Shipwreck Bay
Table of Contents
Legal Page
Title Page
Book Description
Dedication
Trademarks Acknowledgement
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
New Excerpt
About the Author
Publisher Page
A Totally Bound Publication
Shipwreck Bay
ISBN # 978-1-78184-958-3
©Copyright A.J. Llewellyn 2014
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright January 2014
Edited by Faith Bicknell-Brown
Totally Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2014 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Burning and a Sexometer of 3.
This story contains 57 pages, additionally there is also a free excerpt at the end of the book containing 10 pages.
SHIPWRECK BAY
A.J. Llewellyn
How far would you go to repair the damage an affair has done to your marriage? For Marek, giving his husband a ‘free pass’ to enjoy all the men he’s fantasized about is the only solution…
Rising architectural superstar Marek makes a stupid mistake in hooking up with a Facebook friend for a fling. His careless behavior soon devastates his marriage to his loyal husband, Dragan. Marek wants to prove more than anything that he loves Dragan and begs him for forgiveness. He books a trip to the Greek Islands with Dragan, who feels vulnerable and certain the vacation is a mistake. However, Marek soon shows a lot of the attentiveness he hasn’t shown lately and Dragan starts to believe that maybe things can work out.
To Dragan, taking a cruise through the Ionian Islands doesn’t seem to be the best idea. What if he needs to cut and run? He isn’t sure he wants to be with Marek anymore, let alone be stuck on a boat in the middle of nowhere.
Just as he starts to relax and enjoy the timeless beauty of the island of Zakynthos and Marek begins to convince him of his remorse, the two men are abducted by pirates on an isolated white-gold sandy cove called Shipwreck Bay… Or are they?
Dedication
For George Seferis who reminds me, ‘Wherever I travel, Greece hurts me.’
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Facebook: Facebook, Inc.
United Airlines: United Airlines, Inc.
iPod: Apple, Inc.
iPhone: Apple, Inc.
Sir Francis Drake Hotel: Kimpton Hotel & Restaurant Group, LLC
Beating Around the Bush by AC/DC: J. Albert & Son Pty Ltd.
Ambien: H.J. Harkins Company, Inc.
Baby Come Back : J.C. Crowley and Peter Beckett
Architectural Digest : Architectural Digest Publishing Corp.
Everybody Loves Raymond : Worldwide Pants, Inc.
Volvo: Volvo Trademark Holding AB
Love Actually : Universal Studios Productions
Never On Sunday : Manos Hadjidakis
The First 48 : A&E Television Networks, LLC
City of Bones : Cassandra Claire, LLC
Harry Potter : J.K. Rowling
Chapter One
I sat inside the decidedly eccentric suite at the Sir Francis Drake Hotel and tried to analyze my feelings as I scrutinized the empty room next door via closed circuit TV. Rain battered the window, making me feel even colder and more alienated than I already did. I hoped I wouldn’t have a complete breakdown as I waited for my husband to enter that room with the man he’d been cheating on me with for six whole weeks.
This wasn’t how I would choose to spend my morning. Any morning actually.
How could Marek have picked that ugly room for his furtive nooners? The constant clang of the Powell Street streetcar outside set my teeth on edge, the discordant room decor making it all seem surreal.
All of this was so…out of character for Marek with his dislike of any kind of ambient sound and obsession with clean, straight lines.
I became aware of my nails digging into my palms.
“You okay, Dragan?”
I jumped when our attorney, Paul Schmidt, touched my shoulder.
“You’re so wound up.” He sounded surprised. “Please, breathe.”
“I’m fine,” I lied. I was in torment. I still couldn’t believe Marek had done this to me. Tears pricked my eyes. Damn it. I couldn’t take my gaze off the bizarre furnishings. The historic hotel’s directors had given whimsy a free pass with a weird vintage red-lacquered chest of drawers paired with a Danish modern bed.
It hurt my heart to know Marek had been in that bed. With another man.
Thoughts like these tortured me constantly these days.
I should have agreed to my mom’s suggestion of anti-anxiety medication.
Even the couples therapist Marek and I had consulted had suggested it.
Except, she’d wanted to prescribe it for Marek. Not me. What is it about me that makes everybody think I can take whatever shit life dishes up to me? Why do they think I’m so strong?
Why, why, why did he cheat on me? We had a hot marriage. Or so I thought. He kept saying it was him. Not me. Which of course made me think it was me.
For eight years I’d loved him. I—
My cellphone rang, making me jump a second time. I checked the readout but didn’t take the call. It was my mother. She’d have me in a full-scale meltdown if I heard her voice.
I kept my gaze on the screen. The room next door remained empty. The scene of the crime, some of them anyway, where Marek and the guy he’d met via Facebook had gone more than once for a quick afternoon romp.
