On the road in front of the house, there is a sumptuous black Cadillac Escalade ESV, big enough to easily fit all of us. Nolan is in a driver's seat, and I end up sitting next to him.

"Good afternoon," he greets everyone, glancing through the rearview mirror. "Mrs. Charleston, let me tell you that you look charming today."

Mom blushes and waves her hand in response. I roll my eyes at Nolan's flattering words.

"You look great too," Melinda says, batting her eyelashes. "And what a luxurious car!"

"Thanks," Nolan replies with a smile. "My father wanted to send a limousine, but I convinced him that this car would be more convenient. So he bought it."

Melinda's eyes widen in surprise. "He bought a car just to take us to the yacht?!"

"Yes," Nolan says simply, seemingly not fazed by her astonishment. As if it's not a big deal at all. I can't stand this kind of showing off, so I cross my arms and frown. I hope this farse won't last long.

"Aren't you hot?" Nolan asks me, and I blink at him at first, not understanding.

"What?"

"I'm asking if you're feeling hot. Should I turn on the AC?"

I frown at Nolan. "No, I'm not hot," I reply, imitating his tone. "But if you happen to have some Crystal Brut, I wouldn't mind a glass."

"Alex! What kind of manners is that?" Mom scolds, tapping me on the shoulder.

Nolan looks at me with cold gray eyes. "Unfortunately, I don't have..."

"A car like this, and no champagne? How disappointing!" I exclaim theatrically, leaning back in the luxurious leather seat.

"Well, it will be served at dinner," Nolan adds with a strained, polite smile.

"Then take us to that dinner already!" I demand.

"Alex!" Mom scolds me again.

Nolan drives away from our house. I continue to frown and look out the window. Why am I so annoyed?

The road to the pier where Richard's yacht is docked takes... four minutes. My irritation only intensifies during the short ride. Spending a bunch of money on a sumptuous car to take poor people like us for a four minutes ride seemed excessive. I'm starting to think that Richard and Nolan were cut from the same cloth.

Nolan gallantly helps my mom and sisters out of the car. Melinda, not letting go of his hand, smiles flirtatiously. "Thank you. It's not so common to meet a gentleman nowadays," she says.

"I'm honored," Nolan smiles back, and I can barely stand their pretense.

We walk towards the yacht, and it's absolutely huge. This is no ordinary small yacht with just one cabin below deck. No, this one is almost like a cruise ship, with three stories and one hundred meters in length! I can't help but gape in astonishment at all this opulence.

"Oh, my dear Guinevere! You look absolutely stunning!" Richard exclaims, kissing my mother's hands.

Either he's head over heels in love or just lying. My mom looks lovely in her best outfit, but surrounded by the splendid interior of the yacht, her dress, compared to the upholstery on the armchairs, looks like pathetic rags. It stings a bit. I've never felt this poor before.

Richard leads us upstairs, where a lavish table is set in a large room with a lovely view of the bay and the sea.

"Nolan, tell the captain to set sail," Richard says, and Nolan leaves the room.

Sail? Why are we setting sail?! I rush out into the corridor to catch up with Nolan, but he's nowhere to be seen. I know the bridge must be at the top, but it's easy to get lost in these rooms, which is what I do. Damn... I need to get out to the deck...

As I walk along a narrow corridor, I eventually reach the end and open a door only to find myself on a staircase. I climb upstairs and reach another door, but it's locked. Through the window, I see Nolan talking to someone, probably the captain, and I notice the pistol grip sticking out from Nolan's belt. Panic sets in, and I quickly run back downstairs.

I find myself in a different corridor and rush forward, reaching a fork and feeling lost. I try calling Mel, and after a while, she picks up.

"What?" she says irritably.

"Mel?"

"Alex?"

"Mel, we need to get out of here right now!"

"What? I can't hear you!"

I turn around and see Nolan approaching me. I start stepping back.

"Mel, warn mom. They have weapons! We all need to leave!"

"Alex, what? Where are you?"

The call drops, and Nolan is running after me. I dash down the hallways, hoping to escape. My heart pounds in my throat. I turn right, bump into the stairs, and rush downstairs, finally finding a door that opens and find myself in yet another corridor. I hate fucking yachts!

I try every door in this long passage, and one gives in. Nolan hasn't caught up with me yet, and I hope he hasn't seen me dart into this room. It appears to be some kind of utility room, and I see a window that might lead outside. But just as I consider my options, I hear footsteps in the corridor.

