Covet : A Standalone Forbidden Romance
Ella James
Covet
Ella James
Copyright © 2019 by Ella James
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
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Note: This book explores topics including addiction and abuse. If you are extra sensitive to those things, please be aware and take care of yourself.
Love, Ella
For my family—blood and chosen. But most especially my kids.
May you always overcome.
Contents
covet
Part I
Prologue
1. Declan
2. Declan
3. Finley
4. Declan
5. Finley
6. Finley
7. Declan
8. Finley
9. Declan
10. Declan
11. Finley
12. Finley
13. Finley
14. Finley
15. Finley
16. Finley
17. Finley
18. Finley
19. Finley
20. Declan
21. Finley
22. Finley
23. Declan
24. Declan
25. Finley
26. Finley
27. Finley
28. Declan
Part II
1. Declan
2. Finley
3. Declan
4. Finley
5. Declan
6. Declan
7. Declan
8. Declan
9. Finley
10. Finley
11. Finley
12. Finley
13. Declan
14. Finley
15. Declan
16. Finley
17. Finley
18. Finley
19. Finley
20. Finley
21. Declan
22. Declan
23. Finley
Epilogue
Fractured Love
Acknowledgments
Also by Ella James
covet
verb cov·et ˈkə-vət
1: to wish for earnestly
2: to desire what belongs to another
Part I
Prologue
Finley
January 31, 1998
“Tell me again about the prince and princess?”
Mummy smiled down at me, her face crisscrossed by shadows from the halo of wildflowers on her head.
“What kind of story would you like, dear?”
I let go of her hand, skipping down the dirt path and then twirling, my dress puffing out around me. “The one with rainbow dolphins!”
My own halo wobbled. I reached up to steady it. Mummy smiled—a really happy smile that made my tummy feel warm.
“Rainbow dolphins it will be, then.”
I held out my hand for hers, and we strolled down the grassy hillside. Overhead, the kingbirds cawed. Down below, at the bottom of the winding path, the ocean spread before us like a great, glittering blanket.
“It was a cloudy day,” Mummy murmured, “with clouds that foretold stormy weather. Perhaps a bit like this day. And it was the princess’s birthday.”
“Like mine!”
“A bit like your birthday.” Her lips curved slightly, showing me the dimple that I sometimes liked to touch. “This princess, with the red hair and the angel kiss on her big toe, and the gemstone staff for herding sheep, she woke up on that morning needing to see dolphins. It was what she wanted most for her seventh birthday—to see the lovely glitter rainbow dolphins that would jump right by the royal island’s coastline. They only swam about on the best sorts of days.”
I smiled. “Like our dolphins here?”
“Just like those—only showing themselves to the best people.”
“Like us?” I grinned, and Mummy nodded gamely.
“Quite. So, the princess asked her mother for a special treat—to go out on a magic boat and call the rainbow dolphins. The queen wasn’t sure at first if it would happen. The king had quite a few old, stodgy rules, and sometimes frowned on ventures such as that. But the queen and the princess wanted to go very much, and so they made it happen. They put on their crowns—” I smiled proudly— “and after the princess’s royal birthday celebration, they made their way down to the ocean for their expedition, wearing their finest clothes and in the finest of spirits. They knew they would see the rainbow dolphins.
“They arrive there at the docks and get on their boat. They’re going to get off, but there’s the prince! Prince Declan. He was at the birthday party at the café a bit before, but he stayed late, gobbling all the cake. He has a sweet tooth, you’ll remember.”
“Oh, yes.” I giggled.
“The queen pulls back up to the dock and Prince Declan hops in, and he and the princess exchange smiles, as best friends do. She says, ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ and he says, ‘Oh, of course. I would never dream of missing rainbow glitter dolphins on your birthday.’ So they set off, with their hats on—”
“What was everyone wearing?”
Mummy smiles, touching the skirt of her lilac dress. “Well, the queen wore a long, quite regal-looking purple gown. The princess wore her green gown with glitter and sequins. And Prince Declan wore blue.”
“Is blue his favorite color?”
“I believe it is.”
I stored that detail in my mind as the path flattened, tall grass fluttering around us. A cloud shifted in front of the sun. I looked up, and then out at the ocean—gray now, with more whitecaps and a slightly brownish tint in some spots.
“Mummy, what if there’s not time before the storm comes?”
“Oh—we’ll be fast. Gammy said she saw the dolphins earlier. We’ll go and be back straight away.”
Mummy’s mouth was pinched now as she looked out at the harbor.
“So they went on their boat ride,” I reminded her. “What did the prince say?”
“About what, my dear?”
“What did he say to the princess?”
“He…sang songs.” She smiled.
“He did?”
“Of course. The royal birthday songs.”
“What sort of royal birthday songs?”
