Hexed (Never After #6)

8. Venesa

EIGHT

VENESA

My momma drove a Mustang convertible. A sparkly blue-green one that changed tints in the sun depending on how the rays hit the paint. It was her pride and joy, and she spent more time loving that thing than she ever did loving me.

Ironically, most of my best memories of her were in that car. Whenever she’d cover that curly brown hair of hers in a silk scarf and smile in that blinding way she was known for—one that stopped hearts and made a mess of a man—I’d know she was about to take me on a ride.

We’d giggle like schoolgirls and pile into that convertible, and if it was my birthday, she’d make an extra stop to get shaved ice from Morgan’s Ice Shack on the boardwalk before we’d ride down the coast without a care in the world.

I’ll never forget the feel of the wind blowing in my dark hair or the grin that split my face, my lips stained a cherry red, sticky with sweet joy.

Back then, I used to think it was her way of apologizing for ignoring me in virtually every other aspect of life, but now I realize it was just her way of escaping reality. My father was not a kind man, and I have a begrudging respect for my momma, knowing she did her best to hide the ugliest truths about her life from my view. It’s just buried beneath the mountains of animosity from how badly she failed at it.

I step off the city bus that stops right in front of the boardwalk, pushing away the memories that cause old wounds to rip open and bleed from the center of my chest.

It’s humid today, the smell of city and salt water mixing in the air and lying like a thin coat against my skin. The familiar feeling makes my insides crawl.

The Atlantic Cove Boardwalk is a landmark of South Carolina. First built in the 1930s, it spans over two miles of beach, filled with tourist attractions and overpriced food and drink. It’s been reconstructed several times, usually under my family’s hand, but there’s one area that’s original, where the wrought iron arch with the pretty pink seashell sits like a beacon, drawing people to the bridge on stilts that extends out into the water.

That’s where I find Enzo.

He’s leaning against the railing as if he doesn’t have a care in the world, his ocean-blue eyes already trained on me as I walk up to greet him.

“Lover Boy.” I nod, slipping my hands into the back pockets of my frayed black shorts.

He lifts his chin in reply, his gaze stripping me bare as he peruses my body, from the top of my bleached head, over my exposed shoulders in my purple top, to the tips of my black Nikes. He looks laughably out of place in his tailored suit, and I know he has to be sweltering, but he doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, it makes him look even more powerful, as though even the South Carolina heat can’t touch him.

People are laughing around us, lounging in their tiny bikinis and tropical board shorts, kids building castles in the sand or running away from the waves as they lap at the shore. Couples walk between us, some aged with leathered skin and some young with puppy love in their eyes.

The boardwalk is good for that, setting a beautiful backdrop to a first date or a proposal that promises the fairy tale of a forever kind of love.

But Enzo acts as though none of that exists, his stare trained on me like I’m the only thing he can see.

It’s unnerving.

He frowns, and somehow even that’s attractive.

“You’re late,” he states.

I hit back. “And you’re overdressed.”

“It’s sweet you care.” He straightens off the ledge and takes a step closer to me. “Do you always take the bus by yourself, looking the way you do?”

I glance down at my outfit. What’s wrong with it? “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

His lips twitch as though he’s about to smile, and he reaches out, tugging lightly on one of the large silver hoops dangling from my ear.

“My earrings?” I question. “Well, you know what they say.”

He tilts his head. “No, what do they say?”

I grin. “The bigger the hoop, the bigger the wh?—”

His finger presses against my lips, and the feel of him touching any part of me makes me squirm with unease, like static electricity is sparking through my body.

“Watch your mouth,” he says slowly, his New York accent coming through strong, dropping the r and elongating the vowels. “You won’t disrespect yourself to me.”

Surprise at his words makes me feel off-kilter, and I reach up, my heart tripping in its rhythm as I grab his wrist and pull his hand away. “I was just joking, Enzo.”

He stands there and stares at me for a moment, the muscle in his jaw ticking before he grins. “I like the way you say my name.”

