I thought the food would be something simple like fruit or nuts, maybe some sandwiches. I should have remembered who I was dealing with. One of the containers is filled with sashimi and sushi rolls. I grab a crab roll and pop it into my mouth, savoring how utterly fresh it tastes. It was probably prepared right before it was brought down to us on the boat.
Another container has antipasto of tiny cubes of ham, salami, olives, and cheese. There is also fruit, sliced into perfect pieces. Everything from crisp, warm pita and hummus to thin, toasted slices of bread with charcuterie meats and cheese I can’t pronounce the names of, fills the rest of the space.
It’s far too much for just two people.
My eyes cut to the water, where Magnus shows no sign of slowing down as he does another lap. I feel like some gluttonous sloth as I watch him, stuffing my face with a tuna roll. He could probably eat the entire contents of the basket and not gain an ounce the way he’s going.
But I’m still hungry. I decide on some of the fruit and a heaping serving of antipasto, mostly to go with the wine. I pack the rest away to dip into later if I’m still peckish.
I’ve just taken one heavenly bite of antipasto, the tangy salami and cheese melding together in my mouth, when I hear Magnus’s phone ding in his discarded jeans. I stare at the back pocket, just now noticing the phone-shaped bulge. I’m sure it has all kinds of protections and safeguards, but I’m still surprised he so haphazardly left it here with me on the boat.
But I’m not stupid.
I quickly set aside the food and wine and scramble for his jeans, gingerly releasing the phone from the back pocket, hoping the message notification is still visible.
My heart nearly leaps out of my chest when I see that it is. Until I read what’s written:
Fabian est mort.
My French may be limited, but I’m familiar enough with a few of the Romance languages to understand several variations of the word “dead.”
Fabian is dead.
I drop the phone, which fades to black before me like some bad omen.
Fabian is dead? What the hell does that mean? Surely, Magnus didn’t have someone killed? And if he didn’t, why does the death of this Fabian, whoever he is, warrant a text message informing him of the fact?
I’m suddenly reminded of all the darker rumors surrounding the man I stupidly allowed to take me out on a boat. Most of them were akin to urban myths: certain people disappearing out of the blue, others deciding they no longer had the will to live.
Yes, the man has been ruthless enough in business to commit the equivalent of financial murder, or just cause many a man to commit financial suicide, but it’s still a far leap to literal homicide.
I stuff the phone back into his pocket and quickly return to my seat. I stare down at the mix of meat, olives, and cheese, and my stomach turns. I grab the glass of wine instead, drinking a long sip in hopes that it will settle my nerves.
After swallowing, I turn to the water in search of Magnus. His body is no longer visible, and I quickly scan the wide stretch of the Mediterranean, wondering if he’s ventured out farther than before.
“I see you chose the antipasto.”
I nearly drop my wine in surprise. My head snaps back around, and I see Magnus standing on the steps along the rear of the boat, dripping wet as he stares at me. He looks like a model in a fashion ad going for an edgy theme of sexy danger.
“How do you like it?” he asks.
“I—” The rest of the words are stuck in my throat.
I jump when his phone dings again to announce a text message. His attention diverts from me, and he takes two long steps to close the distance to his pants.
I stare at him, trying to gauge his reaction as he reads the message. I’m surprised to see his green eyes briefly waiver with something that looks like regret. Almost instantly, they shift back into predator mode, more dark and dangerous than ever. He takes a minute to type something into his phone, then looks up to face me.
“We have to go back.” It’s said with such firm bluntness that I don’t even bother with a response.
Without even drying off, Magnus pulls his pants back on and goes to release the rope from the buoy. I’m patently ignored as he walks past me to start the engine and takes off.
We bounce across the waves much faster than before. At one point, I yelp in terror as the wake from a much larger vessel nearby has us flying into the air.
Magnus doesn’t so much as flinch. In fact, everything about him is even more like a shark than before. The hunger in his eyes. The fierce focus driving him onward. The predatory set to his face.
When he finally slows down to enter the marina, my heartbeat returns to normal. He returns the boat to the dock we left.
Still in nothing but his jeans, he cuts the engine and finally turns to face me.
“I have a matter that needs to be dealt with,” he says with a hard edge to his voice. It softens only slightly as he continues. “It’s unfortunate we had to cut our day short, but I have no doubt we’ll see each other again.”
The way he says it, I’m sure we will. I have no idea how, when, or where, but for now, I’m glad to be carefully helped off his boat and this aura of danger surrounding him.
“Thank you for the boat ride. It was…interesting.”
“Tout le plaisir
