“Biggest I’ve ever seen.”
“I swear it looked at me like it was judging my life choices.”
“Rays are notoriously judgmental.”
Her grin widens. “I knew it.”
We explore the reef in comfortable silence for another hour, the sun warm on our backs and the boat a short distance away. Ican’t remember the last time I felt this light, as if the weight I carry everywhere has been temporarily lifted. I can play it cool and tell myself it’s the lull of the ocean, but I’m pretty confident it has more to do with the woman next to me.
“Thank you again,” she says quietly when we finally begin swimming back to the boat. “For all of it.”
“Hold that thought. There’s still lunch, which will no doubt be exceptional, and you’ll feel obligated to say more nice things. I know how much that pains you.”
She splashes more water, and I give my head a shake in return, like a golden retriever after a dip in the lake.
“You know what’s weird?” she asks as she flips onto her back, eyes closed as she floats leisurely with her face toward the sky.
“Everything about this situation?” Particularly the fact that I can’t stop staring at your breasts, I add silently.
“The fact that, all evidence to the contrary, you’ve been...” She trails off, searching for the word.
“Tolerable?”
“I was going to say decent, but sure. Let’s go with tolerable.”
“High praise from you.”
“Damn right it is.”
“I’ll take it.” Fuck, I’ll take anything she’s willing to give.
Back on the boat, Antonia has set up lunch under the shaded canopy at the stern—a ceviche that practically melts on my tongue, tropical fruit arranged like edible art, and a salad with ingredients I trust are organic and locally sourced, because that’s what places like this do. There’s also a basket of warm bread that Avah falls on like she hasn’t eaten in days.
“This is incredible,” she says around a mouthful. “I can’t believe you live like this all the time.”
“You seem to be adapting.”
“Stockholm syndrome. It’s a known phenomenon.”
Wrapped in a fluffy white towel, her hair drying in salt-stiffened waves, she looks relaxed. The tensionthat seemed embedded in her shoulders has eased, and the shadows in her eyes are fading along with the bruise.
It’s doing something to me I’m not prepared to examine.
“So.” She spears a piece of mango with her fork. “Tell me about the Johnsons.”
“What about them?”
“You said you’re here to court their company. What’s so special about it?”
I take a drink of water, buying time. It’s not that I don’t want to tell her, I’m just not used to explaining myself to anyone who isn’t contractually obligated to listen.
“Is it covert ops?” she demands.
I shake my head. “Joel and Mariel Johnson built The NorthStar Way after they lost their teenage daughter to cancer.” I keep my voice neutral, but something in my chest tightens. “It started as an online community with education, support groups, and various resources for patients and families. They’ve scaled it to a full-blown healthcare ecosystem, and now want to venture into funding research and other platforms.”
“And you want to partner with them because of Sloane.”
It’s not a question, and of course, she’d assume that. It’s a logical conclusion given her friendship with my sister, and her limited knowledge of just about everything about me.
