I hang my bag over the back of the chair and look to Anthony. “Restroom is below?”

He holds my eyes, nodding, so I excuse myself to quickly wash my hands; I don’t take the time to look around since I only have an hour, or a little less than that now, and meet him back up top.

I lower into the seat across from Anthony. “So, what’s for lunch?”

He nods, looking over my shoulder. “Elena, we’re ready for you.”

Elena, the woman from the office the other day, comes from the cabin, two dishes in her hand.

“Anthony said no time for appetizers, so I hope this is okay.”

She places a seared salmon over a miniature pile of brown rice in front of me, and my mouth begins to water.

“This looks amazing, thank you, Elena.”

Her smile is wide, but when she looks to Anthony, it vanishes and she nods, excusing herself.

He takes a drink from the glass in front of him, a slight scowl along his brow.

“So.” Anthony lifts his napkin, pulling his knife free. “What classes do—” he cuts off mid-sentence when something falls from the folded cloth, landing directly into the melted butter concoction at the edge of his plate.

The oily liquid splashes up, wetting both his suit jacket as well as the tip of my knuckle.

His frown is instant.

I lift my chin, trying to see better as he takes a spoon and scoops it from the small saucer.

He lays it out on the napkin and in a puddle of grease, the same shade of the napkin beneath it, a soft white pearl sits.

“That’s odd—”

“Get up.”

My eyes fly to his, my water spilling over and pouring into my lap as he jumps to his feet.

I gasp, pushing back.

“I said up!” he snaps, tugging on my arm. “Elena!” he shouts, pushing me toward the portside exit.

She comes around the corner, and as I glance over my shoulder, her wide eyes take us in, his grip on my arm, the way he’s pulling me forward, and she hurries behind us without a word.

As he rushes us onto the dock, I almost lose my footing, catching myself on the wooden post when he shoves Elena into me and out of his way, as he quickly whips around to face the yacht.

Elena rushes toward the road, waving her arm in the air as she shouts, “Pull the car up!”

I stand straight, smoothing my skirt down.

Anthony wipes at his mouth and takes a step forward, only to take one back.

“Anthony, what—” I break off in a scream when the yacht explodes before us.

Small shards of debris fly around and I spin, ducking as Anthony hits the ground. Heat warms my back and as the thunderous sound begins to fade, I peek.