A Tale of Two Centuries (14 page)

I cautiously take down a pink
bikini
and hold it against me.

Fear and an intense loathing for the man who created this form of clothing churn in my stomach. I cannot wear this in front of Austin. But just when I feel tempted to give up—before even embarking on my first challenge—or give in to a dead faint, Reyna’s words from the tent ring in my ear:
You clearly crave adventure, Alessandra. But I have to wonder if you are brave enough to grasp it.

When I emerge from the changing room, cold and drafty, I cannot feel my feet, yet somehow they carry me onto the plush carpet. Austin is leaned against the counter, fingers flying on his phone. I must make a noise because he abruptly lifts his head, instantly causing my suit to feel as though it is shrinking on my body. My nails pierce the flesh of my palms, fighting the urge to cover myself…but then I notice Austin’s slow appraisal.

His eyes skim over my exposed skin, heating it where a moment before it felt numb, and the muscles of his neck work as he swallows. Although he is careful to keep any emotion from his face, his approval radiates from his tense shoulders all the way to the fingers twitching at his sides. The realization emboldens me.

I wanted adventure. I wanted a taste of more, of what confident women like Cat experience every day. And here it is.

I straighten my shoulders and sashay forward, even venturing to add a sway to my hips as I do so. When Austin’s eyes finally widen, I want to do a dance of triumph. Instead, I grin and let myself perform my own assessment. I’ve been so caught up in worry about
my
clothing that I did not pause to consider what
Austin
would wear. Now I know…a pair of long shorts molded to the thick muscles of his thighs, and that is all.

His strong, contoured chest is utterly and altogether bare.

I pause midstride.

Austin shirtless is a glorious sight.

My mouth goes dry, and an irrepressible grin springs upon my lips. I force my gaze to meet his, now back to aloof and unbothered, and begin to chide myself for my wanton behavior. But then I remember this is a challenge. And although I am certain the main test lies in the water itself, I am equally sure my behavior now is just as vital.

Recalling the impudent wink and saucy grin he tossed his admirer Friday, I give him the same and repeat the words he asked me. “Like what you see?”

Perhaps my voice shook during the delivery, but I give myself an internal hug at the evident shock my audacious words create. Austin’s mouth opens slightly, and his gaze sharpens as if seeing me for the first time.

But alas, my victory is short-lived. He recovers and moves toward me, closing the distance between us with quick, determined footsteps. He stops so close, I have to look up to meet the predator’s gleam in his eyes. Running a callused fingertip along my collarbone slowly and seductively, his minty breath fans across my lips as he says, “Yep.”

And time goes still.

Oh, Signore in heaven, now what do I do?

If it was not evident before, it is now—I am not meant to flirt. All I can do is stand here, breathing in the smell of his warm skin, with no clue how to react, what to say, or how to fight the extreme need to take at least a dozen steps back to a safe distance.

The silence stretches. Austin watches me, no doubt seeing every insecurity highlighted on my face. He lifts his hand and begins to reach out, and I forget to breathe.

His hand hesitates near my shoulder…and then shoots past it.

And he laughs.

Opening the glass door leading to the patio, he grins and walks out, leaving me alone. Again. Frustrated—and if I am to be perfectly honest, disappointed.

He was teasing me, testing me. And I failed.

But I will
not
fail again.

With renewed purpose, I march through the door, close it behind me, and gain speed to catch up with Austin’s retreating back. I follow him down the stone path to the private beach and a weird object near the waterline. He turns and gives me a knowing look. “I thought we best start easy—ever been on one of these before?”

Not even knowing what
this
is, I shake my head.

“Didn’t think so. Alessandra, this is a Jet Ski.”

His condescending tone is not lost on me. Lifting my chin, I walk up to the object, flip my hair like I have seen girls do at the high school, and ask, “And how does it work? What do we do?”

Austin’s eyes flicker down my body again. The late-afternoon sun has warmed the cool January morning air, but my skin prickles under his gaze. He takes a corner of his lower lip between his teeth and then says, “
You
get on, wrap your arms around me, press your chest against my back, and hold on tight. I take care of the rest.”

