He’s slick. I can’t place his heritage. Something European—maybe Spanish or Portuguese or Italian. Shit, even Greek with that darker, olive complexion. I can’t place him until I hear him speak. My accent identification is pretty solid, but my brother’s was better. He was the language junkie. Spoke four, and that was before he learned Arabic when we joined the Army.
As always, thoughts of him rip through me about as subtly as the IED that tore through him.
My life would have been completely different if he hadn’t died. I would have stayed in the service. I wouldn’t have ended up in South America, trading the desert for the jungle with Rome Hennessy’s crew.
I wouldn’t have met Kat.
But I guess that’s how it works. Sometimes the darkest moments in life set us on a course to find the brightest ones.
My philosophizing comes to a quick end when Kat shifts in her chair and her dress strap slides down over her shoulder, onto her arm. The asshole at the table behind us drops his gaze and trails it over her skin like she should be on the menu.
It’s been a long time since I’ve thrown punches in a restaurant, but I’m willing to make an exception if he doesn’t . . .
The man must feel my angry attention on him because he shoots me a look and gives me a small nod. I choose to interpret the nod as sorry, I fucked up staring at your woman.
Eduardo picks that moment to return carrying a tray loaded down with two large plates and Kat’s drink.
“Here you go, ma’am. And your lobster.” He sets the drink and then the dish in front of Kat, and the scent of butter and lime hits my nose. “And your snapper, sir. Now, if you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
Kat smiles up at him sweetly, but I see the strain behind it now. “Thank you so much. It truly looks delicious.”
Eduardo returns her smile and steps away to collect his tray.
Kat digs into her lobster, and silence reigns at our table as we both eat. I keep one eye on the asshole at the table behind us while he orders snifter after snifter of liquor. Probably brandy or something equally pretentious. His woman drinks champagne and giggles at annoyingly frequent intervals. I block it out the best I can.
“How’s the lobster?” I ask as Kat pops another chunk into her mouth.
She finishes chewing before she answers. “Amazing. How’s your fish?”
The filet is ninety percent gone already. I guess I was hungrier than I realized.
“Very good.”
This is the point at dinner when Kat would usually reach for her phone and check her e-mails, and I’d lose her completely. There’s no Wi-Fi on this island, and I’ve been told cell reception is spotty at best. That’s part of the reason I picked it, because I figured it would force us to learn how to have a real conversation again.
I just didn’t expect we’d both go silent like this.
I run through the list of topics we usually cover: the house, the neighbors, her work, her employees, her clients. The end.
Fucking pitiful.
“What do you think about snorkeling tomorrow, or maybe seeing if they’ll take us out on one of the catamarans so we can take a better look around the island and check out the reef? We could do some diving later this week.”
Kat’s gaze cuts to mine as she swallows another bite of lobster. “I’d love to snorkel. Or sail. Or dive.”
“I’ll set it up. I only brought gear for snorkeling, so I’m hoping their dive equipment is solid.”
Kat stills, her fork in midair. “I didn’t bring anything.”
“I didn’t expect you would. I brought your mask and snorkel. You can borrow flippers.”
“Thank you for thinking of me.”
I give her a meaningful look. “I always think of you, Kat. Always.”
She lowers her fork to the plate and bites her lip for a moment before finally asking the question I know she’s been holding on to since we were interrupted earlier.
“You’re sure that nothing happened? You didn’t ever . . .”
I drop my fork with a clank on the plate. “No. Never. You and I took vows. We made promises. We may not have done a hell of a good job honoring and cherishing, but I would never disrespect you or our marriage that way. Never. And the fact that you think I could pisses me off.”
It’s probably not the right way to keep the lines of communication open, but I need her to understand how serious I am.
“Okay. Okay. I get it. I just . . . you took me by surprise there. I thought maybe . . .”
“Why? Why would you think that? Honestly, the fact that you even raised it as an issue makes me wonder if you’ve got something you need to confess.”
Kat’s eyes bulge.
Good. She better fucking look shocked, otherwise there would be some businessman turning up missing and never to be found again when we got back home.
“Are you seriously accusing me of . . . I can’t even say it. Are you really going there?” Her voice rises, and the man seated at the table behind us glances over in our direction.
“If I were, your reaction is all I need to know that you wouldn’t.”
Instead of picking up her fork, Kat reaches for her cocktail and takes a long drink. When she lowers it back to the table, her voice is quieter. “No. I wouldn’t.”
There’s no room for reading anything into her response. I believe her. With my resources, I could easily keep tabs on everyone she comes in contact with on a daily basis, but I don’t. Why? Because I trust my wife. Even if there’s a barrier between us, it’s one we created, not one caused by someone else.
She drains her drink and signals for Eduardo. And then she orders another.
Fuck it. I ask for another beer too.
We finish our dinner making small talk, and not speaking another meaningful word.
One step forward, two steps back.
Chapter 14
Kat
The island is pitch black when we leave the restaurant to return to our room. Living in Houston, you forget what it’s like to see true darkness. The moon is a thin crescent and provides almost no light. Clouds sweep across the sky, covering stars before letting them wink into the blackness again.
Dane, who I swear had to be a Boy Scout in another life, fishes a small flashlight out of his pocket and turns it on. A bright white beam illuminates the wooden path in front of us—and the thing on it.