“And now? Have they disowned you?”
“They’re disappointed.”
“You’re much better off.” He turns me around and sweeps me across the floor. “If you truly wanted to marry Stephen, you wouldn’t have jumped out of that cake.”
This bit of self-sabotage has been bothering me. “I screwed myself out of a Christmas wedding.”
“And out of a picture-perfect, plastic life.”
I’m so busy keeping up with Jordan’s steps that at first, I don’t realize we’ve glided out of the ballroom. I half-expect Sven to intervene, but then, why would he care?
The last I saw, he was hobnobbing with venture capitalists and wealth managers. No doubt, he’s seeking a sponsorship for his water polo team or maybe an internship with a political giant.
“Sven does seem to be a picture-perfect substitute for Stephen,” I observe while walking hand in hand with the black-caped trickster.
“He’s a superhero,” Jordan says. “Most eligible bachelor in all of Europe.”
“And you set me up with him. Why?”
We step up onto the top deck, and a breeze picks up Jordan’s cape, whipping it along with my hair, as the ship cruises over the moonlit ocean.
I lean against the rail, and a shiver of goosebumps grips my arms and shoulders. The music and laughter of the ballroom seem as far behind as my glitterati life in San Francisco, New York, and the capitols of the world—being seen with Stephen at the opera house or getting in and out of limos.
I wasn’t allowed to visibly work, so during breaks in Stephen’s schedule, I rented space in recording studios and read audiobooks. It relieved boredom and gave me an outlet into other people’s lives—even if imaginary.
Jordan thankfully wraps his cape around me and rubs my shivers away. We’re quiet for a long moment, which surprises me, because he’s usually so chatty.
I inhale the cool, misty night air and turn halfway so I can look up at his profile. The fake beard covers his smirky lips, making him appear more heroic. I miss the impish twist of his lips, and his pointy, fox-like chin.
“You haven’t answered my question. Why did you set me up with Sven?”
“You wanted a blond superman,” he reminds me. “You told me that’s your type.”
“Maybe it’s what I was taught to want. A guy always in control. A natural leader. Someone strong and predictable.”
“Why did you set me up with Dr. Alice Lin?” he counters. “Don’t get me wrong. I like her. She’s brilliant.”
A squirt of jealousy rumbles my stomach, and I turn my attention back to the river of moonlight shimmering over the dark ocean waves.
“Did Jade tell you to find dates for me? As part of her plan to cheer me up?”
“Is it working?” He hugs me tighter and warms me against the buttery leather vest he’s wearing beneath his cape.
“As a distraction, yes. But in the middle of the night, when I’m alone, I still feel this tremendous sense of loss.” I clench my fingers on the rail to mirror the ache in my heart. “I don’t know what I want anymore. I invested two years in Stephen. I had everything planned.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t worry,” he says. “Let life happen. Maybe you shouldn’t make plans. It’s no fun if they come true.”
“Where do I go from here?” I know my voice sounds plaintive and my heart feels so broken. “Where do I go after this cruise? I can’t face going home where everyone knows me as the one who let Stephen Sommers the Third get away.”
“There’s always Sven. You can hook up with him and see the world with him,” Jordan says, tilting my face up to face him. “And then, there’s me. You’ll never know what comes next.”
I swallow and stare at him. His gaze never wavers. Slowly, he peels the fake beard from his face, rubbing off the glue. He throws it overboard and grins crookedly.
His nose cocks to one side, and one side of his mouth lifts higher than the other. He’s got an out-of-place tooth, and an eyebrow which is longer than the other, but my heart beats lopsidedly, and I don’t know if he’s joking or serious.
“Say something, or I might have to dive after my beard,” he says, his voice gravelly.
“Did you draw that spider on the toilet paper?”
He snickers. “Did it scare you?”
“Stop snickering, and maybe I’ll give you a chance.”
Snicker. “You’re so predictable.”
“Am not.” I reach up as if I’m going to kiss him. In fact, I wait for his lips to pucker and his eyes to close. And then I blow a raspberry and snicker as I squirm from his arms and leave him standing there, black cape aflutter like the gargoyle on a dark and stormy castle wall.