Ocean sounds filled my ears—the slosh of water lapping at the island’s rocky ledge, the spray of waves clapping against the dock—and comfort filled me as we stepped onto one of the arms of Calshot Harbor’s semi-circle dock. To me, it always looked like two arms wrapped around a big, round basket—a pretend basket, of course—the hands almost meeting, but not quite. The dock’s arms jutted from the island’s ledge into the open sea, and through the small space where they didn’t quite meet, boats would pass into the shelter from the waves, docking along the inside of the arms.
Calshot Harbor was the only safe port at Tristan, and not a big or fancy one. Big ships couldn’t dock at our island at all. They’d anchor out a bit, and if someone wanted to visit, they’d have to hop into a dinghy.
Mummy told me that many other islands had beaches made of soft sand, where people would lie about in swimming suits, frolicking in the sun and wading in the water. Not our Tristan. It rose from the sea, a great behemoth chunk of brownish rock, its edges cliffs where the waves beat and currents raged, its center a cloud-swathed volcano. We had a mere patch or two of rock-strewn sand, and no one ever passed time
there.
My Gammy always said Tristan was another world away, and I sensed that was true.
I’d heard tell of when the volcano erupted in 1961, and everyone was whisked away to England. How the Englanders thought we Tristan folk would gladly stay, but we came rushing back to sea as soon as the volcano settled down again. Perhaps it was another world away, but I didn’t know who wouldn’t love our island, with its cool winds and tingling fog, the cozy wool and sweet sheep, and the peak with smatterings of winter snow, and fishing boats and lobsters, and our cottages with lovely tin roofs. Surely it was the rest of the world that was really losing out, and not we proud and happy islanders.
Today a few boats waited at the dock, including our old skiff. We passed by a few men drinking ale and laughing, gathered ’round a bucket. I clutched Mummy’s hand. She smiled down at me, slowing as we reached our wee wooden boat.
“How did it get here?”
Mummy winked, and I knew the answer: Gammy.
Mum got in first and then took my hand to help me in. She held the orange life vest as I threaded my arms through the holes. It was cool and damp around my neck, smelling of salt water and mildew. I wrapped my hands around it, squeezing slightly as Mummy fussed with the snap of hers. When a piece of plastic broke off, she tossed it in the floor and shrugged.
“Only when you’re big like Mummy,” she said, shaking her finger.
“I’ll swim like a mermaid then!”
A ray of sunlight peeked through the gray clouds. I remember reaching for my halo, thinking Mum and I would need to take them off and set them in the boat’s belly with her discarded vest. Just as she leaned away, there he was.
My father’s skin was sun-darkened, his blond hair just one shade shy of brown, as if someone had rubbed dirt in it. From his perch there on the dock, he scowled down on us, and my stomach flipped like a frightened fish.
“What the hell is this then?”
I could see the redness in his eyes, the meanness all about his mouth, and I felt scared for Mummy.
“We’re going to find the dolphins! It’s my birthday!”
He glowered down at me, and I noticed the stains on his tee shirt.
“We’ll be back quite soon,” Mummy said. Her tone was tight and careful, a bit nice and a bit like she might perhaps be ready for a row. “We can talk then,” she offered softly.
Daddy stepped into the little wooden skiff. It rocked with his weight, water sloshing up on one side. “I don’t think so.” He sat down on the bench beside Mummy, folding his large arms. “I believe I’ll go.” He glared at Mummy like an angry villain. “Wouldn’t want to miss the fun.”
Unshed tears made my eyes ache. I swallowed hard and looked down at my sandal-clad feet. Mustn’t cry in front of Daddy. Mummy told me many times: no tears except when I was alone or with just her or Gammy. This was different, though. This was my birthday.
“Only Mummy!”
Daddy’s blood-shot blue eyes popped wide at my shriek.
“So you want to get out of the boat, then?” he snarled.
Tears spilled down my cheeks. “It was a Mummy-Finley affair!”
“Not anymore. Let’s go,” he said to Mummy, flicking his hand at her. She jumped up to start the motor. She did whatever Daddy asked; she always gave him what he wanted. Who could blame her? When she didn’t, bad things happened.
I wiped at my eyes and wondered, as I often did, why Daddy was this way. I’d seen the other daddies. They were different. Holly’s daddy always held her Mum’s umbrella when it rained, and Dorothy’s daddy liked to ride Dot on his back. My daddy rarely looked at me, and when he did, I knew I was in for it.
As soon as we got off into the waves, the rain began—fat, cold drops that hurt my forehead.
Mummy said, “Let’s turn back, Pete.”
“I don’t think so. I want Fin to see the dolphins.”
Fin was what he often called me, despite me not liking it.
“I don’t like the rain,” I whimpered.