The irony of all of this was that Marek used to whine that I put too much private info on Facebook, posting photos of things we did together, observations here and there…
And yet he was the one who went out there and actually fucked somebody else.
“An affair doesn’t have to mean the end,” Paul said. He handed me a cup of coffee.
I know. I know. I know. “Thanks,” I said, my voice coming out hoarse.
I knew that already. I was sick of people giving us relationship advice. I was mortally done hearing everybody else’s cheating horror stories and their outlook on why sexual indiscretion was no big thing.
I said nothing more, though I longed to scream because I needed Paul.
Correction. We needed Paul. I glanced at the police crew monitoring the events that were about to take place.
“Sometimes, when there is genuine remorse, relationships get stronger. And there is genuine remorse. Marek loves you.”
The coffee caught in my throat. I know. I know. I know.
A door opened. I glanced at ours, but since there was no movement in here, I knew it had to be the other room.
Paul stopped speaking as we heard voices, then Marek and his recently ex lover, Steve Lewis, entered the frame. I already knew what the blond jock looked like because I’d seen his photos, but still I hadn’t expected him to be so…so muscular and virile-looking.
And, I told myself, just skeezy.
He was a stark contrast with Marek, who was six foot two, with thick black hair and blue eyes. Black Irish his mother called him.
Total, utter fucking bastard I called him.
People said we were a striking couple because we looked so similar except that I had an olive complexion and brown eyes. I still didn’t know what to make of the fact that he’d lusted after a guy who was my total opposite.
“I brought your money,” Marek said. He’d lost weight. It broke my heart just a little bit more to realize that. I’d been with him every day but hadn’t really looked at him. I was afraid I’d beat him over the head with one of our new ergonomic frying pans if I got too close.
Neither of us had eaten much since the moment he’d come home two weeks ago and confessed his illicit affair. We’d tiptoed around each other, not saying much except to occasionally rehash the inexplicable—
“Babe, I don’t want your money,” Steve was saying. He sounded a little bit…country. A little bit corny. A whole lot of a mother effing liar.
He’d been hammering my husband for money. Hammering him. He’d demanded ten thousand dollars from him or else he would take the photos he had of the two of them public. Marek had confessed to me, surprising Steve, who’d then started emailing me.
Paul had suggested the blackmail sting and here we were.
“What do you want then, Steve?” Marek sounded exhausted as he flopped into a chair beside the bed. He probably was. Neither of us had slept much. His hair looked dull, not as immaculate as it usually did.
He’s depressed.
Well, la-di-da. So am I.
Steve lay on the bed crossways, trying to reach out for Marek who shrank away from him. That surprised me. Not the part about him shrinking away, because he knew I was watching, but the fear on his face. He was genuinely afraid of Steve Lewis.
“Just let me fuck you,” Steve said.
Jesus. Maybe Mom was right and I shouldn’t be here. Dad had offered to sit and watch, but he was a retired boxer with a short fuse when it came to idiots. And Steve Lewis was an idiot.
On the other hand, I had to be here. Marek said he needed to know I was on the other side of the wall. That I was here for him.
But am I? Can I keep doing this? My mom had given me a ton of memoirs written by people who’d been cheated on. One woman had survived her personal Armageddon thanks to copious amounts of painkillers.
Another hand on my shoulder. The smell of my dad’s cologne wafted over me and I fought the urge to cry. “You okay, son?”
I nodded. I covered his hand with mine, glad that he’d come up here. Not that it was true that I was fine, but because it had to be.
I had to be. We’d get through this.
“You want me,” Steve said. Man, this clown was so sure of himself. “This doesn’t have to end.”
“Yes it does.”
Steve gave up trying to touch my husband. Marek got up from the chair and seemed to wobble as he walked farther away from him.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Steve asked. “You want me. You know you do.”
“No, I don’t. I didn’t come here for this. I came because you insisted I meet you and bring you the money. You have to sign this contract that you’re never going to publish those photos—”
A vicious look crossed Steve’s face. “Now you’re not even being friendly.”
When Marek turned and glanced at him, Steve threw his hands up.
“I know, I know… I promised I wouldn’t contact Dragan, but you gotta admit the two pictures I sent him were tame. I could have sent him ones with you on your knees sucking my cock.” A cruel twist of his lip. “Begging me for more.”
“Jesus,” Dad said.
“Stop it!” Marek shouted.
“You said I was the best lover you ever had.” Steve sounded desperate now.
“I need you to sign the contract and then I gotta go,” Marek said.
“Fat chance. You want my silence, shithead? The price just doubled.” Steve got off the bed. Man, he was sporting a boner inside those tight jeans!
“Doubled?” Marek was incredulous.
“Twenty thousand dollars and I get to fuck you in the ass one last time. That buys my silence.”
