Compulsion Read online

  Compulsion

  (A Submerged Sun prequel)

  Vanessa Garden

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  COMPULSION

  First edition. August 30, 2017.

  Copyright © 2017 Vanessa Garden.

  ISBN: 978-1540162724

  Written by Vanessa Garden.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  For Mum xo

  1

  ‘This is the sixth time you’ve been in the water today, Nada. Enough. Come help me to prepare dinner.’

  I sighed and felt the full heat of the afternoon sun blazing against my back, piercing through my thin dress. The last thing I wanted to do right now was cook a meal over hot coals in the Kumin, our stone cookhouse.

  Cool water lapped at my ankles, tickling my feet and making me smile, which only served to deepen the furrows in my mother’s brow. She put a hand above her eyes to shield them against the harsh glare of the sun and tutted.

  ‘Mama, I’ll only be a few minutes. Relax. There’s plenty of time for dinner. Nobody else on this island eats so early in the evening. We’re crazy. Can’t we eat after 8pm when it’s dark, like everybody else?’

  ‘Like everybody else? Since when have you wanted to be like everybody else?’ A bitter laugh escaped her lips. ‘You’ve rejected young Jani each time he’s come all the way from Split to ask you to dinner. The least you could do is say yes tomorrow when he comes again, like any normal girl would. He may be our only chance...’ her voice trailed off and she half smiled, realising her error. ‘I mean, your only chance at a great life. Like your sister. Look how happy she is now that she is living in the city and away from this place. You’re seventeen, Nada. It’s high time you settled down.’

  The thought of leaving the bay, my father’s ancestral home, and living under a brutish city man’s rule, and never being able to fish again, caused me to shudder.

  Mama shook her head and snorted. ‘You’re too much like your father, you know. And what good did his love of the ocean do for him?’

  My heart hardened against my mother’s cruel remark.

  As I watched her stomp over the pebbles and make her way up the worn limestone path back to our small cottage nestled in the hills, I muttered, ‘At least he died doing what he loved.’

  My mother, God bless her, saw life as one big disappointment. A chore. Always frowning. Always huffing and snorting. Raging at the world with clenched fists most of the time. Angry at the sea for taking her fisherman husband, angry at her daughter for following in her father’s footsteps. Angry that she lived on the hill in a tiny bay-side cottage on the island of Korcula while her sister lived it up in a fancy apartment on the mainland, in the city of Split.

  Me? I felt blessed. Blessed to wake up to the glittering Adriatic Ocean each morning. Blessed to be away from the chaos of the world. Away from Amerika, away from Rusija and the threat of War.

  The only part of the real world that I liked was the cinema. If our tiny village was to build a cinema, then my life would be perfect.

  I sighed as I slipped out of my summer dress, picturing my favourite actor’s dark hair, blue eyes and tanned skin and threw myself into the water, wishing he would visit the island so that we could meet.

  As I dove deep into the warm, glittering ocean, I indulged in my little fantasy.

  My handsome actor would see me for the first time and fall head over heels and decide that the movie business wasn’t for him anymore and we’d spend the rest of our lives here in the bay, catching fish, swimming, eating late into the summer nights. Mother would go live with my Aunty in her fancy city apartment and be conveniently close to my sister and not so close to me.

  My life would be complete.

  The tips of my fingers brushed coral and I opened my eyes to a school of friendly little yellow and silver fish. As they swam away, startled by my presence, I spied a bright orange starfish resting at the bottom of the ocean.

  Able to hold my breath for over three minutes since I was five years old – something my father made me practise long before he started to take me fishing with him – I swam, mermaid-like across the ocean bed, taking in the colourful pleasures of the coral reef and my sea friends, the fish, eels, sea urchins and many other creatures who shared the water with me.

  The afternoon was my favourite time to explore the sea. Without my spear, knives or net, I felt free and at one with my ocean family. No longer the hunter.

  My lungs began to tighten and I kicked my feet and soared to the surface.

  When my head broke through, the spectacular afternoon sun burned my eyes so I somersaulted, half twisted, and then swam, mermaid-like towards a small pocket of the bay the sun couldn’t quite reach because of the tall pine trees that grew on the rocky ledges there.

  But what I saw when I broke the surface of the much cooler water, made me cry out in surprise.

  A man.

  A man with striking blue eyes.

  Right in front of me.

  ‘Sorry to have startled you, my dear.’

  He spoke English with a non-English accent. But it was nothing I recognised. He was not one of my people.

  I moved my hands and arms beneath the water and swam back, away from him.

  ‘Who are you?’ he asked.

  I hovered in the water, speechless, my heart beating a furious rhythm against my chest.

  He grinned, revealing beautiful white teeth. He looked a little like my favourite movie star. No. A lot.

  ‘The question is, who are you?’ I said, when I finally found my voice.

  I dove down beneath his feet and swam along the cool ocean bed towards the warmth and safety of the shore. Something about the man, his broad muscular shoulders, his easy smile, the piercing blue of his eyes, the confidence in him. It unnerved me. Made my heart stutter on its beat.