The intimate image his words conjure steals my breath.

Picking up some sort of black clothing from the ground, he steps into it. “I’m guessing you never wore one of these before, so Alessandra, this is a
wetsuit
.” His eyebrows rise as he condescendingly annunciates the word and tugs the slick fabric over his muscular legs.

I try not to stare as he tugs the tight suit over his hips. He first slides one arm inside and then the other, hiding me from the view of his chest. He reaches behind, and I hear the now-familiar sound of a zipper working as the fabric molds to his body.

Austin circles his arms, stretching the fabric, and it isn’t until he stops and smirks that I realize I did not meet my goal of not staring. I shove my hair behind my ear and lean back on my heels.

“Now that you’ve seen how to do it, this is yours.” He bends to pick up a second suit. Every move of his muscles is on display, and after only a slight hesitation, I avert my gaze. “I’m guessing you’re about Jamie’s size,” he adds.

Not trusting my voice to keep secret my inappropriate thoughts, I nod and take the suit from his outstretched hand.

Since I watched every second of Austin tugging on his, this should be easy to put on. But when I step into the first leg hole, my big toe catches on the inside of the material, and I lose my balance. He catches my elbow and saves me from falling face-first into the sand. While his warm grip steadies my feet, the unexpected touch on my bare skin has the exact opposite effect on my knees.

Breathe, Alessandra.

“Thanks,” I choke out, not able to meet his gaze. I make quick, embarrassing work of wiggling and tugging my wetsuit into place, bending and squatting for the proper fit, just wanting to be covered again. When the arms are in place, I reach around, trying to locate the string of the zipper, and feel Austin’s hand close around mine.

“Here, let me.”

He gathers my hair in his hands and tucks it to the side. My eyes close. The zipper starts its ascent up my back, and I proceed to listen to the pound of my pulse as Austin’s fingers skate across my skin. When the garment is closed, he slides my arms through a sleeveless black vest, then turns my body to him so he can latch it. His hands falter as they hover over my chest. We gaze at each other for a long beat.

Then, clearing his throat, Austin snaps it closed and backs away.

He pushes the red-and-black Jet Ski into the water, past the first few crashing waves, then throws a leg over the side. He turns to me, extending an upturned palm, but as I watch the water pound against his legs, I slowly shake my head and inch away. Forget the confusion of the past few minutes or my concern whether riding wrapped around Austin is appropriate…are Jet Skis even
safe
? So far, my experience with modern machines has taught me that they travel at terrifying speeds. What if I were to accidently let go and fly off?

Austin’s face gentles, and he curls his fingers, coaxing me closer to the watery death trap. “I’ve got you, Alessandra,” he says. “I promise nothing’s gonna hurt you. You can trust me.”

The sardonic guise he hides behind drops for just a moment, but it is enough.

I say a quick prayer and place my hand in his.

With my legs straddling the seat, my arms wrapped tightly around Austin’s firm stomach, and my chest and face pressed against his back, I do not need the extra layer my wetsuit provides. I am quite warm without it. Under me, the engine rumbles. Austin grabs my clasped hands, ensuring my death grip.

And then we are flying.

Fear is left behind me on the beach. My laughter is swallowed by the wind. And I hold onto Austin. The rest of the world falls away as he powers the machine forward. A whistling sound envelops us, yet there’s also silence in the midst of the roar. Out here, there’s no room for worrisome thoughts about the future or about the past. No time for concerns over when I will return or how much I miss my family. In this bubble of Austin, wind, and water, all I can do is live and breathe and smile.

Austin spins us in circles, and then we fly forward, free as the winged creatures overhead. He bounces us over a swell, and a spray of water splashes my face, tickling the skin left exposed by my wetsuit. I squeal, and under my clasped hands, I feel his taut stomach muscles shake with laughter. Then he takes off again in another sharp turn, racing in the opposite direction of which we came.

Excitement has me screaming, asking him to go faster. I close my eyes against the sting of the salty air and the lash of my hair and tilt my head back, feeling more uninhibited than I ever have before.

