Page 49 of Rockland

When John wakes me, I have no idea what time it is. We must have already landed, because the engines are quiet. Unbelievable—I’ve slept the whole trip. I look to John, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “What time is it?”

He looks down at his Rolex. “It’s eight in the morning in Athens. We’ve got an hour boat ride to get to the Parish. So we’ll be there just in time for a late breakfast. Couldn’t have planned it better myself.”

I crunch the numbers in my mind. We left around five. Nine-hour flight. Internet research told me there’s a seven-hour time difference. In the Village it’s one in the morning, but I’ve slept so long and well that I feel totally rested. Ready to take on my mission, though beyond showing up and professing my infatuation to Rockland, I don’t have much planned.

We leave the plane. We’re at a small airport, about the size of the one in the Village. There are a few well-groomed men, milling about. I must be a sight because they are all staring at me. Ignoring them, I follow John, climbing beside him into a waiting Jeep. The sight of the big, rugged wheel reminds me of the difficult terrain we are taking on. Of how isolating my surroundings will be. My stomach knots and I force myself to take a deep breath.

A massive, well-groomed man with his head completely shaved is putting our bags in the back. When he takes a seat, I recognize the top of the tattoo peeking out below the sleeve of his skintight black t-shirt. A member of the Brotherhood of the Parish. He shoots me a smile, flashing white teeth against tan skin.

And we’re off.

John takes glances at me every so often to see if I’m alright with the bumpy isolated roads. I don’t even notice the jostling because my surroundings are breathtaking. Mountains roll in the distance as we make our way. Thick, gnarled tree trucks line the road, their branches twisted and turning into each other beneath their green canopies. The air is dry and the sun shines down through the trees, warming my skin.

My sight lands on the Aegean Sea.

A beautiful teal, darkening to a royal blue over the deeper regions. “It’s something, isn’t it?” John asks, leaning over me to get a better view. “Mary loves it here. Never wants to leave.”

“How often have you been coming?” I ask. But of course, he doesn’t answer, and I don’t really care because all I can do is stare.

After about a ten-minute ride, we pull up to a small road that leads to an isolated white sand beach. Just off the beach is a dock. And a gorgeous boat is waiting for us. The term doesn’t do the craft justice. The sleek white vessel must be a small yacht.

“I guess they knew we were coming?” I ask, incredibly grateful for John’s interceding. I never would have been able to navigate the journey on my own.

“Your timing couldn’t have been better. I actually have a delivery to make to the new, ah… storage area out here. It’s in the cargo below the plane. Also, I have a few loose ends to tie up in a pretty big business deal with Rockland. One he, I, and Carter are working out. I’m arriving under the guise of all that. Don’t worry, you’ll still be quite the secret.”

The driver takes my hand, helping me down from the Jeep. I can’t help it but his build, his skin, his tattoo, they make me think of Rockland. Knowing how near I am to him—how soon I’ll see his face after being away from him so long—my nerves shoot through the roof. The sensation is akin to having too much to drink and feeling wonderful yet wanting to throw up all at the same time. I hold the driver’s hand tight, to steady myself. Sensing my instability, he gives me a warm smile. His eyes are green. His smile, beautiful. He says, “Lovely to meet you. You must be Tess.”

Surprise widens my eyes. “Oh! You’ve heard of me? You knew I was coming?”

“No, I only knew of John’s arrival. But when we saw you step off the jet, me and my brothers knew you must be the mystery woman with the hair like fire. The one that’s captured the heart of our leader.”

I lose my breath. My heart stops beating, falling into my stomach with a dull thud. The words escape my lips though I don’t mean for them to. “He’s spoken of me?”

“He speaks of nothing else. Except business of course.”

Suddenly, my knees are no longer weak, my head no longer cloudy.

I’m here for one reason.

To tell him how I feel. And ask if he feels the same.

I give the driver a smile. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Dante.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Dante.” His words have given me the confidence I needed to complete my task. I let go of his hand and say, “Thank you.” You’ve helped me more than you’ll ever know.

The boat is not what I was expecting. I had images of flagging down a local. Renting his time and having him transport me in his rusted-out dinghy. My hand clutching to the rim of a tiny fishing boat, my life vest snapped tightly around my chest—there’s one in the bottom of my suitcase—my hair blowing in the wind as we zip over the water to the shores of the remote Parish.

What I’m experiencing is nothing like that. The boat is a large white, pristine vessel. There’s wide leather benches across the back and the bow of the boat. Plenty of room to walk about as we travel. Not a speck of rust in sight, in fact the thing is spotless. I sit down, clutching my purse to my chest as the engine roars to life. We wait while they load the cargo from the plane to the ship. We slowly pull away from the dock, then begin to gain speed. The first few minutes are a bit bumpy as we leave the shore and glide over the crashing waves. But then the beautiful aqua water is as smooth as glass.

I’m beginning to wonder if the Parish isn’t quite as backwards as I’ve imagined it to be. As if reading my thoughts, John looks at me and asks, “Tess, did you bring… any other attire with you?” Before I can answer John, the white top of a tall building peeks out through the tree-covered land and catches my attention. I sit forward in my seat, crane my neck, and shield my eyes from the sun. Damn, those sunglasses are in my suitcase, not my purse.

What I think I’m seeing is the roofline of a mansion, or a castle, peeking out from above the lush canopy. The trees hide too much of the structure for me to decipher what it is exactly, but I can see enough to know one thing… it’s no hut.

Slowly, I turn my head toward John, all the pieces coming together at once. His face is red, his hand covering his mouth and half his nose. His eyes are shut tightly. His shoulders shaking.

He’s laughing. So hard, in fact, he’s not yet made a sound.