Liar. Luca always raises both when he lies.
“Yeah, Eyre was kind enough to give the team a fun day. Too bad Amanda’s not enjoying it.”
She doubles over and throws up again, shoulders shaking. I crouch beside her, steadying her with one hand on her back and the other gripping the railing.
“She’s not built for the sea,” he says, but his eyes are locked on me, not Amanda.
“Nope.”
“I can take you back,” he offers, straightening to his full height. His chest expands, chin lifting, his hand flexing at his side like he’s itching to take control.
Amanda perks up, watery eyes hopeful when I tell her.
“All three of us,” he corrects, tone clipped, voice edged with steel. His jaw hardens as his gaze drops to my mouth before snapping back to my eyes.
“Oh… yeah, of course. I wouldn’t leave her alone,” I scramble, waving my hand a little too fast.
His lips curve, but it’s not a smile, its possession sharpened into expression. He steps closer, close enough that the heat radiating off him presses against me. “Sure, Em. Let me help.”
Em. I haven’t been Emma in five minutes. I’m Em again.
We help Amanda onto his sailboat. I thank Mr. Eyre, and then Luca reaches up to steady me. His hands on my waist are fire. I try not to flinch—or melt.
He sets Amanda down gently, hands her a bottle of water, then heads to the helm.
I turn back toward the group clustered on the dock. “Hey, guys—we’re taking Amanda home. She’s not doing well.”
The team nods, offering quick waves and sympathetic smiles. Sam gives me a thumbs-up. Amanda manages a weak grin of thanks.
But Karen? She folds her arms tight across her chest, her sunglasses slipping down her nose as she shoots me a look that could curdle milk. “Shame. The party’s just getting started,” she says, voice a little too sharp to pass as casual.
I force a polite smile, ignoring the way my chest tightens. “She needs rest.”
Karen flicks her hair over one shoulder, lips pressed in a thin line, like I’ve just stolen her front-row seat to the show.
I glance back. Mr. Eyre is sipping champagne, watching us with a knowing little smirk.
Luca steers us toward shore. I comfort Amanda, whispering about comfy beds and cool sheets until she dozes off. Then I make my way to him.
“Thanks. Amanda was really struggling.”
Luca nods, eyes locked on the horizon.
“So… you have a boat now.”
I glance around, taking it in. The sailboat screams money—sleek lines, spotless fiberglass so white it almost glows, teak deck polished within an inch of its life. Stainless steel fittings shine like jewelry, and the cushions on the benches are stitched in navy leather that looks untouched. Even the cabin door is glossy, tinted windows gleaming like they belong on a sports car. It’s the kind of boat people buy to show they can, a floating luxury toy.
He looks at me with his ocean-blue eyes. “You really want to talk about boats?”
“Do I have a choice?”
He sighs. “I bought it when I moved here. Took the course. Got my license. I use it sometimes.”
“Must be nice. Getting to escape out here.”
“I don’t need to escape. My house is remote enough.”
“Of course it is.” I laugh, shaking my head. “You’ve always liked being above it all. Like a gargoyle on a cathedral.”
