Obsessed Heir (Billionaire Heirs #4)

Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Abigail

M iss Opal sets her napkin down after polishing off the last bite of the lunch James brought up. “Would you help me move to the bed?”

My stomach roils at the thought of glancing out to the water. Why did Barron have to own a ship? I swallow, trying to settle my unease and focus on getting a good grip on the handles.

I steer her chair from the sliding glass door then maneuver beside the king-sized bed. The plush white comforter and fluffy pillows appear incredibly inviting.

I press down firmly on the chair’s brake pedal. Miss Opal waits patiently as I give a quick push to ensure it won’t roll when she moves. It’s a habit we picked up while she was hospitalized.

With the wheels securely locked, she braces her hands on the armrests and pushes herself up, balancing precariously on her good foot. After a little hop, she leans forward, going faster than I anticipated, and my heart leaps into my throat.

“Miss Opal!” I cry out, dashing around the chair with arms outstretched, ready to catch her. But she’s steadying herself, fingers digging into the plush bedding as she lifts her knee onto the mattress and pivots.

“I’m fine,” she assures me with a strained smile. The tiny beads of sweat shimmering along her brow from the exertion tell another story. “It’s been a while, so I’m a bit rusty on how to get from one place to another.”

Guilt washes through me. “I’m so sorry.” I feel helpless standing here watching her struggle, knowing I could have stopped it from happening. “I should have paid attention when the driver was unloading the luggage from the back of the van.”

“Nonsense,” she chides, waving away my apology. “You know if there’s trouble about, I always gravitate toward it without even trying.” She chuckles. “So this doesn’t come as a surprise, not one bit.”

I can’t argue with her logic. She has an uncanny knack for finding her way into difficult situations. I should have been more aware of what was around her when I walked away to get her passport.

“Still—” I begin, but she cuts me off with a hard glare.

“Don’t blame yourself, dear. This wasn’t your fault.” She brings her legs up then scoots back.

I rush to adjust the mountain of pillows so she can settle in and find a comfortable spot.

“You see? This isn’t too bad.” She runs her hands over the comforter. “I’m in a comfy bed. Nothing’s broken. And the doctor said the swelling should go down in a day or two.”

Relief should wash over me at her reassuring words, but my anxiety needs an outlet. I glance around for something to do, anything to keep myself busy. I need to push the looming prospect of being trapped at sea from my mind.

Her luggage sits forlornly in the corner. I seize the task, grateful for the distraction.

“Let me get your things put away,” I announce, grabbing the luggage rack and smaller case. She doesn’t need to be living out of a suitcase if we’re staying here for a week.

I roll the case to the foot of the bed. Once I set it on the rack, I open the zippered sides with a practiced flick of my wrist. First things first—I have to sanitize every surface, a habit ingrained into me over the past few months.

After Miss Opal got sick and ended up in the hospital, life changed for us. With her immune system compromised, any lapse could have proven catastrophic. We had to make sure everything was clean. Now we don’t travel anywhere without antibacterial cleaning supplies.

I rip open the package and pull out a couple of wipes. Wrapping one around my fingers, I begin methodically scouring the insides of the drawers.

“This is the first cruise for the ship,” Miss Opal points out. “So nobody has been in this room before.”

“We can’t be too careful,” I counter, my voice muffled as I lean into the bottom drawer. I inspect every inch with a critical eye before moving on to the next.

The scent of clean, new wood takes me back to the construction sites where Dad worked when I was a kid. The sound of hammering echoes in my mind. Mexican music. Guys joking. Someone shushing them when I looked up from my coloring book because I didn’t understand the crude joke.

I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing away the unwelcome memory. There’s no place for nostalgia, especially when it comes to memories of the man who abandoned me.

“It won’t take me more than a minute to wipe everything down.” I double down on the cleaning, needing to erase the smell from the room and my mind. “I’m putting your things in the four drawers at the top so you don’t have to bend down.”

“Thank you,” Miss Opal murmurs.

“You’re welcome.” Once I’m satisfied the dresser has been thoroughly decontaminated, I start sorting through her clothes. Pajamas, underwear, stockings, and casual blouses all go into their designated drawers.

After zipping the suitcase closed, I move the rack closer to the closet. This makes swapping the larger case a lot easier.

“My goodness, I didn’t realize I packed so much,” Miss Opal muses, surveying the mounds of clothing and accessories with wide eyes.

A fond smile curves my lips. “Well, Holly did say to pack with picture taking in mind.” That called for a trip to San Antonio, since she needed an entire wardrobe overhaul. This would ensure she would be suitably glamorous and camera-ready for her son.

I grasp the larger suitcase with both hands and hoist it onto the rack, staggering as the floor shifts beneath my feet. The dense weight of the case nearly topples me before I catch myself. I clamp my fingers down on the chair handle just in time to keep my balance.

“Are you okay, dear?” Miss Opal’s concerned voice cuts through my momentary disorientation.

“Yes, ma’am.” I straighten but reach out to put my hand on the wall.

