"Thank you for accompanying me tonight," he says, once we reach my cabin door.“I…appreciate it.”
“Of course.I?—“
“I promise it won’t happen again.No matter how much I want it to.”
He grabs me, tugging me in for a hard kiss before he turns on his heel and stalks away.
Gaping, I gaze after him, still in my gown and heels, wondering how it’s possible to feel so desired one moment and so discarded the next.
Several seconds later, I stumble inside my cabin, closing the door with a soft click.
It’s a sound that feels remarkably like a coffin lid.
9
CANNES YOU FEEL IT YET?
ROARKE
Four days after the gala disaster, the August sun beats down on the yacht's deck—the kind of heat that would make even experienced sailors question their life choices.
As for me, I should be reviewing investor materials or finalizing logistics for next week's launch.
Instead, I'm sitting cross-legged on the sun deck, holding a tiny keyboard while a seven-year-old and her delinquent parakeet attempt to teach me the musical scale.
"No, Uncle Roarke!"Isla sighs.Already, she’s far too young to sound this disappointed."It's Do-Re-Mi, not Do-Re-Blah."
"BLAH BLAH BLAH!"Captain Feathers squawks, hopping from his perch to the keyboard and managing to hit three discordant notes simultaneously.
"See?Even Captain Feathers knows you're doing it wrong."
I look at the bird, who tilts his head and fixes me with one beady eye."Are you ganging up on me?"
"UNCLE TONE DEAF!TONE DEAF!"
"That's it."I stand, brushing keyboard keys off my shorts."I'm filing a complaint with your union representative."
"He doesn't have a union," Isla giggles."But Mia says all artists need creative freedom."
At the mention of Mia—currently in Nice visiting her sisters for her one day off—my throat grows tight.Which is ridiculous, because her absence should be a relief.
I should be able to focus without constantly wondering what she's thinking.What she's wearing.
Whether she's remembering her beautiful thighs open for me as much as I am.
My phone buzzes with a group message from the guys.
CONNOR:Poker tonight at Club Nautique?
DONOVAN:I'm in.I’m warning you all now—I’ve been practicing
ZANDER:"Practicing" = losing money to your hotel staff?
PRESCOTT:Count me in.Connor, your lovely wife still helping with West's PR campaign?
I start to type a response about being busy, then delete it.
Type again.Delete again.
