After Marla disappeared, it was just the two of them again. Skye turned toward Lucy with her mouth open. She probably had some half-baked apology already lined up. But Lucy shook her head before Skye could even get the words out.
“Don’t,” Lucy said. Heat prickled at the corners of her eyes. There wasn’t any real reason to be angry at Skye. She didn’t lie to her. She just omitted something important. Did that even require an apology?
“I know I should’ve—”
“It’s fine,” Lucy said, cutting her off. She forced a smile. “We’re fine,” she lied. “I’ll see you later for the date.” With her arms wrapped around herself, she spun on her heel and walked away.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The catamaran drifted easily out of the harbor as its sails caught the last of the afternoon light. Skye sat opposite Lucy with a champagne flute in her hand. She was trying to look relaxed despite feeling the opposite. Lucy hadn’t looked at her since they’d boarded. Not when the sound tech had clipped the mic to her loose linen blouse. Not when Marla had appeared with her headset on, explaining that they’d only be sailing a short loop along the coast and that it was safer for everyone to stay seated on the catamaran’s broad deck benches. It was painfully clear when Skye caught Lucy’s eyes, ready with a small grin, only to find Lucy already turning away.
Skye concentrated on the picnic basket between them. It was the usual production spread of cheese, fruit, and salty crackers. All were arranged as if they were on the cover of a lifestyle magazine.
“I never knew what mahi mahi was until today,” Amy said brightly, plucking a strawberry from the tray. “I was lucky to be paired with Lucy.” She turned her attention to Lucy and nudged her with her toe. “Where did you learn to cook like that?”
Lucy shrugged. “My mom was always experimenting with food. One week she’d sprinkle cocoa on roasted sweet potatoes and the next she’d drown our spaghetti noodles in a lime-and-lemongrass sauce. Our kitchen usually smelled like a spice market.” She leaned forward and grabbed a bunch of grapes. “I’d get home and hear pots and pans clinking, and I’d immediately brace myself for whatever delicious disaster was waiting on the stove.”
Skye smiled into her champagne. “Sounds kind of lovely,” she said, hoping to catch Lucy’s eye. She didn’t. “We used to have a set schedule. Mondays were meatloaf. Tuesdays were always chicken soup with garlic bread. Wednesdays were spaghetti Bolognese, but sometimes my mom felt adventurous and did spaghetti and meatballs instead. I think I would’ve liked a bit of chaos,”Skye admitted.
“I don’t know,” Lucy replied, still not looking at Skye. “Maybe predictable is sometimes better. Maybe I would’ve preferred it if I got home and knew exactly what was waiting for me on the dinner table. Maybe I didn’t like that I thought I would be eating a classic beef stroganoff and then it turned out to be something completely different.”
“I think you’re being a little unfair to your mom, don’t you?” Skye said, knowing damn well this wasn’t about stroganoff but about Skye’s secret.
Lucy shook her head. “No, I don’t think I am. I don’t think it’s fair that I had to just pretend to like the taste and smile like everything was fine.”
“Sometimes you have to do something for someone because you care about them.”
“That’s a two-way street,” Lucy snapped back.
Skye took a slow sip of her champagne, as if the fizz could somehow scrub the tension between them clean. The tension was completely obvious and utterly un-ignorable. It was ridiculous. It wasn’t like she owed Lucy an explanation for standing in for Deanna. It wasn’t like she had to admit she worked on the show. Truthfully, it was none of Lucy’s business.
“What about you?” Skye asked, desperate to deflect before Marla intervened. Skye didn’t even bother glancing toward the stern of the catamaran where she knew the camera crew and Marla were stationed. She knew exactly what her facewould say—don’t make me step in, Skye—and she didn’t like it. “How was dinner at your house?”
Skye knew Amy had noticed the tension. She kept flicking her gaze between the two of them, with her brows slightly furrowed, but she didn’t say anything. Thank goodness for that. Skye wouldn’t know what to say if she had.
Amy, who was chewing on a juicy slice of melon, quickly brushed off the juice dripping down the side of her mouth. “We were the takeout family. My mother rarely cooked, and if she did, it wasn’t very good.” She laughed as she stretched her legs along the deck cushion. They were long and a sunlit bronze color. “I tried a cooking course a few months back, but that didn’t exactly end well.”
“Why not?” Lucy asked. She was facing away from Skye now, which in the history ofThe Sapphic Matchhad never happened. The contestants always faced the bachelorette as if they couldn’t get enough of her. This was obvious. This was practically forbidden.
“Let’s just say I’m as bad at cooking as I am at making kombucha,” Amy replied.
“You weren’t that bad earlier when we were cooking up the parcels,” Lucy said, folding her legs beneath her. She placed her champagne glass down on the deck and reached for a cracker. “I thought we made a pretty good team.”
“Well, that’s because I let you do everything. Lucy’s the reason I’m on this date.” She giggled a little nervously. Skye couldn’t blame her. This entire date felt likea frying pan left too long on high heat. There was way too much tension hissing beneath the surface.
“Well, I’m glad both of you are here,” Skye said quickly, trying to yank the wheel and steer the conversation back to a state of calm. But honestly, it felt like she was trying to throw a bucket of water onto a grease fire.
Lucy scowled. “Are you really?” Lucy asked, her voice cold.
Skye tried to laugh it off, but it came out brittle. “Of course, I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Am I missing something?” Amy asked, sitting up a little straighter. “Because it feels like there’s something going on here, and I’m just kind of stuck in the middle.”
“Okay, let’s pause there!” Marla called out from the stern.
One of the camerawomen standing closest to them lowered her lens a fraction,but Skye noticed the red lights were still blinking. The cameras hadn’t stopped. They were trained on the three of them like vultures circling their prey.
“Skye.” Marla was already striding across the deck toward them. “Can I have a word, please?”
