas.
Clara looked.
Nothing.
Dominic pulled her closer.
She felt the sudden tension in him.
Not fear.
Recognition.
“Dominic?”
His attention stayed on the walkway.
A figure stood beneath one of the lamps.
Dark clothes.
Male.
Too far away to see the face.
The same posture.
The same stillness.
Airport.
Clara’s breath caught.
“Dominic…”
The figure turned.
Started walking away.
Dominic moved instinctively, placing himself between Clara and the walkway.
“Stay behind me.”
Clara grabbed his wet sleeve.
“Someone tried to kill us.”
“I know.”
“How?”
Dominic watched the figure disappear behind a villa.
His jaw tightened.
Then, almost to himself, he said:
“They followed us here.”
And for the first time since Clara Gallagher had married him, Dominic Costello looked worried.
Not for himself.
May you like
For her.
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