More free, more alive…just
more.

Chapter Fifteen

As our car glides down the tree-lined street for my first full week of school, my thoughts are not where they should be. I
should
be reciting Cat’s list of lingo along with the new references I searched and added myself last night—it turns out
Scooby-Doo
is an amusing program. I ended up watching (and enjoying) several episodes and laughing at the
gang
’s comical high jinks. My cousin, equally amused by my merriment, was impressed with how quickly I acclimated to using her laptop, and I must admit, so was I. It is amazing how much information is available at one’s fingertips in this world. But in all honesty, right now I couldn’t care less about talking dogs, the World Wide Web, or any of those things, for my thoughts are turned to Austin and the mysterious transformation he appears to have undergone three years ago.

Yesterday I learned that asking him directly about his past does nothing but make things worse. On our way out of the beach house, I made the mistake of stopping before one of the pictures of his family and inquiring why there weren’t any recent additions. The temporary truce we struck out on the water vanished, the scales fell back over his eyes, and he walked outside without a word.

Obviously if I want to discover the truth, I must do so on my own.

“Cat,” I say, turning away from the parade of homes outside my window. Beside me, my cousin lifts her head and opens her sleep-dazed eyes. A happy early riser she is not. “Do you know anything about Mr. Michaels, Austin’s father?”

I know as I ask that a much easier way to uncover the truth would be to mention the family photos I found yesterday at his beach house; however, Cat still believes we were at the library all day. I’m unaccustomed to the pressing weight that the guilt of lying causes. If it were a perfect world, I could stop with the deceit altogether, but I can’t, especially not after experiencing the rush of the wind and water on the back of Austin’s Jet Ski. If I tell her the truth, she will likely ask me to stop the challenges.

And nothing is keeping me from whatever task he has planned for us next.

Cat scrunches her mouth. “You know, it’s weird. In middle school, Austin was, like, king, totally set to follow his dad’s footsteps to the White House. He was a year older than me, but I still knew who he was—everyone did. He led the soccer team, won all the assembly awards, was student council president… Then, when I was in the sixth grade, his dad won the senate election, and I remember him coming to school a couple of times. The man was a complete and utter tool, but you could see that Austin worshipped him.”

Out of everything Cat just said, this surprises me the most.
Abhorred
seems a much more apt choice of verb, at least based on Austin’s reactions around me whenever the subject of his dad came up.

“When Austin graduated,” she continues, “I totally expected to find him on top of everything at the high school, even as a sophomore. But instead, I found him in
my
class because he failed an entire year.” She shrugs. “I don’t know how that happened. Even weirder is that when his dad campaigned for reelection a couple months ago, the news coverage just kinda skimmed over Austin. It was like he didn’t exist. His sister Jamie was at all the events, at least according to the pictures, anyway, but Austin…well, if I were to guess, he was off surfing.”

At the onslaught of information, I massage my temples, hoping that maybe
that
will help me process it all. Our car stops, and I glance out the window. We are at a light, a block away from the white stone building of the high school. Only a few minutes left to ask two more nagging questions. I tuck my leg under me and decide to go with the easier one first. “What about Austin’s and Jamie’s mother? I notice you didn’t mention her.”

Cat winces. “She died.”

Horrified, I slap my hand over my mouth. Austin’s mother had looked frail in the more recent photographs, but it never occurred to me that she could have been sick. Hurting for the young boy who lost his mother, I whisper, “How long ago?”

Cat tilts her head and stares at the ceiling, thinking. “I want to say two or three years ago. At the time, it was a big deal. She’d been battling breast cancer, and for a while, people wore pink ribbons and organized walks, and our health classes focused on prevention. But then, I guess people moved on to other causes.” She frowns, and the car rolls again as the light turns green.

Austin’s loss reminds me of how very much I miss my own mother, miss hearing her words of wisdom, and how devastated I would be if I ever lost her. As the high school comes into view, I take a breath and ask the final question I had been holding, wondering if in the light of everything else, it still even matters. “And Kendal?”

