Caught Between Two Billionaires

My folks love to recount the tale of when I was just two years old. One moment, I was standing on the deck, the next, I had tumbled into the Massachusetts Bay. They nearly had heart attacks, or so they say, until they rushed to the edge and saw me swimming around like a fish, more at home in the water than on land.

I’m not entirely sure if I really took to swimming that naturally, or why I was allowed to wander around the docks without someone holding my hand, but I do have a deep love for swimming. I’ve even leaped off the deck of the yacht into the water, too impatient to descend the long swim steps.

I’m falling backward and twisted, unable to see how far I’m falling. Unable to see anything—but I can feel it, the smack of the surface against my back, the shock of freezing cold. And then it engulfs me, a heavy weight pulling me down. The air leaves me in a rush; by the time I can take another breath, I’m fully submerged.

It’s pitch-black, impossible to know which way is up. Any direction I go could be taking me deeper. My throat burns with salt. Panic threatens to consume me. My whole body tenses, fighting the instinct to breathe in deep and fill my lungs with water.

Something brushes my side, and I jerk away in terror. Even stoned and in shock, I remember there might be sharks. What if they heard me splashing? What if they sense my fear?

But then there’s a grip on my arm—a hand, not teeth. It pulls me up in a rush of water, and we break the surface together.

The cold night air has never felt so good in my lungs. I gasp and gasp, unwilling to stop breathing after even a few seconds without it, unable to calm down.

Something is thrust under my arms. The white and red of a life preserver. Christopher must have thrown one down before he jumped in after me. In a kaleidoscope of stars, the world comes into focus. The water, lapping at me like a living thing. Christopher, his dark hair wet, his grip on my wrist firm as he tows us toward the yacht. And the boat itself, waves casting intermittent shadows across the white bow.

It might have been ten years before we reach the bottom of the swim steps. Or maybe only ten minutes. I’m deadweight on the life preserver, unable to kick even once to help make progress.

“Can you climb?” Christopher yells.

I stare at him, unable to process the words. The cold has done something to my body, made me sluggish and stiff. It’s done the same thing to my brain.

“Let’s get you through the middle,” he says, reaching for the life ring. “I’ll make sure you’re secure and then go for help.”

Sudden panic is enough to jolt me out of my shock. “No.”

“It will only take a minute.”

He thinks I’m worried about being left alone in the water. More than that, I’m worried about the disappointment on Daddy’s face. “I can climb,” I say, my voice shaky and thin.

Christopher stares at me for a moment, and when he speaks, his voice is softer. “He won’t be mad at you. You should hear the way he talks about you when you’re not there.”

That’s exactly why I can’t let him know I was smoking a joint and falling overboard. He wants me to be like Christopher—to be the valedictorian and go to business school. That’s something I’ll never be able to do for him, but at least I can spare him this. “Please.”

“Fuck,” he mutters.

In that moment, I realize he already knows this will be a secret. Our secret. Because he didn’t follow procedure. He should have shouted for help and hit the emergency button first. And he definitely shouldn’t have jumped in after me, not without someone else on deck to pull us both back up. An unbroken sky rises from the metal railing above us. The night is quiet except for our fast breathing and the lap of the water. “Thank you,” I whisper.

“I swear to God,” he says darkly, “if you fall and die, I’ll kill you myself.”

That would make me laugh if I were capable of doing anything other than pant. He makes me go first, though I’m not sure how he would manage to catch me if I fell. If there’s one thing I know by now, it’s that he would try. So I focus on each rung with every ounce of determination in me, grip the textured metal, and pray there’s enough muscle left inside me to hold on. There are a thousand steps up the side of the yacht. A million of them. It’s my own personal journey to the promised land, and it tests my determination with every aching pull.

When I reach the top, I push myself through the railing and collapse onto the deck.

A warm body tumbles beside me, but I can’t look sideways. There’s only the stars, unblinking. Then a face appears above me. Christopher, looking wet and strong and grim. “We should go back to shore. The fall. The cold. You should have a doctor look at you.”

“N-n-no.”

“Harper. You’re freezing.”

There’s no way to argue that point, not when I’m shaking so hard my teeth are chattering. I think that’s a good sign. I read that somewhere. It means the body is warm enough to shiver, but I can’t get the words out through the violent movement.

He curses again and disappears from my view. I close my eyes in quiet despair. He’s gone to get Daddy, and there’s nothing I can do to stop him. The week we would have spent at sea, now we’ll spend it in some fancy emergency room even though I’m fine.

Not enough time has passed when hands force their way under me. Then I’m lifted, tucked close to a body as wet as mine but so much warmer. Christopher carries me belowdecks, turning carefully to the side so I don’t bump against the narrow walls.

He lays me down on my bed, and my arms are made of lead. My legs might as well be anvils, that’s how useful they would be if I were in the water right now. I’m helpless in front of this person who should be my enemy. Poor little rich girl, he called me, and I want to cry and rage because he’s right about me.

His fingers find the button of my jeans, and I draw in a sharp breath. My mind was filled with thoughts of sharks and icy water, but now I’m worried about roofies. I’m thinking about a girl who can’t defend herself. About Poseidon and Medusa.

“Christopher,” I murmur, unsure of what I’m asking for.

He looks at me, his eyes dark and intense. “You have two choices. Either I call your dad or I make sure you’re warm. You decide.”

You decide. In those simple words, he restores my trust in him—odd because I wouldn’t have said I trusted him at all. I know I need to get out of these wet clothes, and my body is too numb from the cold to be of any help. “Don’t look.”

After a moment, he nods, turning his back to me. He switches off the dim bedside lamp, leaving us in the soft glow of moonlight from the port window. He undresses me with a clumsy quickness, his fingers clearly numb and struggling against the soaked fabric. I feel even colder by the time he’s done, the wet clothes in a pile on the floor, my bare skin exposed to the room.

Then I watch as he undresses himself, more quickly and roughly than he did with me. His clothes land on top of mine, and then he pulls us both under the covers.

He’s naked. The thought alone is enough to make me blush, even when there shouldn’t be any energy left in my body for such a reaction. But he holds me close, so tight that I can’t tell where his body ends and mine begins. There are only two bodies here, clinging together for warmth, creating a small sanctuary. Fatigue weighs down my eyelids.

“One of my mom’s husbands got into bed with me once.”

His body tenses instantly. “What the fuck?”

“It was bad. Not like this. This is nice.”

“I swear to God, Harper.”

“It’s okay,” I mumble, the words running together. “I told Mom the next day and we moved out of his mansion, even though it was really nice. He owned this big job website. Don’t tell Daddy. He would freak out even though it was a long time ago.”

He holds me tighter, his face buried in my hair. “I’m not going to touch you. I’m only staying here until you don’t feel like an ice cube, and then I’m moving to the chair.”

“Thanks,” I say, the word drawn out and slow.

He sighs. “Go to sleep, Harper. And for the love of God, don’t die.”

A death wish, he’d called it. “Want to live,” I mumble before sleep pulls me under. It’s only later that I realize that everything changed that night. Not because I fell into the bay or because he pulled me out. But because I confessed that in my sleepy, shocked state. It set us on a path to destruction, turning him into the white knight to my damsel in distress.