“Toughen up!” Daddy laughed, but it was too loud, making Mummy wince. Mummy steered along the eastern coastline, where the island’s rocky ledge stretched up toward the clouds.
I held onto my little wooden bench, pressing my legs together as the boat bounced over the waves. The rain beat down against the skiff, making a low roar. I saw Mummy’s mouth pinch. She looked tiny on the bench beside Daddy. She touched her battered flower halo, looking like she thought she should perhaps remove it, but I suppose she didn’t want to. Anna’s mum had pinned it into her hair. She caught me staring, pulled a towel from her bag, and passed it my way. I took it, gladly covering myself.
Under the towel’s blue and white stripes, I let my tears fall. I drew my legs up, feeling warmer, and I hoped the dolphins would come quickly so we could return to shore.
We hadn’t seen Daddy in a bit—not even at my birthday party in the village’s café. I hoped when we docked, he would disappear again. My mummy never smiled when he was with us, and I didn’t either.
The skiff jolted. My tummy pitched, and I peeked out from underneath the towel. Wow—the waves had gotten big. One sloshed right into the boat with us, landing on Mummy’s lap. My throat felt tight and pinched as she frowned at her pretty dress. I saw her fist tighten around the steering wheel.
“I’m turning back. With her,” she said to Daddy, shaking her head as if to say that for me, this weather was too dangerous.
“Just a bit more. I’ll say when to stop, not you.”
My heart was pounding, and my throat felt stuck. When Mummy turned the wheel despite him, Daddy grabbed her arm and twisted.
“Stop it, Peter!”
“You want me to stop, we’ll talk about something!”
She wriggled free of his grasp. “No, we won’t! Not now!”
Water spilled over the skiff’s low, wooden walls, a shock of cold soaking my towel and chilling my feet. Another wave splashed Mummy’s dress, and I started to cry.
“I want to go back—please!”
“Hush, you!” Daddy turned to Mummy, his face deep red. A bolt of lightning streaked behind him. “I want to talk about him,” he sneered. “Charlie Carnegie.”
“Peter!”
Water sloshed into Daddy’s face, and in that moment, Mummy got us fully turned back toward the harbor. Daddy growled, shoving his hair out of his eyes. Then he stood and tossed Mummy over the bench. He turned the boat around, and I fell in its flat, wooden belly, clutching Mummy’s legs. I’d been in storms before, but not one like this.
“Daddy!”
His eyes seared Mummy. “Charlie and Declan! Who is Declan?”
“He’s a prince!”
My Daddy bellowed, the sound so harsh it took a bit for me to realize he was laughing. Not the nice sort. His face twisted as rain pummeled us. He wiped his hair out of his face again, and then looked down at Mummy.
“I should fucking kill you for this.”
Horror seared me like a lightning bolt. Surely he wouldn’t do that! I hugged Mummy’s knees for dear life. Water splashed over the skiff’s sides, covering my legs. Father Russo said that when he’s frightened, he prays.
I moved a hand from Mummy’s leg to cross myself, which is how the Ave Maria begins, and that’s when Daddy snatched her up.
“No!”
The blow came so fast that when I drew my hand away from my mouth, I felt shocked to see the blood there. Still more water rolled over the boat’s side, so much I choked on it. Daddy had Mummy by her long, red hair, her head against his lap, her arms curled at her sides. I clutched her skirt, and Mummy kicked at me gently.
“Get away!”
Her words seemed like a line from a horrible story. I felt dragged down by my dress and tried to pull at it, realizing that the water now rose to my elbows. Thunder clapped, and Daddy wrapped his hand around my mummy’s throat.
“NO!”
I threw myself at him. The boat stalled, the front jutting up then slamming down atop the
waves, as I clawed Daddy’s arms and Mummy writhed beside me. Lightning snapped across the sky, and thunder boomed, and Daddy jumped up, making the boat pitch as he dragged Mummy to her feet and screamed, “So tell me, trollop! Tell me about Carnegie! Is he going to save you? Can he save you now?”
Mummy tried to sink into the bottom of the boat beside me, but she couldn’t. Daddy held her shoulders. Another cold wave sloshed into the boat, smacking me so hard I choked and couldn’t get my breath. When I came to, I saw Daddy’s hands on Mummy’s shoulders, holding Mummy’s head into the waves.
Hatred that was cold as ice surged through me. I hit his back with all my might, and Daddy whirled toward me. I shoved his arm, and as he grabbed at me, I remembered something Mummy said—about the one thing that could hurt a man. So I drove my head into his crotch. The feeling as he tipped over the skiff’s side was one of swallowing a brick. When Mummy rose up, still gasping violently, my attention snapped to her: the blue hue of her lips, the blood that flowed from one of her eyes. Her gaze careened around the boat, and then she made a high-pitched sound.
“PETE! Oh, Pete! Christ on the cross!”
