Out Too Farr

by Stein, Andrea K.

  “Worst apology ever,” Moj spat. “You don’t know me. You don’t know my life.”

  “But I do.” Rania felt like she was in a fight, and suddenly, no matter what, she was going to win. “I’ve spent a lot of time with rich, powerful men, and you are all the same. You run away into work to escape real life. I do the same thing with my engines. Dealing with engines is so much easier than people.”

  “So you want to fix me like you fix engines?” Moj asked, standing. “You really think that after one look, you can possibly do anything to help me? Well, Baby, I don’t need help.”

  Rania shot to her feet.

  “Don’t call me ‘Baby.’ My name is Rania. Ray-knee-uh. You obviously did need help. Tell me, when were you going to put the phone down and let the details take care of themselves?” She didn’t let him answer.

  “You were never going to stop. It was going to be one more thing. Then one more thing. Then one more thing. Your month away would be over, and you’d have missed out on all the beauty and peace. I was not going to let that happen.”

  Moj opened his mouth, then closed it. His jaw muscles clenched.

  “Listen. My life is my life, Ray-knee-uh. You have no business getting involved.”

  “Fine,” Rania said. “I’ll stay out of your way. You can go to hell with all your details. I hope you roast there.”

  She stormed away, breathing hard. What had gotten into her? Moj had unhinged her like no man before.

  “I can afford air conditioning!” Moj called after her. “I might be in hell, but goddammit, I’ll be comfortable there.”

  Rania stopped and swiveled around. “And that’s your problem. You can live in hell and be comfortable. Money can do a lot in this world, but it can’t buy peace and beauty. Open your eyes, Mr. Moj, before you lose everything.”

  That shut him up.

  Ha, she’d won. Kind of.

  Lindsay met her before she could get to her quarters.

  By the look on the captain’s face, Rania realized she had lost.

  * * *

  The Bonnie Blue was anchored for the night while stars sparkled both in the sky and on the water.

  Moj didn’t care about the peace or the beauty. He was far too full of rage.

  Cloude let out a sigh. “Will they or won’t they?”

  Moj spun around. “What did you say?”

  Cloude rose from the couch, as if she were escaping a prison, and lightly stepped over to Moj at the bow. Deck lights painted her face in soft colors.

  “Will they get together or won’t they? It’s a classic story question, and you see it a lot on TV. Like on Friends, Ross and Rachel, will they or won’t they?”

  “We won’t,” Moj growled. “Never.”

  “Oh, really.” Cloude touched his arm. “In season one of Wild Willamina, Tyler and Kayla totally hated each other. At first. In season two, they totally got together. Then they broke up in season three and got back together in season four.”

  “That is not what’s going to happen to me,” Moj said. He knew the old story, but it wasn’t his story and never had been. He liked women who melted into his life seamlessly, where he could watch over and take care of them. Like Fiona.

  “The point is, passion like that is undeniable. Like the song, ‘There’s a Thin Line Between Love and Hate’ by The Persuaders from 1971.” Cloude was quick to quote musicians and years and song titles. It was kind of her thing, when she wasn’t finding wisdom from Disney’s hit tween comedy.

  “That’s all just song stuff,” Moj said. “Real love is different. I’ve felt it. Fiona and I, we were together a long time.”

  “The F-word,” Cloude said. “Isn’t that what Bronwyn calls her?”

  “She can. You can’t.” Moj inhaled. “And I need to talk about her. When we met, we were at a Grammys after-party, and she was just some actress on her way down, from what people said, but I didn’t care about all the celebrity shit. And I never cared about a Grammy —”

  Cloude cut him off. “As if you wouldn’t love to win the gold.”

  “It would be nice, but the awards aren’t why I do what do.” Moj took in a deep breath. “So Fiona, her health, you know, was never good, and yet she was so brave and strong. She lived feeling awful for a long time, and I was there, to do what I could, which wasn’t much. Still, we fit together.”

  “You’re dealing with people, not puzzle pieces.” Cloude said, and wrinkled her nose. “That came out a little harsh. You’re still grieving Fiona, I get that, but maybe Rania is just what you need. She is not going to fit into your life.

