A waiter came by, presented them with gently fizzing champagne flutes and took their dinner orders. As he glided off, Xander lifted his champagne and tilted it to Laurel. His gaze on her was warm.
“To this evening,” he said. “To your beauty, Laurel.” He paused. “I’ve missed it so much—”
He let his eyes rest on her, saw her expression waver. “And to our son. Our wonderful son!”
Her expression softened, and he went on, saying now what he wanted to be said. “And to us, Laurel.” He held her eyes, saw her expression change again, saw her withdraw.
“Us?” There was a twist in her voice. He heard it clearly. “There can’t be an ‘us,’ Xander.”
He set down his flute again. “There already is, Laurel.” His eyes never left her. “We can’t deny it, and I don’t want to. What caught fire between us seven years ago is still alight. Don’t try and say otherwise, because I won’t believe you.”
Her expression was troubled. “What difference does it make, whether I do or don’t? That bracelet—”
He made a sudden gesture, as if banishing that benighted bracelet to oblivion. “Laurel, we agreed that evening, after we lashed out at each other, that we had to put what happened in Greece aside. We did it then for Dan’s sake. Now—” he drew a breath “—we must do it for ours.”
She looked at him. If there was any expression in her face, it was sadness, he realised.
“How can we? You think me a liar and a thief.” There was more than sadness in her voice. There was what he’d seen at the farm park, a kind of weary defeat.
Carefully, he chose his words. “Laurel, I don’t know what made you do what you did, but—” he took a breath “—I do realise Olympia’s arrival was…difficult…for you.”
It had been difficult for him, too—a clash between two realities. The private idyll with Laurel, their hedonistic, carefree cruising from island to island, oblivious to everything else. Then Olympia’s unwelcome arrival, puncturing that world.
“But you know—” he looked at Laurel, wanting her to understand “—it was difficult for Olympia, too, discovering you on-board. I know she…sniped…at you, taunted you that she expected to be my bride, telling you on purpose that I’d given her that bracelet, making you jealous of her, perhaps, upset by her. So perhaps,” he spoke carefully, “perhaps that might…explain…why you were so tempted to take her bracelet.”
She was looking at him, and he could not read her expression. But he’d seen it before.
Guarded.
She spoke, her voice low, intentional.
“Xander, I never had any expectations about our time together for Olympia to puncture. It was a classic holiday romance, that was all. You bowled me over. How could you not? Gorgeous looks, private yacht, practised seduction, the whole glittering package! Lethal and loaded! Ideal, perfect, for a holiday romance!” Her expression changed, veiled suddenly. “Even without Olympia—or her wretched bracelet!—even though our time together might have lasted a little longer, it would have ended, just not so acrimoniously.” Her eyes held his. “We come from different worlds, Xander. Nothing could come of it but what did.”
She dropped her gaze. Reached, jerkily, for her champagne flute, took a mouthful, set it back down again, lifted her gaze to him again.
“Xander, I didn’t steal Olympia’s bracelet because she upset me by treating me like a good-time floozy. I didn’t steal it because I was jealous you’d given it to her. I didn’t steal it because I resented that she was going to be your wife. Because,” she said, “I didn’t steal it.”
Something moved in her eyes. “It’s…kind…of you to try and dream up…mitigating factors, if that’s what you’re doing. But they don’t apply.”
For a moment he said nothing. Then, “I don’t want to think of you as a thief, Laurel.”
His voice was low. The truth of what he’d just said filling it.
Because I don’t want her to be a thief! I don’t want it to be true!
“I want you to be the woman I knew seven years ago in Greece, the one I sailed away with.” His voice cleared. “The one I want so very much—” his eyes were holding hers again now, willing her to hear what he was saying “—to be here again with me this evening.”
He lifted his flute again, never letting go her eyes, holding them still as he gently touched his flute to hers as it rested in her hand.
“To this evening, Laurel. Just you and me, enjoying the treat our son was so eager for you to have.” He paused, wanting her to accept what he was saying. “Let’s just have this evening.”
He raised his glass to his lips, eyes never leaving hers.
Slowly, carefully, she raised her own glass. Saying nothing. But her silence, as she took a sip of her champagne to match his, surely was acquiescence.
He felt the tension that had mounted in him ease away. The bracelet, Olympia, his failed marriage—all were unimportant. Only having Laurel here again, like this, was important, was all that mattered to him, here, this evening.
His smile on her, as they lowered their glasses, was warm again, embracing.