I didn’t even realize the three cops in my suite had already left until I heard them crashing into the room next door. They jumped on Steve, who screamed and yelled and promised payback to Marek, who ran. I met him in the doorway and we stared at each other.
I could tell he wanted to hold his arms out to me, but stopped himself.
His expression turned bleak. “You ready?” he asked.
“Yeah.” Even though I’d said I wasn’t sure when we’d finished packing our bags that morning, I’d known all along I would go. He took my hand finally, my father and Paul accompanying us in the elevator with a police escort.
They wanted us out of the way before they brought Steve Lewis out of the room.
I could hear him still yelling even as the elevator began to descend.
My mom was in the lobby, waiting. She had our suitcases and looked as worried as she had when we’d left her an hour ago.
“It’s over,” Dad told her.
Her face creased into a mask of grief mingled with relief as she hugged us both. Outside, rain lashed the line of taxis waiting by the door.
“I want this wedding party, Dragan.” She seemed so wistful. Marek couldn’t even look at her. I hugged her again, tears sparking in my eyes as Dad and Marek stuffed our suitcases into the trunk of a taxi.
“This is the best thing you can do for yourselves, for each other.” She put her hand to my cheek. “Moro mou, my baby. You’ll see. You’ll get past this. You will find that you grow another heart.”
* * * *
The rain seemed bent on challenging the taxi all the way to San Francisco International Airport.
“Hella day,” the driver commented.
And this was supposed to be summer.
Neither Marek nor I talked about the wedding party. It was the most devastating thing of all. We’d actually been married in the brief window of opportunity made available in California before the voters had approved Proposition 8, the anti-same sex marriage bill. Now gay marriage had been approved again, we wanted to celebrate.
We’d been broke at the time of our wedding, but had a family picnic in celebration of our big day. We’d been saving for a special reception ever since. Marek had finally agreed to a date after three years of saying we couldn’t afford it.
But he had somehow been quite lavish with expensive meals and hotel rooms for that piece of trash Steve Lewis.
Marek fumbled for words. What could he say that might possibly make up for the tawdry scene I’d just witnessed?
“Are you sure you want to stay with Nia in Athens?” he asked. He sounded so anxious. “I can book us a hotel if you’d prefer.” He kept holding my hand as if he were afraid I’d jump out at the next red light.
I knew he would have preferred a hotel. He’d been having trouble looking my parents in the eye over all of this. My sister, Nia, adored him. No. Let him suffer the consequences of his stupidity.
“It’s fine. She’s expecting us,” I said. His grip seemed to get tighter, as if he could read my thoughts.
I kept visualizing my husband naked in that bed with that creepy guy. In his wildest sexual fantasies, I was certain none of them involved Marek having to confess to me because of blackmail attempts.
“Are you okay?” I asked Marek. The words slipped out. I knew it had been a painful decision for him to arrange the sti
ng with the man intent on destroying our lives.
He shifted in the seat beside me. “I’m okay. How about you?”
I nodded. I really wanted a drink and it was only eleven o’clock in the morning. The sun tried to come out as we squeezed into a space outside the United terminal. A bit like the sun in me, I decided.
Neither of us said another word as we checked in and braced ourselves for the long day of travel that we had to look forward to. The ground attendant must have sensed something was wrong because he gave us an encouraging smile.
“Mr Jensen,” he said, addressing Marek. “You’re booked in business class to Frankfurt, but I’ll upgrade you both to first class. I can’t do much about the three and a half hour wait there, but I’ll put you on first class from Frankfurt to Athens as well.”
“Thank you,” we said in unison.
It was the first glimmer of hope I’d felt for days.
“I’m a big fan,” he suddenly whispered to Marek. “I live vicariously through the houses you design. Because of you, I actually got a subscription to Architectural Digest.”
“Thanks again.” Marek kept a smile on his face but as soon as we proceeded to the security checkpoint he said, “Fuck, I need a drink.”
By the time we got through security it was twelve thirty.
“You want a cocktail, sweetie?” he asked.
Hell, yes. “A gin and tonic might be nice.” I wanted something to take the edge off my anxieties.
“Have whatever you want,” he said, his expression fierce. “This is the vacation I’ve promised you for years.”
“No, I’m happy with a gin and tonic.”
He ordered us each a drink, and I was pleased they weren’t watered down. We drank in companionable silence, the gin doing its job nicely. We avoided the topic that could only lead us to fruitless disputes, so he entertained me with architectural gossip.
He’d hired a new trainee who drove a vehicle powered by recycled vegetable oil. We both liked Penny but, as he put it, “She makes people hungry. Her car always smells like French fries.”
We’d discussed switching to recycled vegetable oil too, but we had both joked about it wrecking our diets.