Cat narrows her eyes at me, suspicion rolling off her in waves, but she answers as we come to a stop in front of the school. “They were together when his mom died, but the cheating scandal broke not too long after that.”

With a heart torn between wanting to run and hide and needing to find Austin and throw my arms around him, I step out from the car, up the front stone stairs, and into the frantic hallway. It would appear that fate has made the choice for me. Austin meets my gaze over the shuffle of students from where he stands, waiting beside my locker. He shoulders a bag that looks suspiciously stuffed—beside the one notebook I saw on Friday, I’m under the distinct impression he doesn’t own any other supplies—and bestows an even more suspicious grin upon my cousin.

She, I notice, seems to be just as wary. “Good morning, Austin. You’re here shockingly early. Did someone remember to take his good-student pills today?”

Austin’s lips twitch with amusement, and he shifts his eyes to mine. “Just had a question to ask Less about our
project
.”

I widen my eyes in silent annoyance but luckily, Cat doesn’t catch his double meaning.

Out on the water yesterday, I told Austin about my need to keep his challenge a secret. Also, in a moment of adrenaline-filled weakness, I somehow divulged my peculiar nickname. From the look Cat gives me, she finds this very telling.

Austin smirks, apparently catching the same look. “I’ll make sure she gets to class on time.”

She chokes on a laugh. “That’s interesting because I wasn’t totally sure you knew how to get there yourself.” Then she leans close and whispers, “Do you want me to leave?”

Not wanting her to see my excitement at Austin’s proposal and what it could potentially mean, I lower my lashes and nod.

Cat smacks her lips. “O-kay then,” she says, not sounding at all convinced. “I guess I’ll just see you at lunch…
Alessandra
.”

At her overt attempt at provocation—my cousin never uses my given name—I lift my eyes. “Yes. See you then,
Caterina
.”

Her head jerks back—probably as much at the name she shares with her mother as at the surprising confidence in my tone. A small smile of admiration springs to her lips. “All right, kiddos, try not to kill each other when I’m gone.” Cat takes a step away and elbows Austin in the ribs. “Take care of my girl, Michaels.”

She walks down the hall toward her own locker and I watch until she disappears into the crowd. “Thank you for maintaining my ruse,” I tell Austin. “Much like you, she seems to think I am sheltered and in need of protection.”

He chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that for some reason makes me uncomfortable. Turning away, I grab the dial of the lock with shaky hands and try to remember the combination Cat taught me. Austin closes his hand over mine. “You’re not gonna need any books today.”

Confused, I twist to look at him with a frown. “I’m not?”

He shakes his head. “Not where we’re going.”

It takes me what feels like a full minute to realize his intention. Then I gasp. “But you promised Cat you would get me to class.” He nods, not at all looking guilty for his blatant deceit—he must practice it far more frequently than I do—and I shake my head. “You lied!”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he says in a slow drawl. “I did.” Austin pulls a piece of paper from his pocket, unfolds it, and hands it to me. With a devilish grin he says, “Challenge two presented.”

A glance at the paper reveals the words
Lethal Xperience: Rush Theme Park
written above a steel contraption built with impossible twists and turns, looming at even more impossible heights. A group of unfortunate people strapped to the death-defying object peer up from the page, strangely enough with joy on their faces.

My gaze shoots back to his. He laughs at what I can only assume is my panic-stricken expression and reaches out to nudge my open jaw closed with his knuckle. “It’s a roller coaster, Princess. It’s fun. Are you allergic to fun?”

Fun I can handle
, I want to tell him.
Death, not so much.

“B-but class,” I say, weakly waving my hand at the rooms around us. “Isn’t leaving school grounds during the day against the rules?”

He huffs in exasperation. “Alessandra, you only live once, and to be honest,
you’re
not living at all. You promised you’d give me a week to loosen you up. Are you backing out already?”

I loathe the truth in his words.

Needing to concentrate—and to not be distracted by Austin’s temptingly sinful grin—I squeeze my eyes shut.

Does it really matter if I break a few modern-day rules?

