I opened my eyes but didn't dare look at Mick. He had trusted me, cared for me even, but all I had ever offered to him were lies. "Your brother-in-law, the real Robert Pierce, is dead, I assume. I am just his knockoff." I paused, waiting for Mick to hurl accusations at me, but he did no such thing.

Why isn't he saying anything? 

I gathered my courage and turned to meet his eyes. He was smiling. What the fuck!? "Mick, I am being serious."

A plethora of emotions danced in his cerulean eyes, like sea waves rising and washing over white sands before turning into a calm lake on a windless, clear day. "Yeah. I got that."

"Annnnd? Don't you have something to say…or ask?" I had no clue what was going on in that beautiful, blond head of his. It was driving me crazy. 

"Can I trust you to save my ass?" 

What kind of question was that? "Yes!"

"Then no"—he shook his head and reached for my undamaged arm and rested his head on my shoulder—"I don't have anything I want to ask at this time."

"I am not joking, Mick."

Mick snuggled closer. "I got that, dude. Now will you please just shut up and let me enjoy this beautiful day? You seem to have forgotten that this is the second day of my well-deserved vacation."

I had come clean. At least, I had tried. It wasn't my fault that Mick wasn't in the mood to listen. Secretly, I was glad. Scratch that; I was ecstatic. "Kapeesh," I said, looking at the shimmering blue ocean surrounding us. It was a beautiful shade, almost like staring into a lover's eyes. Mick's eyes. "Alright."

"Awesome." His sleep-soaked voice made my heart fumble all over itself. "Give me five minutes, then I will start rowing, okay?"

I held back a snort. "You don't have to do that."

Mick shook his head, freed my arm, and turned my face towards him. "I can't let you row this boat's ass to Lamo."

As to why he was being this clingy and concerned was beyond me. The way he had acted that very morning had left me aroused, scared, and confused; looking into his eyes was doing the same to me now. "This boat comes with a detachable motor." Moving to the front, away from the object of my affection, I exposed the motor tucked under the seat.

"What the hell!? Why didn't you say that before? I was dreading rowing this thing to Lamo Island, you jerk!" He paused; narrowing his eyes, he yelled, "I dragged this thing's fat ass halfway to Lamo, asshole!"

Half an hour later we found ourselves at Lamo Island, greeted by men dressed in deep blue shirts and white trousers: the official uniform for those who served Mr. Carlton and his family. 

"Hey, kid!" Bianko Vas, Mr. Carlton's brother-in-law, called, emerging from the crowd and pulling Mick into a tight hug. "The hell are you dressed like an assassin, Rob?" he demanded, letting go of his nephew and giving me, who had fallen back, a once-over. 

"Long story, Uncle B," Mick answered in my stead. "I will tell you all about it at lunch." Glancing at his watch, he corrected himself. "Can we do it at dinner instead? Please." He pouted dramatically. 

He seriously needed to stop doing that. Like, seriously. It wasn't healthy for my heart. 

My father-in-law threw his head back and laughed. "Sure, kid. Now let's head home, shall we?"

The home that Bianko Vas was referring to was this boisterous-looking, peach-colored, three-storied monstrosity, which incidentally was also the only resort this beautiful island could boast of. The Veil, thankfully, wasn't as tacky on the inside as it was on the outside. That didn't change the fact that I hated it.

Every time I visited this place, Mr. Vas cornered me and talked on end about his daughter, my late wife, Maria. And she sounded lovely, a literal angel. But I had no memory of her. How could I? I was not Rob. 

"Son," Mr. Vas called, pulling me out of my miserable recollections of time spent reminiscing about my late wife with him. "I have readied your usual suit next to mine. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

I bobbed my head. "It has."

"Uncle," Mick cut in. "Would it be alright if Rob stayed with me tonight?"

What? Why?

"Oh," Mr. Vas muttered, looking confused. "Is this about you-know-what?"

You-know-what was the code for ‘the family business.’ And no, I was pretty sure it wasn't about that.

"Yes. Yes, it is."

It is?

"Oh. Okay then," the graying man said, sounding utterly heartbroken and disappointed. "It's fine. Business first, I guess." He caught me looking at him and smiled. "You are here for a couple of days. We still have lots of time to catch up."

Oh, joy. I braved a smile. "Yes, we do."

The penthouse was furnished to Mick's liking. It was the only suite in the resort that Mr. Vas never rented out. From what I had observed over the course of these five years, it was clear that the man adored him. Pampering him brought Mr. Vas immeasurable happiness, or so it seemed. I had long suspected that it had something to do with Mick's uncanny resemblance to Maria. 

We had left all our luggage on the ship, but it didn't matter. The suit was like the Room of Requirement, made famous by the Harry Potter books, Mick's favorite. 

Freshly cut tropical fruits sat pretty on the dark teakwood table, with three cups of café latte placed on beautiful hand-knitted coasters next to it.

Three cups? 

"Hey babe!"

I knew that voice. I hated that voice! 

Mick stopped rampaging through the wardrobe and turned. "Miles!?"

Fuck. 

Without asking, the fucker crossed the threshold and sprinted towards Mick. Ignoring me completely, he threw his arms around him. 

I couldn't let Miles's shameless display of affection to run its course. Acting fast—before Mick's resolve broke and the bastard could charm his way into my charge's bed again—I pulled the lovebirds apart with more force than necessary. "Miles. Miles. Miles." I slapped the young man on his back hard enough to leave a bruise and gave him my most winning smile. "What brings–"

"Rob, let me handle this," my boss said, placing his hand over the middle of my chest. His cool blues flickered to his on-again-off-again boyfriend. "Miles, what did you mix in my drink last time?"

Oh. I never expected Mick to bring that up. 

Miles smirked and moved towards Mick. "Hun, don't you remember? It was you who wanted to try Escape."

"Escape?" I asked aloud. I didn't mean to. But how the hell did Miles know about the drug? I had barely heard about it myself. Wait, did that mean the Carltons were into drug trafficking as the watchtower suspected!? I hoped not. 

Mick glared at me before addressing his once-lover. "Miles, stop lying. It's time you come clean with me. If you don't consider us done…for good."

Miles’s dark brows crawled closer, confusion etched in his inky eyes. Taking another step towards Mick, he placed his hands on his shoulders. "Why are you turning it on me? I admit I have done things to hurt you, but–"

Mick broke free from him and stepped away. "Fine. Do you have any proof that I asked for the drug?"

"Yes!' Miles bit out and scrolled through his phone. Then he scrolled some more and looked up. 

"Let me guess"—Mick crossed his arms over his chest—"your dog licked the text off."

"Babe, I swear–" The dark-haired man tried again, but Mick wasn't having it. 

"Miles, I won't fall for your lies anymore." Coming to stand next to me, he added, "Moreover, I have moved on." Looping his arms around mine, he kissed my forearm. 

What the fuck is Mick playing at!?

*****
[Chapter word count: 1353]