How strange.

I mean, there’s seven days in a week. Why not seven outfits?

I push the hangers aside so I can take a look at each option, and then choose a light yellow sun dress that has a beige knitted cropped sweater that barely covers my shoulders.

I slip on the fancy sandals. No heel. That’s only practical for a young lady on a boat, the nanny had explained why I couldn’t have stilettos as footwear. And then I look at myself in the mirror on the inside of the locker.

I have no idea who this girl is.

She’s not Harper Tate who left here last year. That girl never ran away and changed her name. Or had her own apartment in Huntington Beach. Or had a beautiful man face-fuck her in a hallway.

That girl was a virgin and this girl is not.

God, I miss James. An overpowering, stabbing pain weighs down on my chest. Not a physical pain. But one that twines with my mind and can only be described as… heartbreak.

Did James betray me or not?

Did he leave me here to fend for myself? Or will he come back like he promised?

That’s the only thing I can hold on to at the moment. He told me that before he left so I’d remember it.

He’s coming for me.

I just need to be patient.

But I don’t even know how long I was out. From the rumbling in my stomach and the need to pee, it must’ve been a long time.

The phone is resting on the bunk where I left it. I want to text him or call him so badly.

Just be patient, Harper. See what your father is up to. Because something is off here. Something is off and I need to know what that is before I make any decisions.

I take a deep breath and close the locker door. OK, it’s just dinner. It’s my father, for Pete’s sake. I’ve had dinner with my father for as long as I can remember.

In fact, this is all starting to feel very familiar.

Almost comfortable.

Like I didn’t kill thirteen people with poison a year ago, then steal the boat’s tender and take a plane to LA to start a new life.

It feels… like that never happened.

It feels… like I’ve been forgiven.

Or maybe… it feels like a mission accomplished and a well-deserved homecoming.

I walk calmly down the hall and climb the ladder that will take me up to the main level, then turn the corner and climb again until I can feel the cool sea breeze of a summer night.

Yes. This is my home. The sea triggers all those familiar feelings of safety and comfort.

I can hear my father talking to the staff in the above-deck dining room and he sounds relaxed and at ease. But why shouldn’t he be? He’s the one in total control here. I glance out at the Orange County city lights. The harbor is a busy place, so there is a lot to look at. I wish I was out there. As much as I do like this ship, I didn’t come here of my own free will. So regardless of what my father says, I am a prisoner.

The above-deck dining area is really built for partying. In fact, that’s what it’s called on the ship map hanging in the casual dining area a deck below. The party deck.

The area is open on three sides, with half walls that give the appearance of a room and a ceiling, with subtle, atmospheric lighting. The living area seats fifteen. There’s a fireplace, two couches, an assortment of chairs, a coffee table, and a bar off to the side. The furniture is comfortable and stylish, but it’s made to withstand the elements. The salty sea and the blazing sun.

On the other side of the living room is the dining table. The head and foot of the table do not have chairs. They have small couches similar to a settee. My father is sitting in the one on the port side, while my place is the same exact spot on the starboard side of the table.

“Ah,” my father says as he stands, placing his napkin on the table as he waves me over to the other place. “You look better. How are you feeling, Harper?”

“Fine.” I don’t mean to answer him so quickly. I actually think it’s a bad idea to talk to him at all until I get more of my bearings. But old habits die hard.

When my father asks you a question, you respond politely. And that’s exactly what I did.

I walk over to the place set for me and wait for the staff to pull my chair out and then push me in.

I don’t recognize my attendant and my father must notice that I’m wondering who he is, because he says, “Davis is… no longer with us.”

“Oh.” Does that mean he quit? Or does that mean I killed him with the others when I poisoned the water last summer?

I don’t ask and he doesn’t offer. But I know it’s the latter.

I have to swallow hard to get past that realization. Davis was a part of my life since I was born. I’m a terrible person. A terrible, evil person.

I push that thought away and pick up my napkin, placing it on my lap like the lady I am. I have impeccable manners in a formal setting.

The servers appear with bottled water and they place one down in front of me.

I look at my father and he smiles. “You can’t be too careful.”

I just stare at him.

“Did you make a call to your James, then?”

I shake my head. “No, sir.”

“Why not?” my father asks, as he holds his empty glass out for the staff to take and then accepts a new drink. He prefers whiskey. Good, strong, American whiskey. Which is funny, if you ask me. Because it’s so cheap. You’d think a man with all his money would move on to Scotch or brandy. Isn’t that what refined men on boats drink in books?

“I have nothing to say to him,” I whisper.