  My mother would have loved to know that in that moment, I wanted to be nowhere else but sweating it out in the smoky old Kumin with her, preparing dinner.

  As my feet hit the cool wet sand, I stood, flicking my hair over my shoulders in a dramatic fashion should he be watching me – I still wished to leave a good impression – but screamed when he burst out of the water beside me only a second later, laughing deeply from the base of his throat.

  ‘Frano Tollin,’ he said, coming to stand beside me and offering his hand. ‘Ocean lover and explorer at your service.’

  My stomach fluttered as my slender hand slipped into his large one.

  ‘Nada,’ I said, not wishing to give away too much of myself and not wishing to sound as egotistical as this man even though I knew I loved the water far more than he. ‘I must go. My mother is waiting.’

  I wrung the seawater out of my hair, took one last glance at the sun-drenched sea over the man’s bare muscular shoulder and managed to walk away without meeting those amazing blue eyes again.

  ‘Wait. Please,’ he called out, as I scooped my dress off the ground and slipped it over my head, quickly tugging it over my hips and thighs.

  My footsteps quickened over the warm, smooth pebbles on the beach.

  The man swore, his feet not used to the heated stones. Another confirmation that he was a stranger in a strange land.

  My stomach fluttering, fear melted away instantly. I suddenly felt the need to know more. Where was he from? What was he doing here?

  That was another thing about me that bothered my mother – my curiosity.

  ‘I need lodgings, please.’ He swore again between breaths and muttered an apology. ‘These stones must take some getting used to.’

  I grinned, thinking of the many years spent watching tourists hop about swearing whilst they made their way to and from my beach. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Please, Nada. Please slow down.’

  The plea in his voice made me release a dramatic sigh and turn around, though of course I was happy that he was still here.

  Again, meeting his gaze, I was struck by the confidence in him. It practically lit up his eyes.

  ‘Why are you wearing trousers?’

  The man glanced down at the black trousers he was wearing, which were now stuck like glue to his muscular legs. When he took a step closer, the sun caught a glint of steel against his inner leg and I gasped when I saw that he had a knife strapped to his body.

  ‘Don’t be frightened,’ he said, his deep voice softening. ‘I always wear this knife. For safety. While I’m exploring.’

  ‘Exploring?’

  ‘Yes.’ His full lips curved into a smile. A sexy smile. I had to look away. None of the boys from the village, and certainly not that big brute Jani, had ever made my stomach flutter like this.

  ‘Exploring the sea?’

  He raised his brows.

  ‘What if I told you that my exploring days were over? That I have found what I’ve been looking for?’

  My face flushed with heat wh
en I met his intense gaze. Oh yes, he looked a lot like my favourite movie star. Better.

  ‘What exactly have you found?’ I asked rather boldly.

  ‘A living mermaid.’

  I laughed. ‘My father believed in mermaids.’

  Frano’s face became serious. ‘Of course he did, for he has a mermaid for a daughter.’

  My face burned with heat.

  ‘Follow me. My mother will assist with finding you a place to stay. Somebody can give you a lift into town.’

  I turned and started up the path to our cottage, but not before I caught sight of the man’s face and the disappointment dimming his blue eyes. I wondered how old he was. Perhaps nineteen or twenty? He had no lines on his face. But his manly presence, and his magnificent physique, suggested he was older.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing.’ I could hear the smile in his voice and could not stop my own smile.

  ‘Is your mother a beautiful mermaid also?’

  I laughed, picturing my mother’s angry face when she saw that I had brought unannounced company with me.

  ‘Wait and see for yourself.’

  ‘Why doesn’t your mother take lodgers into her own home?’

  My stomach flipped at the thought of having this man in our tiny cottage. He’d have to sleep in my bed and I’d have to bunk in with mother or sleep on the couch.

  If he asked her, she would not say no to the money. But judging by his lack of clothes and luggage I wondered how he would pay.

  ‘I have money. Accounts with banks all over the world,’ he said, reading my mind.

  I giggled.

  ‘I can tell by your lack of shirt.’

  He laughed, deep and rich. The sound went straight to my heart like an arrow from Cupid.

  ‘You’ll see.’

  I glanced over my shoulder and met his twinkling gaze.

  ‘I’ll see what?’

  ‘After we’re married, you’ll see what I’m made of.’

  I stopped to lean against a stone wall and laugh.

  ‘We’re getting married now? I don’t even know you. I’m only seventeen!’

  My neighbour, old Ivan, paused whilst out on his early evening walk to openly stare at the newcomer. Then he nodded at me, to be certain I was okay.

  I nodded back, still smiling.

  After greeting the old man as he shuffled past, the stranger came to rest against the wall beside me, his magnificent chest rising and falling and his blue eyes even more intense now that they were shaded from the sun.

  ‘In some cultures, couples are married before they have even shared words with each other.’

