I groan. “Okay, we better stop this or I’m going to toss these life jackets, throw you over my shoulder, and hightail it out of here with you.”
Arabella chuckles, then sighs. “Is it me, or has this all been much harder than you thought it would be?”
“Well, I kind of had a feeling it would be tough, to be honest,” I tell her. “But I have a very good feeling things’ll get easier. We just have to get through the next few weeks.”
“Right, yeah,” she answers, looking distracted. “It’ll be fine.”
“Yes, it really will,” I say, stopping on the path and turning to her. “The key is for you and I to stick together no matter what happens.”
“Right. Exactly,” she says with a firm nod. “We stick together like glue.”
I lean down and give her a kiss. “Like glue.”
An hour later, we set off with me at the wheel and a light Caribbean breeze filling the sails. The sun shines down on us while Harrison and Tessa slather the children with sunscreen, both with extremely phony smiles in front of the camera. Emma’s standing next to Pierce and Arthur, who are casually chatting about whatever rich dudes chat about—I’m assuming stock options and…polo. The Princess Dowager, who apparently managed to get a poker game going in her suite last night, was up until dawn, and is fast asleep on a lounge chair that is bolted to the deck.
King Winston, who’s dressed in a white button up shirt, chinos, and an oversized sunhat that looks slightly feminine, is sitting on the chaise next to hers, his hands balled into fists on his lap. He lets out a loud burp, then sighs.
I lean toward Arabella, who is standing next to me, and lower my voice. “Is your father okay? He looks a little nervous.”
“He hates boats,” Arabella says with a shrug. “Something about almost drowning off the coast of Spain when he was in the navy.”
“What?” I ask, my jaw dropping. “Then why are we taking him sailing?”
“He’s got to get over it. It’s been, like, forty years since that happened,” she says, sounding a lot less compassionate than I’m used to. “And it’s not like he did drown. He onlyalmostdrowned.”
I stare at her, a little scared of what I’m hearing. She must be able to read my mind because she adds, “In our family, we suck it up and keep going.”
“Okkaaayyy,” I say.
“What?” Arabella asks.
“I just feel bad for your father, that’s all. The point of today is for everyone to relax and have fun, and yet…” I look back at him and Arabella’s gaze follows mine.
He’s now gripping the bench with white knuckles. “That’s it,” I tell her. “I’m going to go see if I can help him. You mingle with my family so it looks like we all get along.”
I call to Harrison, who has finished lathering his so-pale-she’s-almost-see-through daughter with sunblock, and ask him to take over at the wheel. Then I make my way over to my future father-in-law and sit on a deck chair near him. He gives me a quick nod and lets out a small burp. “Sorry, it’s a disgusting affliction.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I tell him. Lowering my voice, I add, “I had no idea you were afraid of boats.”
His head snaps back and he says, “I’m not afraid of them! I just hate the bloody things.”
Shit. I should not have said that. And the cameraman definitely caught that, based on the fact that he’s zooming in on us. I plaster a smile on and say, “No, right, I didn’t mean afraid. I meantuncomfortableon account of your navy incident.”
The Princess Dowager opens one eye and says, “Don’t bring that up, you ninny. Not while we’reona boat.”
Arabella, who seems to be finished talking with Libby already, rushes over to us with a wide grin and panic in her eyes. Without moving her lips, she manages to say, “Gran, don’t call my fiancé a ninny. He’s only trying to help.”
Wow, now that’s a talent I didn’t know she had.
“Well, he could stand to learn a thing or two about what proper help would look like,” Princess Florence says, shooting me a sharp glare.
“Oh, hey, everyone!” Harrison calls. “A dolphin!”
He points to the far side of the yacht, causing our fellow passengers to abandon what they’re doing to go see, except Princess Florence, who starts to snore lightly, having somehow managed to go right back to sleep. King Winston doesn’t move either, and instead lets out a small burp.
I want to get up to join the fun, but I also don’t want to seem insensitive. “Do you like dolphins?” I ask him.
When he doesn’t answer, I mutter, “Probably not on account of the whole ‘needing to be around the ocean’ thing.”
