“That’s for sure,” Katherine says, slipping her arm through my mother’s. “But think of the story you’ll be able to tell at the club when you get back home. It’ll put Cheryl’s debacle of having to fly commercial to St. Barts to shame.”
“Where are the welcome drinks?” George scoffs, his gruff voice booming behind me. I turn and find that he too is not wearing a life jacket. Great. Another person I’m going to have to take care of.
“Food and drinks are going to be provided after we reach our destination,” Meredith explains, but her sweet smile isn’t enough to placate my mother.
“And who is going to be providing the food?” Susan retorts. “A private chef, I hope.”
“Don’t worry, ma’am. Tonya and I got a load of great grub in the cooler,” Bo chimes in, not helping the situation.
My mother’s eyes widen. “You’re going to be the one cooking?”
“I’m more of a sous chef, but Tonya’s been called a grill master a time or two,” he says, clasping his hands together, a joyful smile on his face as if he’s given us a gift.
George crosses his arms over his linen suit, a scowl on his face. Unlike my mother, who voices her opinions loudly and often, George is more of the stoic silent type. But when he has something to say, everyone knows it.
My mother is already digging into her purse to pop a Xanax as George’s voice cuts across the crowded boat. “Grant, can I have a word?”
There’s a coldness in his tone that sends shivers down my spine, and for a second, I actually feel bad for my stepbrother. Grant straightens his shoulders in an effort to hide his inebriation as I slink off and away from the inevitable confrontation.
Like its namesake, the Snake River curves through the landscape, each curve leading its visitors to golden rock formations and dusty clifftops. While the guests stare out into the distance, appreciating all the river has to offer, my attention is focused on Mira. She’s standing at the stern, peeling bangs off her sweaty forehead, her lips pressed together in a thin line. Even though she’s captured weddings across the world, I know being here, with me and my family, is a little outside of her element. I know I should look away, to give her space, but this is the woman I woke up every morning excited to text, who made my six-hour shifts fly by, that I shared almost everything with, and now she’s standing a few feet away and I can’t even talk to her.
I try to ignore her, to focus on making sure my mother doesn’t go overboard, but as guests shuffle about the vessel, eager to catch the breeze or take in the picturesque scenery, I find myself migrating towards her.
I don’t know if it’s because her presence here has taken me by surprise, or if it’s because I’m used to seeing her in jeans, but my eyes trail over her legs, the shorts she’s wearing making them look endless as she stands against the bow of the boat. Leaning forward, her hands against the railing, she holds up her phone to take a photo, and I catch a glimpse of her black lace bra underneath her shirt thanks to the sodden life jacket that’s made the silk garment completely see-through. My brain oscillates between offering her my jacket to cover up and remembering what that lace felt like underneath my fingertips.
Closing my eyes, I let the breeze brush against my face and calm my thoughts, but all it does is waft the scent of her hairtowards me, a concoction of orange and honey that makes me grip the railing even harder.
“Excuse me,” Meredith’s great-aunt says, coming up beside me holding a pair of binoculars. “Would you mind scooting over? I’m trying to see if I can spot any black-billed magpies.”
She doesn’t wait for me to slide down before she pushes in, and I find myself elbow to elbow with Mira.
She glares at me, unyielding, and I understand this is yet another one of my many missteps.
“Mira,” I say, a hitch in my voice, but she holds up a hand to stop me.
“We don’t have to have this conversation right now. Honestly, we don’t ever have to speak again.” She crosses her arms over her chest, turning her back to me.
“Please, I owe you an explanation.”
Her eyes are dark, tactile, ready to destroy me with a laser beam of loathing.
“You should save whatever energy you’re going to use on this excuse and channel it into an apology to your girlfriend, who seems lovely and beautiful and who has no reason to be with a lying cheater such as yourself.” Her voice drips with animosity. “And I want you to know if we weren’t stuck in a room together, I would tell her what happened. So I’m giving you a choice. Confess that you’re a scumbag.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Oh, I do though,” she whispers, her tone still razor-sharp. “You flirted with me for months, waited for your girlfriend to be out of town to get into my pants, and I fell for it. All I can hope is that it was the best sex of your life and that it haunts you until the day you die, because I promise you will never, ever be experiencing it again.”
“Mira, you have this all wrong. We didn’t—” I say, my mind trying to determine which misunderstanding to clear up first. “Katherine and I ... we aren’t—”
But before I can finish my sentence, the boat jolts forward, and she stumbles into my arms.
13 Mira
I lunge forward, gripping onto Hudson’s shoulders, as he stares down at me in concern, his hands pressing against my back to keep my steady. For a moment we stay there, his face mere inches away from mine.
Falling into his arms is an involuntary response to almost going overboard, but enjoying the way his fingers move against my spine, sending goosebumps down my arms, is just the universe’s way of punishing me for my sins. I shouldn’t have these feelings. I shouldn’t want to move the stray hair from his forehead, or breathe in the scent of rain against his skin. But it’s not like I knew he had a girlfriend. If I had, I never would have entertained the idea of us. I would have gotten my drink, read my book, shot the shit with Lilah, and gone home. I would have never texted him, or flirted, or stayed late at the bar. And I definitely wouldn’t have daydreamed about us going to farmers’ markets or whiling away rainy afternoons on the couch in each other’s arms. If anything, these lingering feelings are his fault. He wormed his way into my psyche, into my life, into my heart, and for what? A one-night stand?
I knew men would go to great lengths for sex but this felt too much.