I try to control my labored breathing, but my heart is pounding so loudly that I'm afraid it can be heard in the hallway. I take a few cautious steps towards the metal cabinet in the corner, hoping to hide under the things piled there - towels, sheets, tablecloths - this is apparently a laundry room. I cover myself with things, trying to conceal my presence and strain my ears to listen for footsteps in the hallway. Suddenly, the door creaks open, and I hold my breath. Through a small opening, I catch a glimpse of Nolan entering the room. I can only see his black boots as he walks around. He eventually turns back to the door, and I hear a click.

But I didn't hear him leave... I'm running out of air, but I'm too scared to breathe. My heart thumps loudly in my ears.

"You have nowhere to run," I hear Nolan say. His voice echoes through the room, and I see his black boots right in front of me. Without thinking, I scream and push Nolan toward the wall. He stumbles back, giving me the chance to open the window. As I look out, I realize there's nowhere to escape but jumping into the water. I'm halfway out the window when Nolan grabs me around the waist and pulls me back inside.

"Help!" I scream with all my might, but my voice is muffled as Nolan clamps his hand over my mouth. He wrestles me to the floor, and I start kicking, finally managing to knee him in the groin. He groans in pain, and I take the opportunity to push him away. Toppling down, he hits his head, cries out, and curses. I try to open the door, but it won't budge. In desperation, I rush back to Nolan, lift the corner of his jacket, and grab the pistol from his belt. My hands tremble as I aim at him and shout, "Let me out of here!"

Nolan sits on the floor, rocking back and forth, still in pain. He barely turns his head and squints at me. And then, surprisingly, he starts laughing. His laughter mixes with groans as he rubs his bruised head, but he can't seem to stop himself. He falls to the floor, holding his stomach.

"I think I'm dying," he laughs loudly, tears rolling out of his eyes. My grip on the gun doesn't relent.

"I said, let me out," I firmly repeat my demand. Nolan tries to catch his breath and stands up. He wipes away his tears, and the smile gradually fades from his face.

"Give me the gun back," he says calmly.

"Let me out first."

"So that you'd run around like a psycho with a gun?!" he retorts.

"Just open the door and tell me the way out, and I'll leave."

"Seriously, Alex, this is dangerous. Give me the gun back."

"No."

We lock eyes, both of us resolute and unwavering.

"Okay," Nolan sighs heavily and steps back to sit on the floor. "Are you having a panic attack or what? You clearly misunderstood something."

"Why did we set sail?" I press on.

"Because yachts sail," Nolan replies mockingly. "We want to go to the fjord. There will be a firework for your mother after the dinner."

Well... that sounds believable...

"Why do you have a gun?" I don't let up.

"Long story," he replies.

"I'm not in a hurry," I insist.

He tightens his jaw and frowns. "You and I are not so well acquainted that I would tell you everything."

"But I have a gun, and that's a weighty argument, don't you think?"

"You're not likely to shoot me," Nolan shakes his head.

"Do you wanna test it?"

He grins. "Okay, ask what you want."

"Where did you get the gun?"

"I bought it at the store," he makes a theatrical gesture.

"Why?"

"To protect myself if something happens."

"What exactly?"

"If some nutcase decides to attack, for example," Nolan glares at me.

"Didn't seem to work, did it?" I chuckle sarcastically. I don't know what else to ask him, so there is a pause.

"They probably already serve shrimp in wine sauce," Nolan says with feigned dreaminess. My mouth immediately fills with saliva; I haven't eaten anything since morning, and all this running and stress have worn me out.

Nolan looks at me. "Listen, seriously, no one is going to kill you. If we wanted to, why bother with dinner?"

"Why did you run after me then?"

"Because you ran away like a nutcase. And it's useless to call you; I already understood that. Besides, I thought it was fun," Nolan laughs. "And now my head and balls are killing me. So give me the gun and let's go upstairs. Maybe we'll be on time for dessert at least."

"What's for dessert?" I ask sternly, still aiming at him.

Nolan takes a thought. "If my memory serves me right," he looks up, putting his finger to his lips, "Chocolate souffle with pecans."

I swallow hard, grab the barrel of the pistol, and hand it back to Nolan. He shakes his head, tucks the gun back behind his belt, and opens the door to the hallway.

"Psycho," he mutters under his breath as he passes by.