My time here is finite. Four days have passed since I arrived in the twenty-first century, and I have already passed my first marker. Shouldn’t I spend the remainder of my time embracing every moment, not bored behind a disagreeable desk, listening to concepts I cannot fully comprehend?

I bite my lip, unsure if I am more excited or shocked at my own thoughts—or if they are even truth or merely an excuse to be alone again with Austin. I glance at the emptying hallway.

With a teasing wiggle of my eyebrows and an eager smile at my tempter, I take off running.

…

Austin gets out of the truck and stretches, the hem of his faded blue T-shirt lifting. A strip of bare flesh—the same flesh I openly gawked at yesterday—peeks from underneath, but even though my eyes got their fill then, I steal another quick, swoon-worthy glance. Then, with a mouth gone dry, I turn away from the enticing sight and gaze upon my death instead.

Across the crowded parking lot sits Rush, an outdoor wonder otherwise known as an amusement park, evidently home to much more than just the Lethal Xperience
.
As I gaze out…and
up…
from the relative safety of my seat at the wide array of supposed enjoyment, I come to the decision that people of the twenty-first century have entirely too much free time on their hands.

Where I come from, in the rare moment when we are without duty, we create art or sing songs or even talk. We do not search for creative ways to defy nature and call it
fun.

Austin opens my door and chuckles. “Let me explain how this works. In order to ride the roller coaster, one must get out of the vehicle. It doesn’t come to you.”

I suck my teeth and wonder again how I can find such arrogant behavior appealing. It must be a sickness.

“Hi-
larious
,” I mumble, a sarcastic expression I overheard Cat tell her father last night. I did not quite get it then, but it sure feels as though it fits now. Austin smirks. Heaving a sigh of resignation at my fate, I step onto the cracked asphalt.

He grabs my hand, most likely to ensure I don’t wander off or make an escape. But the heat of his skin centers me, bringing all my attention away from my frazzled nerves and onto my pounding, frantic pulse.

The towering structures grow in size with each additional step we take toward the gate. When we reach the front, Austin behaves like a gentleman for once and purchases our tickets, and I crane my neck up.

My, that is high.

I imagine my cousin asking,
What have you gotten yourself into now, girlfriend?
And the truly horrible part is that I don’t even know how to answer.

What
have
I gotten myself into?

I still firmly believe that Austin will never let anything
happen to me, but it is quite clear we view danger very differently.

A hand touches the small of my back, and suddenly he is ushering me inside.

Without stopping or even slowing his stride, he grabs a map from a vendor and flips it open. “So Lethal Xperience is at the back of the park. We’ll hit that first and then make our way up to the front.”

He seems unaware that the length of his legs far exceeds my own. As I frantically attempt to match his stride, I must pant or wheeze because he finally looks down at me, no doubt pink-faced and wide-eyed both from the sensory overload surrounding us and my huffing at a near jog to stay beside him. He grins. “Try to keep up, Short Stuff.”

I grit my teeth with determination and somehow keep myself from muttering,
Yes, Master.
But the thought still makes me smile. Cat must be rubbing off.

We pass a circular ride filled with fake horses going up and down. Giggling and drooling children clap their adorable hands from their belted saddles while a spirited tune blares overhead. Just past that is a miniature roller coaster made to look like a giant, happy centipede. The child in the front seat waves to his mother as the cart dips, and his squeal of joy tails behind him. It’s too bad that not all roller coasters can be five feet tall.

Then I get a wicked idea.

Austin believes I am a child, naïve and boring, and, it would seem, without any humor. This second challenge is supposed to be about fun, and nothing—not even the lead role in a prestigious play with a crowd of a thousand—will give me more joy than turning the tables on him, even if only for a moment.

Looking back at the children’s ride, I grab Austin’s elbow and say innocently, “Is this not the roller coaster you are looking for?”

He stops rather abruptly and peers at me through squinted eyes. “You know, it’s like you
look
normal…” He trails off, points a long, tan finger at the centipede ride, and in a tone dripping with condescension explains, “Less, Arthropod Picnic is a kiddie ride. It’s made for pint-sized ankle-biters ages three and under.”