I do, pulling air into lungs that feel too tight. There’s something in his touch that grounds me, that reminds me I don’t have to handle every crisis alone. This is why last night scared me—because being around him, around any of them, makes me feel simultaneously stronger and more vulnerable than I’ve ever been.
Jace turns to Marcus with that particular authority that makes people straighten their spines.
“What are the potential solutions?”
Marcus runs through the same list—no helicopters, no charter boats, ferry tomorrow morning. With each option, Jace’s expression grows more thoughtful, calculating. I can practically see him running scenarios, weighing risks and possibilities with the same methodical precision he brings to everything.
“Call down to the docks,” he says finally. “Tell them to prepare Scarlett for departure.”
Marcus blinks. “Sir, I’m not sure anyone’s available to take her out this morning. The harbor master said?—”
“I’ll pilot her myself.” Jace’s tone brooks no argument. He turns to me, something unreadable in his dark eyes. “Let’s go.”
“Go where?” But I’m already following him toward the doors, my heels clicking against marble. Because this is what I’ve always done with Jace—trusted his plans even when I didn’t understand them, followed his lead because somehow he always found a way through impossible situations.
“To get your band.”
The relief hits me so hard I stumble slightly. “Jace, you don’t have to?—”
“Yes, I do.” He stops, turning to face me fully. “You needed help. That’s enough.”
The simple statement does something dangerous to my chest, makes it tight and warm and afraid. Because last night he told me he’s wanted me for twelve years, and now he’s dropping everything to solve a problem that isn’t even his, and I don’t know how to exist in a world where Jace Moreau helps me without expecting anything in return.
“Who’s Scarlett?”
The corner of his mouth lifts, barely a smile but enough to make my stomach flutter. “My boat.”
The harbor sparkles in the morning sun, all whitecaps and salt-sweet air that tastes like childhood summers. Jace moves with purpose down the dock, and I hurry to keep up, my dress catching the breeze. The boats bob gently in their slips—sleek yachts and fishing vessels that speak of old money and older traditions.
“There she is.” Jace stops beside a vessel that makes my breath catch. Scarlett is beautiful—maybe sixty feet of gleaming white fiberglass and polished chrome, the kind of high-performance yacht that belongs on magazine covers. Her lines are aggressive, built for speed rather than comfort. “She’s fast. We can make it to the mainland in thirty minutes.”
I stare at the name painted in elegant script across the stern. Scarlett. Not what I expected from Jace, who usually chooses names based on function rather than sentiment.
Within moments, we’re pulling away from the dock, the twin engines purring with barely restrained power. The harbor opens up around us, all blue water and infinite sky, and I grip the railas Jace opens the throttles and the boat leaps forward like a predator finally unleashed.
The spray hits my face as we cut through the chop, and I find myself laughing despite everything—the crisis, the confession, the storm clouds gathering on the horizon. There’s something exhilarating about being alone with Jace on the open water, racing against time and weather.
“You can come up to the helm,” he calls over the engine noise. “She’s stable.”
I make my way forward carefully, the deck vibrating beneath my feet with controlled power. The wheelhouse is all chrome and leather and state-of-the-art electronics, but my attention focuses on Jace—hands steady on the wheel, eyes scanning the horizon with practiced competence.
Even when we were kids, Jace was the one who thought three steps ahead. While Cal and Silas and Charles were wrestling over video game controllers or arguing about which movie to watch, Jace would be quietly reading in the corner of whatever room I was in. He never talked much during those times, just existed in the same space, his presence steady and reassuring. Some of my happiest childhood memories are of sitting in the Carter family study, both of us reading different books, the silence comfortable and complete.
“See that?” He points toward the horizon where a dark line of clouds gathers. “Storm system moving in from the south. We’ll beat it to the mainland, but the trip back might be interesting.”
“Define interesting.” I move closer, drawn by the calm competence he radiates.
“Choppy water. Some rain.” His shoulder brushes mine as he adjusts our heading, and the contact sends electricity down my spine. “Nothing Scarlett can’t handle.”
“And if it gets worse?”
He glances at me, those steel-blue eyes unreadable. “Then we find shelter and wait it out.”
There’s something in his tone that makes me think he’s not just talking about the weather. The space between us feels charged, heavy with everything we haven’t said since last night when he called me princess and made my whole world tilt sideways.
“The boat,” I say, grasping for safer ground. “Why Scarlett?”
His hands tighten almost imperceptibly on the wheel. “You really want to know?”
