1
Late Spring
“DID YOU PACK EXTRA SUNSCREEN?”
“Yes,” I rolled my eyes, clutching the plane ticket that would fly me to freedom.
“I still think this is a bad idea. Take a semester off, but don’t drop out of school.”
But it was too late. I withdrew, packed up my dorm room and found a job as a female deckhand on one of the world’s most luxurious mega yachts.
I wasn’t changing my mind.
“My flight leaves at six. I need to go.” I pulled my mother in for a long hug, wishing I could be different for her. But no matter how much I tried I couldn’t change who I was: a tomboy, thirsting for the tang of salt tickling my tongue and the fresh ocean breeze tearing through my long, wild hair.
Over my mother’s shoulders, my eyes met my father’s. I blamed my restlessness on him. I’ve spent my life on the ocean. My father’s a graduate of the Naval Academy in Annapolis. I grew up a navy brat, moving from port to port.
I tried, I did. But college just wasn’t for me. I felt suffocated—landlocked. I lasted two years at Southern California State before dropping out earlier this semester. My mother was sorely disappointed. But how can I make her understand that being a domestic housewife would be a prison sentence for me? The knot between my shoulder blades tightened. Mom’s eyes were full of the lost dreams she had for me. She wanted me to meet a preppy LA businessman, buy a house in the Hollywood Hills, and spend my days shopping or at a Country Club.
I’m never going to be some man’s trophy wife. My nails are broken, my toenail polish chipped and I hate wearing makeup. The only designer brands I wear are my True Religion Jeans and Old Navy flip-flops.
A smile broke out on my lips as I met my father’s knowing gaze, his eyes were filled with understanding. I let mom go and crossed the carpet to hug him. “Damn, I wish I was going with you. Live your dreams, my Jessie girl. Don’t worry about your mother; she’ll get over it.”
I hoped he was right. I’m their only child and the light of my father’s eyes, but the pain in my mother’s heart. A honk sounded out front. My driver had arrived. I slung my backpack over one shoulder, gave one last wave and bounded down the front steps. Excitement ran through me like an electric current as we approached the airport. I was almost free.
My nose pressed against the small window as the plane sped down the runway until the wings caught air. I watched until the lights of San Diego faded away. I was too excited to sleep even though it was a red-eye flight. I spent hours daydreaming, ignoring the snores coming from across the aisle, finally reading on my Kindle until my eyes closed.
When I landed in Rome, I found a private car waiting to drive me to the coast. My clothes were wrinkled from spending hours on a plane, I probably smelled, and my hair was a tangled mess. But none of that mattered when we reached Capri. My lungs filled with the tang of salt and my nose with the rich fragrance of flowers spilling down stucco walls.
The port was full. Yachts more impressive than the next sat side by side in the water. When my feet hit the dock, I felt like the luckiest woman in the world. I got to live and work here? And go to bed every night rocked by the swells and waking every morning on water the most gorgeous mix of turquoise and blues? Yes, please. This beat listening to my mom needle me about fixing my teeth with something called Invisalign or doing something to my hair called bailage, any day.
“Jessie?”
“Yes, that’s me,” I had answered the deckhand who waited for me with a clipboard in his hands.
“Welcome to Capri. The port is full. No deep-water slips are open, so we’ll use the tender to ferry you over.”
I nodded, holding my hands up to shield my eyes from the bright sun as my gaze cut across the water to the impressive vessel sitting like a queen on her throne at the back of the harbor. Excitement raced through me.
I felt free, knowing I had followed my heart and dreams when I left California to find myself.
If only I knew the devil who laid in wait for me. He had set his trap and like a fool—I fell right in.