My fingers lift to my lips as the flames billow over the edges of the yacht. They roll in unison, up and over the top, into the air and then quickly shrink. The polished wood crackles and splits and pieces fall into the ocean water beneath it.

Voices begin to shout in the distance, but I’m stuck staring.

I was sitting on that thing not even a minute ago.

I...

A frown pulls at my brows when something warm meets my fingertips. I pull them back, looking down to find a thick droplet of blood coating my nail, and rolling down the back of my hand.

I reach up, gently swiping along my cheek, and when I look to it, smears of blood cover my palm. My face falls, my stomach sucking into my ribs. My knees begin to wobble, and I swallow.

And then Anthony is in front of me.

My gaze snaps up to meet his when he reaches out and he gently cups my neck, holding me still. I lift my hands, grasping on to his wrists and take a deep breath as he does.

I close my eyes for a long moment, and when his thumb glides along my jawline, I open them, my lips beginning to curve the slightest bit.

The pad of Anthony’s finger glides along my chin.

He holds perfectly still and whispers, “This better not leave a scar.”

And then he’s gone, and I’m alone on the dock, my muscles frozen in shock, vaguely registering his clipped tone as he barks into his phone, “Tell me the yacht was insured.”

I’m not sure how long I stand there, blood dripping down my cheek, my hands half-suspended in the air, but when Elena appears with a coat that’s not mine and the handbag that is, I jerk.

Her smile is soft, pitying, and it’s enough to steel my spine.

“He’s stressed and—”

“Thank you for snagging my bag,” I cut her off, spin and head back for the car.

A second driver is already rolling up beside the one that brought us here and just as my heel meets the asphalt, Anthony’s closing himself inside his, leaving me to find my way to the other.

People call out, asking if I’m okay, shouting how I can’t just leave, but I ignore them, ignore the blood splatting against my collarbone and ruining my top. I don’t respond to the driver when he speaks to me as I reach the door, but slip into the back seat, staring straight ahead.

I do tell him to take me home rather than to school once we’re on the road, but it’s obvious he has no intention of listening when he makes a right rather than a left at the intersection, so I text my sister, letting her know I need her to meet me at the school and sit back.