My brow furrows. “You know, you don’t have to be nice to me just because I’m Aria’s cousin. It’ll probably work against you, actually.”

“You think I’m being nice for Aria’s sake?” His smile widens.

“Aren’t you?”

He steps back, glancing around us instead of answering. “What’s on the agenda for the day?”

I shrug. “You dragged me out here. Why don’t you tell me?”

Uncle T told me to make sure he sees what Atlantic Cove offers, but honestly, I think the area speaks for itself. Overpriced and oversaturated.

“Give me the authentic Atlantic Cove experience.” He waves his hand around us.

“Well, this is it.” I put my hands out to my sides. “Welcome to the Atlantic Cove Boardwalk, where the drinks are expensive and the attractions are made for tourists. Perfect for a Marino hotel.”

He looks at me. “Have you been to a Marino hotel?”

Suddenly uncomfortable, I shift on my feet. “Once…a few years ago.”

Enzo blinks, most likely waiting for me to elaborate, but the last thing I’m going to do is tell him about how I committed murder in a Marino penthouse suite, so I let the quiet linger until he finally chuckles and gives a short bob of his head.

I hate that I like the sound of his laugh.

We walk down the promenade, and I point out some places that have been here for years, skipping the newer shops because I know nothing about them, and what’s it really matter anyway? The quicker we get through this, the better.

I also skip any of the places that remind me of my past, hoping he doesn’t notice. I think I’ve gotten away with it until he stops walking abruptly.

“What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” I lie.

He points to Morgan’s Ice Shack behind us. “You don’t see that place to tell me about it?”

I glance over at it, nausea hitting me strong and sure, curdling in my throat and sticking along the edges of my mouth like thick mucus. “I do.”

He crosses his arms.

Throwing my head back until I’m staring at the blue sky, I think about how to handle the situation. Uncle T made it clear I’m supposed to convince him to trust me. To listen to me. To want to go into business down here. My stomach cramps when I realize honesty is the best policy. Being difficult is only going to cause problems I’ll have to fix later, and being dodgy will only make Enzo suspicious.

“Listen, there are just some things I don’t like to talk about, and that ”—I point to the Ice Shack—“is one of them.”

He makes a face, but I don’t elaborate any more. Who does he think he is anyway, cocking a brow like I’ll just vomit pieces of myself at his command? He must notice my reluctance because he steps in close, his hand twitching like he wants to reach out and cup my cheek. Or maybe that’s my imagination. Either way, he doesn’t, though. Thankfully.

“I’m not playing any angles to get information or trying to test your knowledge,” he says.

Obviously. I’m the one doing that to him. “Right.”

“I’ve always been honest with you,” he continues.

I snort. “You’ve known me for two minutes.”

“And?” he replies with a wry grin. “What’s that gotta do with honesty?”

As I lick my lips, my gaze flits away from his.

He dips his head down and captures my stare again, lowering his voice. “I don’t have to know you to see the same thing in your eyes that lives in mine, and I get the distrust, and the walls, and the being constantly on guard. I respect it. But I promise you don’t have to do that with me. Just be real, okay?”

My mouth parts, and my heart speeds at his words because he’s right. I don’t trust anyone, and the fact he called it out so plainly is a little shocking.

But I can’t give him what he wants.

Being fully honest with him isn’t a luxury I can afford.

“And you’re being real with me?” I retort, because come on. He barely knows me, and yet here he is spouting off words like we’re supposed to have a layer of trust and reciprocity.

He gives me a questioning look. “Why would you think I’m not?”

“It’s just a little suspect that you’re dragging me, a stranger, out here to show you around town when you have a perfectly healthy fiancée who was born and raised here.”

He side-eyes me, a brief flash of what looks like guilt coasting through his gaze before he smirks. “Have you met your cousin?”

I laugh because he’s not wrong. Aria isn’t really the “take you out on the town and show you the sights for your benefit” kind of gal. Not unless there’s a photo-op at the end.

“Unfortunately,” I murmur.

