“Hear, hear,” Zara cheered. “Let’s toast to that.”
They stood around drinking craft brew on a five-million-dollar yacht and talking about the beautiful women of the city. Sette did not often partake in these sorts of get-togethers. Whether it was a lack of company or no drive to have “girl talk,” she had eschewed most of this kind of socialization. Today, however, she found the company worthy of her time, if only because Miquela continued to haunt her mind ever since their esoteric encounter in the coffee shop.Here she is. What fortuitous timing…
Zara stood up rather abruptly. “All right, you two keep discussing the superior qualities of our country’s women. I need to check on something inside before something burns down the galley.” She pointed at them both. “Don’t elope without me.”
“With her?” Miquela arched a brow.
Sette snorted. “Please. I don’t even know if my schedule is clear.” It wasn’t.
“Rude,” Miquela murmured, though the look in her eye betrayed her.
Zara disappeared down the steps into the yacht, humming as if this were the best day of her life. The deck grew quieter in her absence. Just the low caress of water against fiberglass, distantgulls croaking for French fries, and the soft clink of the rigging moving in the breeze.
Sette took a sip of her beer and set it down on the rail. “Well,” she said, not looking at Miquela at first. “This is familiar.”
“The dock?” Miquela asked.
“No. You and I standing in a place pretending we haven’t almost gone out before.”
Miquela shifted her weight, hip against the polished rail. “Ah. That.”
“Yes. That.” Sette finally met her gaze. “You put on a whole show pretending you didn’t know English to get me to go out to dinner with you.”
“And you declined,” Miquela said.
“I did.”
Silence stretched between them. The kind that felt like a door left slightly ajar. Everyone knew it was open. It should be closed. But nobody was in a hurry to get up and close it. Certainly not Sette. June’s words continued to echo in her head.“If you think you love me…”
“I was…” Sette exhaled. “Preoccupied.”
“With the mistress Zara mentioned?” Miquela asked, curious.
“Something like that.”
A flicker of understanding passed across Miquela’s face. “Ah.”
Sette got up and leaned her forearms on the rail beside her. Close enough now that she could catch that subtle perfume again.
“Hypothetically,” Sette began, aiming for casual and missing it by a mile, “if someone were to regret declining a previous invitation…”
“Hypothetically,” Miquela echoed, amused.
“…Would that invitation still be open?”
Miquela didn’t answer immediately. She studied Sette the way she probably studied half of the offers she received.Romantic orotherwise.This was a discerning businesswoman from a wealthy family. Of course, she was careful.
“I suppose it depends,” Miquela said, “on whether that someone is available anymore.”
The words hit closer than Sette expected.
“I wouldn’t waste your time,” Sette replied. “If I asked you out, it would be because I intend to show up.”
Another pause. The breeze lifted a strand of Miquela’s hair. She didn’t brush it away.
“What prompted this change of heart?”
June’s voice echoed in Sette’s mind.Date someone else. Be sure. Don’t decide based on the expensive fantasy she offers.