  ‘Well, in my culture, that doesn’t happen, thank God. And by my culture I mean my own, not my family’s culture and not my people’s culture.’ I leaned my head against the wall and stared at the spectacular sky, streaky with pinks and oranges from the setting sun.

  ‘I live by my own rules and don’t believe I’ll ever tie myself to a man and live under his rule. To do so would be tossing away my freedom.’

  Frano laughed and reached across the wall to run his fingers over the back of my hand. I nearly collapsed at his touch.

  ‘And why would sharing your life with somebody be so bad?’ he asked, his voice low and thoughtful.

  I thought of my father, and of the great pain his death had brought me, and shook my head.

  ‘Love can only bring pain. We all die one day. The more people you love, the more loss you experience. If I live alone, I won’t feel any pain.’

  Frano gently took my hand and completely enclosed it in his. Heat radiated from his touch to my belly and I gasped softly.

  ‘But surely the pleasure of love is worth the pain.’ He brought my hand to his mouth, scorching my skin with his lips, and then let me go.

  Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. Luckily my mother chose that moment to bellow my name from halfway up the hill.

  ‘Nada! Di si?’

  ‘Is that your mother?”

  I nodded. ‘Come on. She’s probably having a heart attack as we speak.’

  ‘Why, because you are with a stranger?’

  ‘No. Because I have brought a man of marriageable age back to the house as opposed to a bucket of fish.’

  Frano threw his head back and laughed and, despite the sea of emotions churning in my belly, I laughed with him.

  2

  ‘Mama. We have company.’

  ‘Oh, do we?’

  My mother stood at the doorway of our little cooking hut, the Kumin, which was hand-built by my father and attached to the side of our cottage house.

  Her hair had been hastily coaxed into a soft bun and her lips covered generously in a rose-coloured lipstick, something she hadn’t used since my cousin’s wedding five years ago. She’d also changed out of her faded floral shift dress and was now wearing her favourite going out skirt and a fitted t-shirt with a scarf knotted around her neck despite the heat. Word got around quickly here.

  I grinned as my mother pretended to look surprised at the sight of Frano.

  ‘Mother, this is Frano Tollin, Frano, this is my mother, Maria.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Mrs...’

  ‘Please call me Maria,’ my mother said, her cheeks tinting pink as she drank in the visual sight that was Frano shirtless with damp, tailored pants clinging to his muscular thighs.

  As Frano bent to press his lips against my mother’s hand, she threw me a quick wink. I knew what that excited wink meant. It meant that mother was happy with me for the first time in my life.

  Perhaps she had visions of Frano sweeping us away from the bay and into a life of city lights and fancy apartments.

  Thank God he was most likely lying about the bank accounts all over the world. I’d seen no sailing boat out in the bay. He was a stranger with only pants on his body and a knife. A handsome stranger. But a wealthy one? I’d have to see it to believe it.

  And anyway. No amount of money would take me away from the ocean. I’d live and die in the ocean, like my father.

  Mainland life would never be for me.

  So, if Frano Tollin had designs on me, he’d have to understand that nothing could drag me away from my beloved ocean.

  Nothing at all.

  My mother shooed us away and into the kitchen and I hastily added an extra setting to the dinner table, which had already been set for the two of us.

  My face burned with shame as I reached for a coffee mug from the credenza and quickly replaced my glass – one of the only two glasses in the house.

  ‘No. No. I prefer drinking from a mug. Please,’ said Frano, switching the glass I’d placed at his setting for the old brown mug.

  I glanced up at Frano. Manners. Mama was going to love him. It was going to be a long and embarrassing night. I could tell.

  ‘If that is what you wish,’ I said.

  Shortly after a prolonged and awkward silence, my mother entered the room and placed an enamel pot with a lid on it at the centre of the table.

  Just as I was beginning to wonder how we’d share our two fishes between the three of us, mother surprised me by lifting the lid and revealing four grilled fishes.

  Mother normally only prepares one each for us per day. The rest she sells.

  ‘I had a strange feeling that we’d need extra tonight.’ She threw me a wink. ‘God works in mysterious ways, my Nada. He surprises us sometimes.’

  ‘You mean the same God you’re always cursing about?’ I muttered.

  ‘Nada!’ My mother shot me a murderous look.

  Frano grinned.

  ‘This looks delicious’, said Frano. He closed his eyes and inhaled the delicious fragrance of freshly grilled fish basted in garlic parsley and olive oil.

  ‘Of course it is delicious. My daughter caught this fish.’ My mother gazed at me with pride and I wondered if I'd ever seen it until now, because it felt so foreign at this minute.

  Frano nodded at me, his brows raised, clearly impressed.

  A soft smile curved his lips and again I felt myself blush in his presence.

  ‘You must show me your favourite fishing spot.’

  My father’s voice instantly spoke up in my mind. As though his spirit had been waiting for somebody to ask.

  ‘My father shared with me sacred knowledge of our waters, handed down to him from his father and his father’s father before him. I do not share this knowledge to anyone. Not even my mother.’