“Hang in there a sec…you need more sun lotion or your uncle’s gonna ki—he won’t be happy.”
You think there’s any way to take the poison out of a man who kills his own mother? No. It rots everything. It started way before he was born, and it will end way after him when it seeps into that little boy of his.
Ethan squeezes the sun lotion bottle too hard and it explodes across his belly, showering the crabs and their sand world in a fine mist of cream. Ash dissolves into giggles, far too low for his age and far too cute. Almost knowing.
Then it’ll get its teeth into you. It never stops.
“Come here,” I murmur, scooping lotion from his lanky thigh and spreading it across his cheeks.
He shoots me a lop-sided grin, and then continues to laugh at Ethan. I don’t remember the last time I saw this kind of happiness, and I want to wallow in it. Soak it all in.
It never stops.
“Leo?” Ash blinks at me with his huge, molten brown eyes. “Have you got any babies?”
“Who, me? Nope.”
Aeron views marriage and parenthood as PR opportunities, rather than goals—not exactly the type of man I’d envisioned having a family with. It’s never been a topic of discussion for us; it’s the kind of thing that happens to other couples. Other girls. Girls who aren’t chopped up to feed the desires of a self-confessed sociopath. I’m bound to him, and he gives me so many things; I try not to think about the things we can never have.
“You should probably have some soon,” Ash says matter-of-factly as he hands Ethan three shiny blue shells. “’Cause when girls get really, really old, their tummies don’t work anymore and they can’t pop out babies.”
Ethan sighs incredulously. “Ash. It’s not your business.”
“But what about if she gets really old?”
“I probably should do it before I get really old,” I agree, although I don’t quite achieve the intended humor. “I’m already creaking.”
Ash frowns. “Really?”
“Uh-huh. Starts around the time you’re twenty-one, and then it’s all downhill from there.”
“You realize he’s taking you seriously,” Ethan pipes up.
“You’re talking about me,” Ash complains, glaring between the two of us. “I don’t like it. I’m right here!”
“I’m sorry.” I ruffle his hair experimentally; he leans in to the touch, his lower lip jutting in pleasure. “Didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Can we do more crabs now?”
“I…” I catch Ethan’s eye; he’s shaking his head, trying not to laugh. “Sure. More crabs, coming up.”
He gives me a toothy smile stuffed with genuine delight; something Aeron will never give me. Ash isn’t poisoned, like my mother suspects. He’s just a normal kid. He thinks he’s on vacation, not running for his untainted life.
I once put a bullet in the closest thing he has to a father. Me. I did that, cruel architect that I am; I thought it was better to take Aeron down, even if a whole house of cards would fall with him. A part of me wants to clutch Ash to my chest and swear I’ll be more careful, that I’ll be a protector and not a huntress.
It never stops.
Mum, I really tried.
***
On Ravahli Island, they make the cocktails strong.
Dinner was another feast—suckling pig, exotic salads, spiced sauces and a variety of custard-based puddings. Hassan says custard is a serious thing here, which I wouldn’t have guessed. Ethan took Ash back to their villa some time ago as the poor kid was exhausted; Harvey stuck around for a drink before taking Mo on some late night fishing trip; Gwen, Aeron, and I are walking back to our villas in the dark.
Or staggering. Staggering is the more correct term.
“Tell me why I wore heels,” Gwen mumbles as she grabs my arm to stay steady. In turn, I’m tossed sideways into the rough trunk of a palm tree.
“They’re nice heels,” I say, wincing into the bark.