what to wear, what to think.
With a sigh, she shook her head. It would be summer soon, she reminded
herself. And she would go to London. She would see Stevie and P.M.
then as well. She could watch while they recorded.
She'd get through the next few weeks somehow. She had to. It was so
important to Dad, she thought, that she get her education, that she be
safe and well looked after. Well, the nuns did that, she decided. There
was hardly a moment in the day when you weren't looked after.
She could hear the water. Smell it. Going with instinct, she dragged
on a pair of shorts. It was late. Even the guards would be asleep. She
would go to the beach alone for her last night. Alone. She could sit
and watch the water, and no one would watch her.
She hurried out, down the hall of the rented villa, down the stairs.
Holding her breath, she slipped out of the tall glass doors and ran.
She gave herself only an hour. When she tiptoed back to the villa, she
was soaking wet. It hadn't been enough to watch the water after all.
She came in quietly, with the idea to make a dash to her room. When she
heard her father's voice, she sunk into the shadows.
"Just keep it down, luy. Everyone's asleep."
There was a feminine giggle, then a whisper, thickly French. "I'm quiet
as a mouse."
Brian came into the room with a curvy little brunette wrapped around
him. She was wearing a hot-pink sarong and carrying gold high heels.
"I'm so glad you came in tonight, chdrl" She ran her hands up his sides,
then hooking them tightly around his neck, brought his mouth to hers.
Embarrassed and confused, Emma shut her eyes. But she could hear the
quick, wet moans.
"Mmm. You're in a hurry." The French woman laughed, working her way
under Brian's shirt. "I'll give you your money's worth, chd, don't you
worry. But you promised m.e a party first."
"Right." And that would help, he thought. Her hair was dark and sleek,
but her eyes were brown instead of green. After a couple of lines it
wouldn't matter. Nothing would. He went to a table and, unlocking a
drawer, took out a small white vial. "Party time."
The brunette clapped her hands. Hips swinging, she walked to the glass
coffee table and knelt.
Appalled, Emma watched her father set up the cocaine. Straws, mirrors,
the razor blade. His movements were competent, practiced. His head bent
close to the brunette's.
"Ah." The French woman leaned back, eyes brilliant. She dipped a
fingertip into the dust on the mirror then rubbed it over her gums.
"Delicious."
Brian hooked a finger in her sarong, drew her to him. He felt
incredible. Young, powerful, invincible. He was hard and ready and
full of needs. He bent her back, intending to take her quickly the
first time. After all, he'd paid for all night.
"Dad."
His head whipped up. He focused, but it seemed like a dream. His
daughter, with shadows at her back, her face pale, her eyes dark and
wet, her hair streaming over her shoulders. "Emma?"