“And you saw pictures of penises that had been impaled and you were like, that. I want that.”
Despite himself, he sends me a little grin. “Something like that. And, technically, Arlo said he doesn’t normally do them on the ship. Rocky says I was very persuasive.”
“Did Rocky get one?”
“I think he said he had one already. Not sure I’d remember if he did, I was pretty, well…” Beckett turns and stares at the view, which is slowly receding now… I hadn’t even realized we were moving again.
“Because of what I said?” I ask, even though I’m not sure I want to hear the answer.
He’s silent for too long.
And then, finally, he says?—
“Everything.”
That’s all. Just that one word. And yet it knocks the air out of me.
Everything.
And now I can’t unsee it: the way he shifts in his seat a little too carefully, the faint tightness in his jaw, the not-quite-there focus in his eyes.
He did this because he was unraveling.
Because he didn’t think it mattered anymore.
Did he not think thathemattered?
I smooth the napkin over my lap, grounding myself.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” And, because I’m me, I tack on, “Are you taking care of it right?” And then, “Does everyone else know? Am I the only one who didn’t?—”
“No!” Beckett looks at me again, sharply. “Just the… guys. And only because they were there. Honestly, it’s all kind of blurry. And I didn’t tell you because…” He exhales hard. “Hell, Ashley. I didn’t think it was something you’d want to hear about.”
“Oh.”
Beckett takes a drink of his wine, and the silence between us isn’t comfortable anymore.
And me, I don’t want to hang out in this painful space any longer than necessary, but I don’t know what to say.
He must feel the same way, because he changes the subject. And it’s just the right thing to get my mind off of us. Or, more accurately.Not us.
“So, I take it that wasn’t the private charter you had in mind for today?”
“Not even close. First thing tomorrow I’m calling that agency.”
I meet his stare for half a second, then fling a hand toward the dark horizon like it personally wronged me.
“I mean—okay—maybe the price was a little too good to be true. But there were pictures, Beckett. Pictures. A forty-foot motor yacht with cushioned lounge chairs, shaded decking, a little bar setup, with a legit bartender. There was even supposed to be a man who played the violin while we cruised past the Arch. I read the fine print, Beckett. I’m not an idiot.”
My voice pitches higher.
“And yes, I know about internet scams. I know people get duped all the time. But they don’t scam me. They don’t scam careful, always-reads-the-terms-and-conditions me.”
He doesn’t say anything, just listens. Grabs a slice of the pizza.
“Oh God, my poor sister,” I groan, pressing the flats of my hands into my eyes. “She lookedgreen. I thought Noah was going to have to carry her off the boat. By all rights, she should hate me for the rest of her life. She should fire me as maid of honor for—hiccup—for dereliction of duty. For hardship, pain, and suffering.”
Beckett nods, watching me, chewing his pizza.