He stops walking, and I wait for him to reprimand me for talking down about his precious Aria, the same way everyone always does, but he doesn’t.

“You know I had never even heard about you until I got here?” he says instead. “Don’t you think that’s weird?”

“Not really.”

Why would Aria want to talk about the person who actually saved his life?

He continues to stare at me, and it’s still unnerving, but I also kind of like the way it feels. His attention is all-consuming.

My teeth sink into my lower lip. “There’s not much to tell.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t believe that.”

“Okay,” I acquiesce. “Being here? It reminds me of my past.”

“Your past,” he repeats.

My heart stutters. “Of my momma. She used to bring me down here. Rarely. She wasn’t…well, she just wasn’t up to it much. But once a year, on my birthday, she’d wake me up early and make it a big production. We’d get shaved ice right there.” I point to Morgan’s Ice Shack. “And then she’d walk with me down the line of shops and tell me I could pick my favorite thing to buy.”

“Just one?” Enzo jokes.

“Things were hard. We didn’t—she didn’t—take money from the family, so yeah…just one.” I swallow over the sudden knot forming in my throat. “It was my favorite day of the year, though.”

“Because it was your birthday?”

“Because for that one day, my momma loved me out loud.”

His jaw clenches, but then he nods, a blinding smile taking over his face. “Loving you out loud. I like that.”

“Yeah, well…” I shift on my feet, my cuticle tearing from how badly I’m picking at it.

He slips his hands into his pockets and glances around, and then he places his palm on the small of my back and steers us toward a pop-up stand right next to the Sea Wheel, the two-hundred-foot Ferris wheel that defines the Atlantic Cove Boardwalk. I let him prod me forward, too stunned by this entire interaction to argue.

We walk up to the stand, pieces of jewelry hanging from the end caps and shirts that say things like “In My Mermaid Era” overflowing off the sides. He jerks his head toward the display. “Pick something.”

“What?” I laugh.

He steps toward me until he’s so close, he has to physically look down to peer into my eyes. “You heard me. Pick something.”

I frown at him, confused as to why he’s doing this and why he seems to care, but oddly touched by the gesture. “Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“Does that normally work for you? The whole ‘because I said so’ schtick?”

“Yes.”

I walk around the pop-up shop and take one of the seashell necklaces into my palm, inspecting it. “Well, I don’t know if you know this, but people like an explanation of why they should do something before they do it. Makes them feel like you’re treating them equally instead of talking down to them.”

A loud laugh escapes him as he comes to stand next to me. “You’re right. I want you to pick something because I can tell that memory of you and your mom, it’s a good one. And I want to be a good one, too.”

Surprise flickers in my chest like a candle.

“Do you like that?” He looks down at the seashell necklace in my hand.

“Sure, it’s pretty.” I place it back on the stand.

“Do you want it?” he presses.

My brows shoot to my hairline. “Uh…no thanks. I’m good.”

“I’d like to get it for you.”

“If I wanted it, I’d get it myself.”

My eyes scan the price tag, because it really is pretty. But I don’t have the money to spend on trivial things, and I’ll be damned if I let him get it for me out of pity.

“ Christ , you’re difficult. Can’t you accept a gift?” He nods toward the merchandise.

“When it’s from the man marrying my cousin? I don’t think so.” I shake my head. “You don’t have to do this, you know?”

His tongue swipes along his bottom lip, and my stomach clenches tight, heat flaring between my legs. He leans down, his voice dropping an octave. “I don’t do anything I don’t want to.”

The timbre of his words skates across my flesh like a knife.

“How about I pick something for you instead?” I bargain.

He considers it. “Is that the best I’ll get?”

“Most likely.”

He grins and straightens. “It’s a deal.”

“That’s it?” I cross my arms. “You folded just like that?”

He shrugs. “Sure, if it will make you happy.”

A smile breaks across my face unbidden.

If it will make you happy.

I don’t know if anyone has ever said those words to me. It’s dangerous how much I like the way it feels.