I pull her into my arms, lifting her from the dock. I know one thing this woman needs and that is to warm up hella quick. I look around. “Someone with you?” I ask.
She’s in my arms, light as a feather, even though her clothing is soaked through and weighs a shit ton. I hold her in my arms and I won’t let go. I ask again. “Are you alone?”
She manages to speak this time. “No one’s here with me.” Her teeth chatter, she looks so lost, those bright blue eyes of hers bluer than the water she just fell into and her hair so white it’s like the foam on a cresting wave.
“I’m taking you to my boat,” I tell her. Not asking for permission. She needs to warm up. I need to rip off her soaked clothes and wrap blankets around her until her body heat begins to recirculate. Otherwise, she’ll get hypothermia, and that’s not happening on my watch.
I get her back to my boat, carry her below deck, and I slam the door behind me, locking it. Not sure why, maybe I intrinsically know my job right now is to make sure she’s safe, that no one sees her. That no one gets close to her.
Because when I saw her on my bed, I see a woman who belongs here. I pull off her raincoat coat and can now see that she is slight and young and fucking beautiful.
She reaches for her boots, and I see how slender her fingers are. It’s too hard for her to pull them off when she is so wet and cold, so I kneel before her and help. She looks at me with a flash of fear in her eyes, but then she licks her lips; lips so pink I swear they’ve never been kissed. She oozes innocence, her eyelashes flutter, and I’m done for.
I need to get out of these soaking wet clothes, and so does she.
I’m going to warm her up and then I’m going to make her mine.Chapter TwoWhen I tell people my dad is my music coach they think it’s cute but they don’t understand that it’s been rough.
I graduated college a year early, and since then, my almost-made-it-big father is intent on vicariously living through me.
Living with my parents is hard enough… but constantly being under their scrutiny is making it hell on earth.
To say my dad is stealing all the joy from my music would be an understatement, to say the least.
I’m in Alaska, on a family cruise, and yet I’ve still been on a practice schedule every day while my family is off exploring.
I want a break... but he doesn’t think I’ve earned one.
“If you really want to earn a spot in the symphony you would understand this sacrifice.”
And I do want a spot. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.
But since I graduated, and I’ve become regimented in my playing, my music has only suffered.
Which is only getting me further from my dream. I feel so stuck on how to “unstick” myself.
And my family only wants to stick me some more. It’s not just my dad who’s trying to dictate my life.
Now my mom and sister are dead set on doing the exact same thing.
As I get ready for the day, I replay the conversation from the night before in my mind... when they explained that my date for my sister’s wedding later this month was Peter Gunheight.
A man they have pushed me to fall in love with many times.
It’s never worked. It never will work.
No matter how many times we’re paired off together, there’s no way I’d ever be with a man like him.
Peter believes that money makes a man, and the fact that I’m not impressed by his wealth infuriates him.
Which makes him want me all the more.
And makes me want to run for the hills.
I want a man who does something he loves--just because he loves it. The same way I play my music because it’s a part of my soul.
That man would need to be the total opposite of someone my parents would set me up with. I want a man who values honor above material possessions; respect above validation from his peers; stoicism and honesty over falseness.
I’ve just never found a man like that before… but if I did? I wouldn’t hold back. I’d give him all of me.
Last night, my parents and sister wouldn’t let Peter’s name drop and it was the end of the line.
I think their insistence is the straw that broke this exhausted cellist’s back. I need some breathing room. What that means exactly, I don’t know.
Before as I leave the cabin for breakfast, I see a slip of paper under my door.
It lists the available excursions for today’s port visit. We’re near Juneau, Alaska: a breathtaking place from what I saw last night when we pulled in. I had stood out on the deck, bundled up in my jacket, watching the mountainous landscape come into view.