The Girl from the Sea: A gripping psychological thriller by Shalini Boland Read Free Book Online Page B

says. ‘By the window.’
    I turn back around to see Piers smiling up at me. I’m taken aback again by how handsome he is. He also looks friendlier than he did yesterday. Maybe he was just more worried yesterday. He could’ve been nervous, too. I think I might have been a little harsh on Piers. He’s my boyfriend, so I must like him. Maybe I even love him. I wonder what stage our relationship has reached. Are we serious? How long have we been going out? I need to ask him all these questions, and more. Surely, there has to be some connection or spark between us.
    ‘Thank you,’ I say to the waiter.
    ‘Cheers, mate,’ Piers says. ‘Can you bring Mia a glass of Prosecco?’
    ‘Sure.’
    Piers stands and we kiss on the cheek. He didn’t even attempt the lips today, for which I’m grateful. Maybe he has some sensitivity after all.
    ‘How was the hospital?’ he asks, sitting back down. ‘You should have let me take you.’
    I sit down and dump my bag on the window sill. ‘It was fine. I didn’t get lost once.’
    ‘You drove?’ He frowns and shakes his head. ‘I told you to take a cab.’
    ‘I’m fine, Piers. I’m not ill. Just a little . . . memory impaired.’
    ‘Okay, babe. I’m just worried about you, that’s all.’
    ‘Thank you.’ I smile, thinking how it’s nice to have someone worry about me.
    ‘So, what did the doctor say?’ he asks, taking a sip of wine.
    ‘It’s good news, I suppose. My brain scan came back negative. There’s nothing bad there. It’s just a case of amnesia, and hopefully, my memory will start returning soon.’
    ‘That’s amazing news. We should have a toast.’
    The waiter returns with my drink. I take it from him and raise it in Piers’ direction.
    ‘To memories,’ he says.
    I grin. ‘To memories.’ We clink glasses.
    ‘I hope you don’t mind, I already ordered for you. You always have the same thing anyway.’
    ‘What do I always have?’ I ask, curious.
    ‘Wait and see.’
    ‘That’s mean!’ I give him a fake glare. ‘Tell me.’
    ‘I see you’re still impatient,’ he says with an eye roll and a smirk.
    ‘Fine. I can wait. I am starving, though.’ I reach across to the basket in the centre of the table and break off a piece of warm crusty bread.
    ‘Hmm,’ Piers says. ‘That’s new.’
    ‘What?’ I say, popping the bread into my mouth.
    ‘Nothing. Just . . . you never used to eat bread.’
    ‘Why not? This stuff is heaven.’ I tear off another chunk.
    Piers leans across the table. ‘You’ve got flour . . .’ he wipes the side of my mouth with his thumb. It’s an intimate gesture and I’m annoyed to feel myself blushing.
    ‘So,’ I say, wiping at imaginary crumbs on my dress. ‘What is it you do . . . for a living, I mean?’
    ‘I’m a property developer.’
    ‘Oh, okay. So, you like, do houses up, and sell them on?’
    ‘Pretty much, yeah.’
    ‘Have you got any properties at the moment?’ I ask.
    ‘I’m working on one. Early stages,’ he says, taking a healthy swig of his wine.
    My drink has already gone straight to my head.
    ‘Do you like it?’ I ask. ‘Being a property developer? Have you done it for long?’ I tear off another chunk of bread and stuff it into my mouth in a half-hearted attempt to soak up the alcohol.
    ‘Not that long, no,’ he says, draining his glass. ‘It’s okay, yeah. Hard work, though.’
    ‘Do you do the actual . . . developing?’ I ask. I’m not even sure if I’m interested in what he’s saying, or if I’m merely trying to keep the conversation flowing. ‘Or do you pay people to work for you?’
    ‘A bit of both.’
    ‘And you said before that I don’t work?’
    ‘Not at the moment. You’re taking a break from teaching.’
    ‘Why would I take a break?’
    ‘I . . . Oh, here’s lunch.’
    I look up to see our waiter returning. Piers has ordered the filet mignon with French fries, and I have a disappointing salad. I eye his steak hungrily.
    ‘Duck salad with asparagus,’