Sora’s eyes widen as we walk through the main salon. Mahogany walls gleam around us, custom furniture arranged perfectly. The chef and his team work silently in the galley, prepping our dinner. A string quartet plays in the corner—according to Celeste, an essential addition to the evening.
“This is incredible,” Sora says, running her fingers along the polished bar. “How did you arrange all this?”
“I have my resources,” I reply, deliberately vague. The powerful billionaire wouldn’t explain himself.
We settle at a table on the aft deck, the Manhattan skyline providing a perfect backdrop as we cast off. The server presents our first course—tuna tartare with avocado mousse.
“To research,” I say, raising my glass. “And new experiences.”
Sora clinks her glass against mine, eyes never leaving my face. “To research,” she echoes, though her tone suggests she’s not fully buying my explanation.
As we work through the incredible courses—lobster with black truffle, wagyu beef with foie gras, a palate-cleansing sorbet—I settle into my role. I give the staff curt instructions, make decisive wine selections, and generally act like a man used to getting whatever he wants.
“You’re good at this,” Sora notes as they clear our main course. “Almost too good. Are you keeping secrets from me, Forrest?”
“Perhaps,” I say, replacing the small sip of wine she took. I made a note to keep her glass full all night out of chivalry, but she’s barely touched it.
“So, the commanding presence, the subtle arrogance. You’ve done your homework. Did you binge-read about a dozen romance books over the past couple days?”
“Google,” I admit. “But this isn’t so different from what I do with clients. I just dial up certain parts of myself and dial down others.”
“Which parts are you dialing up tonight?”
I watch the candlelight play across her face. “Control. Power. The illusion that I can have anything I want.” My eyes rake across her bare collarbones. “Which is most definitely not true.”
“I never understood that fantasy,” she muses softly. “Women wanting a man to hand them the world.”
“What appeals to you?”
She smiles sheepishly. “Taking the world for myself. Hanging my own moon. Being an important part of a team.”
“I like that,” I acknowledge before dropping my voice to a whisper. “But that’s not what we’re doing here tonight. You’re supposed to feel like Cinderella. Special. Singled out and chosenby the prince who will keep your fine ass in Valentino and Louboutins until the day you die.”
Something flickers in her eyes—recognition, maybe. “Is that Hannah’s fantasy?”
The question comes at me from far left field. I didn’t really expect her to come up tonight. Talking about Hannah pulls me out of the fantasy and right back down to earth. “Unequivocally, but at least she knows what she wants and won’t settle for less. Some people would see that as an admirable quality,” I say finally, biting back my unbridled thoughts about Hannah.
“You’re defending her, even after she’s leaving Dakota?”
I rub the back of my neck in discomfort. “Sora, I’m a country boy at heart. And I was raised by Sam Elliott’s doppelganger who would spit in my face and disown me if he heard me disrespecting the mother of my child out loud. So, I don’t want you to think that just because I refuse to badmouth my ex, I still have feelings for her. I don’t. But I am forever grateful she gave me Dakota.”
Sora blinks at me quietly for what seems like a ridiculous amount of time. She doesn’t say a word and finally the quiet tension unnerves me. I have to break the ice.
“What’s wrong?”
She taps her temple. “I’m just reciting that speech in my head over and over so I can remember it, because that, Forrest Hawkins, is going in my next book. Very hero-worthy. And for the record, I don’t need you to talk shit about your ex to feel secure.”
I smile, warm relief flooding through my chest. “What do you need to feel secure?”
“From you?” she asks. I nod, and her lips twist as she debates a reply. “Nothing. I don’t think I’ll ever feel secure around you.”
Once again, she accidentally wounds me, inviting the elephant I thought we dismissed right onto this ship deck.
“Oh,” she suddenly muses, palming her forehead with an audible smack. “You meant how to make me feel secure on a date with a billionaire?” she concludes, completely misunderstanding my intention. But I roll with it, yet another reminder that this is all just a game.
Dessert eventually arrives—a decadent chocolate soufflé with chocolate-covered strawberries on the side. I pick up one of the strawberries and hold it to Sora’s lips.
“You’re really taking this seriously,” she murmurs, but opens her mouth anyway.
