Carter laughs, nervously now. He looks around, realizing people are watching.
"Relax, Taylor. We were just chatting. No harm done."
"There is harm done when you touch what isn't yours," I say. The words are archaic. Primal. They belong in a cave, not on a yacht. But I mean them.
Carter pales. He takes a step back, holding his hands up in surrender.
"Okay. Point taken. My mistake. Nice to meet you, Ivy."
He turns and flees toward the buffet, nearly knocking over a waiter in his haste to get away from me.
I watch him go, my blood still humming with adrenaline. I want to chase him down. I want to throw him off the boat.
I look down at Ivy. She's looking up at me, her eyes wide under the brim of her hat. She doesn't look scared. She looks... stunned.
"You okay?" I ask, my voice rough.
"I handled it," she says automatically. "It's fine. He's just a creep with too much money."
"He touched you."
"He touched my arm, Brooks. It's not a felony."
"Clause 4," I say, my grip on her waist tightening. "No touching without an audience."
"He's not a signatory to the contract."
"I don't care." I turn her away from the party, guiding her toward the stairs that lead to the private bow deck. "Come on."
"Where are we going? I have to charm the senator from Connecticut."
"The senator can wait. I need air."
We walk to the bow of the yacht, away from the music and the crowd. The wind is stronger here, whipping Ivy's cover-up around her legs. The sun is starting to dip toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and violent violet.
We stand at the railing, looking out at the water. The silence between us is charged, electric.
"You didn't have to do that," Ivy says finally, her voice quiet against the wind. "I deal with guys like Carter at every wedding. You deflect, you distract, you find them another bridesmaid to bother."
"I didn't want to deflect," I say. "I wanted to break his fingers."
She turns to look at me. She takes off her hat, her hair blowing loose around her face.
"Why?" she asks.
"Because you're my asset," I lie. It feels clumsy now. Weak.
"Don't," she whispers. "Don't do that. Don't hide behind the contract, Brooks. Not after the way you just looked at him."
I grip the railing until my knuckles turn white. I hate that she sees me. I hate that she knows the contract is crumbling.
"You want to know why?" I ask, turning to face her. The space on the bow is small. We are inches apart.
"Yes."
"Because when I saw his hand on you," I say, the words tearing themselves out of my throat, "I realized that for weeks now, the only thing I've been thinking about is what it would feel like if it were my hand."
Ivy's breath hitches. Her eyes dilate, dark pools reflecting the sunset.
