The Evolution of Mara Dyer (Mara Dyer #2)(75)

A lump formed in my throat as I waved back. I didn’t deserve him.

The uniformed man spoke. “If you would be so kind as to come with me, Miss Dyer, I’ll bring you to the boat.”

I smiled, but it didn’t reach my eyes. I thought Noah would catch me reading his journal, maybe. He’d get angry. We’d fight. I’d explain, we’d make up, we’d move on.

But now as I walked toward what was sure to be a grand gesture of the grandest sort, it was polluted by my betrayal. I had to tell him; the longer I waited, the worse it would be.

The man introduced himself as Ron and led me toward the end of the dock. The air smelled of brine and seaweed and water lapped beneath our heavy steps. We finally came to a stop before a sleek, stunning boat. I was helped up the steps and asked to take off my shoes; the blond wood deck gleamed beneath my bare feet, shining and spotless.

Once we were on board, Ron turned to me and asked if I’d like anything to drink. I said I was fine, even though I wasn’t.

A flurry of activity began behind me. Knots were being untied and it looked like we were getting ready to leave.

“Where are we going?” I asked him.

“It won’t be a long trip,” he said with a smile. I looked at the sky; it was nearly sunset now, and I wondered when Noah would appear.

Ron handed me the garment bag. “I’ve been instructed to tell you that you don’t need to change, but that this was made for you if you’d like to wear it. Either way, it’s yours to keep.”

Something fluttered in my chest and in my mind as I took the bag from him gingerly.

“But if you’d like to, I can show you the cabin?”

I thanked him and he led me down a small, narrow half-staircase, half-ladder situation. We climbed down into an abbreviated hallway that sprouted off into a few separate rooms; a man in a chef’s hat worked in the galley, and we passed two bedrooms before he showed me into the third. I looked for Noah in all of them. He wasn’t there.

“Let me know if there’s anything you need,” he said.

“Thanks.”

He inclined his head and closed the door behind him, leaving me alone.

I could have been in a boutique hotel. Plush white bed linens adorned the bed that anchored the room, and twin swing-arm sconces flanked either side of the tufted leather headboard. There was a small bar built into the wall below a row of round windows. I spread the garment bag onto the bed and unzipped it.

A sliver of dark blue, almost black cloth peeked out, and when I lifted the strapless dress—the gown, really—out of the bag, the fabric felt like water beneath my fingers. It was extraordinary; so soft and perfect it didn’t feel real. I slipped on the dress, and looked in the mirrored wall.

It was like I was wearing night itself. The color made my skin look like cream; flawless, instead of just pale. The dress gently skimmed every curve as if it had been taught how by someone who knew every line and dip and arch of my frame. The act of wearing it was intimate, and my skin flooded with heat.

But most astonishing of all was that when I looked at my reflection, it seemed more familiar to me than it had in weeks.

When I finally tore my eyes away, I opened the closet to see if there were shoes. There weren’t. I searched in a few places I thought shoes might be, but I didn’t see a box.

Or, more precisely, I didn’t see a shoe box. As my eyes roamed the room, I noticed a small box on the built-in nightstand that was part of the bed. A small, black, velvet box.

A jewelry box. It rested on top of a cream colored envelope. I opened it with trembling fingers and unfolded the note inside as carefully as I could. My breath caught in my throat as I read the words in Noah’s script.

This belonged to my mother, but it was meant for you.

My heart thundered against my rib cage and my pulse fluttered beneath my skin as I put down the note and finally looked inside.





44





THE DARK JEWEL WAS THE COLOR OF MIDNIGHT and it glittered with fire. A hundred diamonds or more surrounded the sapphire in a loop and extended into a long strand, which uncoiled into my palm. I had never held anything so precious. I was almost afraid to put it on.

Almost.

I glanced at the door. I half-expected Noah to appear to clasp it around my neck, but he didn’t so I did it myself. The necklace was heavy but the weight felt right, somehow, around my throat.

I tied my hair back in a knot, then left the room. My bare feet found purchase on the narrow ladder as I climbed up to the dock where I knew I’d see Noah. My heart was beating fast and I bit my lip as I emerged.

He wasn’t there.

Perplexing. I slowly let out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and looked around. We were far from the marina now, floating in a large, dark turquoise expanse of water dotted with many other boats. Tangles of seaweed floated by on the surface, the foam from another boat’s wake clinging to the water. There were people, too; some drifting in tubes, others flying kites off the decks of their boats. An old man floated by us on an orange foam noodle, with neon green sunglasses on his reddened face and a neon pink beer cozy in his hand. A preppy college student in plaid shorts and a dumb little straw hat manned a shiny yacht that blasted the air with inane lyrics and a pulsing, officious beat. He tossed his cigarette butt in the water. Ass.

And then, as we sailed under a beautiful, old-fashioned white drawbridge dotted with street lamps, the landscape around us changed. We passed a golf course peppered with palm trees on one side, and beautiful homes lined the opposite shore. The backyards were thick with peach and olive trees, or rose gardens with arbors surrounding full tennis courts. A lonely frame ladder stood in one yard, there to trim a menagerie of hedge animals into their respective shapes. The house beyond the yard was enormous, Tuscan style, with tiered arches spanning the length of the floor to the ceiling.