“This is quite disconcerting.” Miss Opal’s fingers clench reflexively in the bedding.

“Yes, it is.”

The gentle sway confirms that the ship is moving, gliding away from land with deceptive smoothness.

“Maybe if you close the curtains, it’ll be a little better,” she suggests kindly.

I swallow hard against the nausea in my stomach as we pick up speed. I hurry across the room, averting my gaze to avoid a glimpse of the dizzying scene.

We’re in full reverse, moving away from shore. I stab at the button for the curtain controls and focus on the corner. Seconds later, the heavy fabric panels glide closed, blocking out everything, including the afternoon sunlight.

I open my eyes again and face Miss Opal. She’s reached over to the switch above the end table. A quick click and light fills the room with a soft glow.

“Can you figure out how to turn the other lights on?” she asks.

“Of course.”

I head toward the entrance and try the switches until the overhead lighting flickers to life.

The world shifts again. I hold on to the wall as we change direction. Another memory hits me, of riding the city bus. Having to stand, clutching at Dad’s leg as the bus rounds a corner.

“I think that’s it.” Miss Opal exhales, oblivious to my inner turmoil. “We’re heading out.”

I’m positive the words are meant to set me at ease. They don’t. Not in the least, but now that we’re underway, the movement is much smoother. I try not to think about the fact there’s nowhere to run.

I force myself to continue unpacking, if only to occupy myself with something other than being out on open water. Cocktail dresses, casual outfits, and shoes are all put away in a matter of minutes.

Once the bathroom area is thoroughly sanitized and the toiletries are organized, I’m left with nothing else to distract me.

“The bathroom is large enough to accommodate the chair. But I don’t think we can get it in the door,” I observe, grasping at the conversation like a lifeline.

Miss Opal nods understanding.

“I’m sure I’ll be okay with the few steps to the toilet,” she assures me calmly. She then gives her swollen ankle an emphatic little wiggle. “Besides, it should only be a few days.”

“I’ll ask James to track down a chair for you to use in the shower.” I mentally add it to my ever-growing to-do list.

“I can’t believe I’m creating such a problem for everyone.” She sighs, shaking her head despondently.

“Oh, don’t worry,” I counter with a dismissive wave. “That’s why I’m here.” I’ll make it a point to avoid voicing any tasks so she doesn’t feel like a burden.

“And I brought you along without a single bit of your luggage.” She presses her lips together in a thin line. “I know,” she says, brightening. “Why don’t you go out and do some shopping?”

My heart sinks as I consider the exorbitant prices I glimpsed while researching the ship’s amenities. Every store had a brand name, and every brand name added another digit to the cost. I’m not sure I can afford anything on board.

“I think I should wait,” I hedge.

“But you need something to wear,” she presses. “Nothing I own will fit you.”

I grimace inwardly, acknowledging the truth of her words.

“I know,” I admit, dejected. Even at the age of fifteen, I’d already outgrown anything Miss Opal could have offered as hand-me-downs. While we’re both petite, I have a lot more going on up top and along my hips and ass.

“Go see,” she insists, undeterred. “The site showed several places to shop for clothes.”

“Yes, but they’re designer stores,” I remind her with a sinking feeling. “They’ll be charging designer prices. Which will be significantly more expensive than what I’d normally pay.”

“That’s quite all right, Abby. I’ll cover any costs,” she says, dismissing my financial concerns. Her offer doesn’t make me feel any better. “Though I am infinitely grateful for your company, it’s my fault you’re here without a stitch.”

I’m acutely aware of how to operate on a tight budget because of my upbringing. No matter what she says, I can’t bring myself to spend that kind of money. I also know her budget. While she can well afford any shopping trips, it’s not money she should spend on me.

“I’ll wait for us to hit port,” I suggest in a conciliatory tone. “The town, or village, should have some sort of clothing store. Whatever their tourist prices may be, I doubt they’ll be as high as what I’ll find on a luxury liner.”

Before I’m even done, she’s shaking her head. “Well, at least get clothes for tomorrow, then we’ll see where we go from there,” she urges.

I reluctantly agree, already envisioning my meager funds dwindling.

“I’ll check it out,” I concede, knowing I won’t change her mind. “Maybe I’ll find a T-shirt or some pajamas.”

“Good.” Her smile brightens.

The thought of venturing out on the ship makes me feel woozy. I doubt I can make it very far on my own.

“Would you like to come along?” I ask, knowing she’d be thrilled for a chance to go shopping, and I’d be thrilled for the company.

“No,” she declines with a shake of her head. “I’m exhausted at this point. I’ll stay behind this time.” She settles in, making herself comfortable. “I need the rest.”

“Okay.” With a trembling hand, I pocket the key card James left for me on the desk. I deliberately ignore what’s on the other side of the curtain. I don’t need to be reminded we’re only a few layers of metal away from the depths of the ocean.

Taking a deep breath, I head out to explore the ship, praying there are no icebergs this far south that’ll send us to a watery grave.