The Wife Before Me(17)

‘Our honeymoon will be just as perfect,’ he promises.

When the song ends the couple slip away as quietly as they had entered the church and she is alone again with Nicholas.

‘There’s just one last thing to do before we leave,’ he says. ‘And that’s to kiss my beautiful bride.’



* * *



The temperature is high on the Algarve but here in Praia do Beliche, the wind is strong. Waves thunder towards shore and the sand blows fast, stinging eyes and skin. It’s three days since they arrived here on their honeymoon―they both refuse to call it a holiday― and Elena is back on the crest of the ocean where she belongs.

The exterior of their villa has walls the colour of pink candyfloss. Inside, it is cool and spacious, as perfect as Nicholas promised her it would be. A labyrinth of paths meander through groves of olive trees and a cooling stream bubbles over stippled stones. They have their own private swimming pool and sunloungers. Elena has no interest in either. They are only a short distance from the beach, where the height of the rollers reminds her of her tumultuous days on the Gold Coast.

Two bodyboarders standing in the shallows watch as she makes contact with a wave. She’s conscious only of the rush of the ocean against her face as she rises on the swell and floats ashore. Nicholas refuses to join her. Earlier, he took a tumble from his bodyboard and now he says he’s had enough for today. He’s more confident on a surfboard but Elena has been coaxing him to bodyboard, repeating Zac’s conviction that surfing is for wusses. She thinks briefly of Zac, agile and eel-like, then he is lost from her thoughts as she wades back out again. She catches the lip of a roller and allows it to carry her upwards. One wrong move and she will fall like a rag doll. The roar of the surf is intoxicating as she executes an air backflip. Giddy with pleasure, she skims past the bodyboarders, who clap and raise their boards in salute. She waves at Nicholas, who leans back on his elbows and watches her from behind his shades. He’s turned from golden brown to mahogany. Women notice him, all ages, but he’s hers. Elena still can’t believe it. To awaken in the morning and see his face on the pillow beside her. To lie down with him at night and feel his long body, aroused and ready to devour her, his hunger matching her own.

Now, he rises from the beach mat and lopes across the sand. At the edge of the ocean he hesitates. The water is shockingly cold on first contact. When Elena is washed ashore she leaves her bodyboard on the sand and returns to the waves, deliberately splashing him as she runs past him.

She dives underwater and grabs his legs. They fall together and surface. Unable to keep his balance, he flounders and topples backwards into the foam. He finds his feet and braces himself against the next wave. The bodyboarders, who have glided back again into the shallows, laugh as Nicholas shakes his head and spits water. Elena laughs with them. There’s something comical, almost Charlie Chaplin-like, to his movements as he struggles to stay upright. She pushes towards him and holds out her arms to steady him. His body rigid, his face expressionless, he dives into the water and swims away from her.

She can swim faster and quickly catches up with him. They are out of their depth when he disappears under the waves and grabs her, sliding his hand between her legs, an intimate caress but dangerous here. She surfaces, her mouth opening, gasping for air, her eyes streaming. He swims underwater again and, once more, she is submerged. She tries to free herself but, if anything, his grip is more determined. Her lungs will explode if he doesn’t release her. Her heart is pounding hard and fast when he pushes her upwards and she is able to breathe again. She swims towards shore. He passes her but she has no inclination to race him. Her arms feel heavy and the beach with its colourful umbrellas and windbreakers seems far away. She reaches the shallows and staggers to her feet.

Nicholas is already waiting for her, a towel open and ready to enfold her. Water glistens on his skin. A luminous sun god who almost killed her.

They dress in silence. She pulls on a top and harem pants, combs the sand and salt from her hair. Her anger is barely contained as they gather their possessions and leave the beach.

‘What the hell did you think you were doing?’ Once inside their rented car, she turns furiously to him.

‘What?’ He pauses, the ignition key in his hand.

‘Hold me under the water for far too long.’

‘Don’t exaggerate, Elena. It was a joke. You did exactly the same to me.’ His teeth, so white against his tanned face, flash. He’s enjoying the moment, teasing her as she had teased him.

‘You’re wrong. We were in shallow water and you were never in any danger. I could have drowned out there.’

‘What exactly are you suggesting? That I was deliberately trying to harm you?’ He’s alert to her anger, all traces of laughter gone. ‘Is that what you actually think?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘Then what?’

‘You don’t know your own strength, Nicholas.’

‘Perhaps you’re right. I’m sorry if I upset you.’ He sounds impatient rather than sorry as he pulls out of the parking space. ‘At least no one was laughing at you.’

‘Oh, for goodness sake! Don’t be so childish.’ She fumbles with the seat belt, her eyes still stinging from the salt water. The entire afternoon has been spoiled by his recklessness. ‘Surely you, of all people, should be aware of the dangers of drowning.’