  “You’re missing a piece of the puzzle, a big weird-shaped hole, and she is like a donut, and you’re not going to jam her into place. Not like our arrangement.”

  “You’re still fine with our arrangement, right?” Moj asked, a little uncertain. Women like Cloude could change their minds like they changed shoes. And rumor had it she was gay.

  “My little piece in your big puzzle?” Cloude turned up her nose. “I’m fine with it. But if you have any chance with Rania, you are going to have to tell her the truth about us.”

  “I won’t need to,” Moj said. “Lindsay said after the apology, Rania is going to be out of the equation. She’ll be down fixing her engines since she can’t fix me.”

  “‘Fix You’ by Coldplay from 2005. Good song.” Cloude said with a laugh. “So we go back to will they or won’t they, and I’m betting they will. She is super fine, and anyone who can stand up to you is bound to see your bedroom.”

  An image of Rania on a bed filled his brain. Her skin, so sleek and smooth, the fierce shine in her eyes, her swaying breasts and curvaceous hips. Her strength, defiance, and beauty would be so seductive. His mouth went dry, and he took control of his emotions.

  “She is not going to see my bedroom,” he said. “And we are done talking about her.”

  “Yes, sir!” Cloude saluted him and kept on smiling. “You know, she is going to get in wicked trouble for her apology. We both know she did the right thing in throwing your phone into the deep. Go find the captain before the love interest gets fired.”

  “She is not the love interest,” Moj said.

  Cloude quirked an eyebrow at him. “Really. Then everything I learned on Wild Willamina was a lie. ‘Don’t Go Breakin’ My Heart,’ Dionne Warwick, 1965.”

  “Don’t you mean Elton John and Kiki Dee?” Moj asked.

  “Not the version I like,” Cloude said impishly. “See, you don’t know everything. Go and save Rania. You’ll thank me.”

  Moj went. He liked the idea of saving Rania. Actually, he liked the idea of Rania on a bed even more. Cloude had infected him, but he was enjoying the infection.

  * * *

  Before Lindsay could chastise Rania, Moj found them outside Rania’s quarters.

  Seeing the huge man coming through the corridor filled Rania with a kind of tense anxiety. He was big, muscled, handsome, but the connection had been severed. She had to get her head out of his business and back into engineering.

  “Linds,” Moj said, “I wanted to come and thank you both. Rania was right. I was never going to get off the phone. All is forgiven there.”

  Lindsay opened her mouth to comment, but Rania beat her to it.

  “No, Moj, I shouldn’t have done it. Really, I was out of bounds. You were right, I don’t know you.”

  “Maybe you do,” Moj said.

  His eyes lingered on Rania, and she felt their power.

  “You knew me well enough to get rid of my phone.” Moj glanced away. “Anyway, I wanted to let you know I appreciate it. I was going to get on with Prince’s people tonight, to talk about a tribute album for charity, but it’s going to have to wait.”

  Lindsay glanced at Moj, back to Rania, back to Moj.

  Heat colored Rania’s face, but she wasn’t going to show any emotion.

  “So, are you good?” Lindsay asked.

  “Just fine,” Moj said.

  “And you, Rania?” Lindsay g
ave her a long, severe look.

  “Fine as well.” Rania added a nod and pretended she wasn’t dying of embarrassment. Why was Moj being nice? And could Lindsay feel the crazy energy filling the air?

  “Okay, then,” Lindsay said. “As you were.” She moved down the hallway and out of sight.

  The corridor seemed to shrink around them, becoming very small and very hot. The AC should be kicking on at any minute. It was running perfectly. She had just checked the unit.

  “Prince, like in the musician, right?” Rania asked, though who else could it be? Such a dumb question.

  “Same one, God rest his soul,” Moj said. He leaned in closer, and Rania could smell his aftershave and the sweat of the day, salty from the sea breeze.

  Rania swallowed hard. The man’s eyes drank her in, and she returned his stare. She felt small and exposed.

  “Why are you being nice?” she asked, her breath coming quickly.

  “I’m seeing you in a whole new light,” Moj said. “And I liked saving the day. Cloude set me right.”

  At the mention of the waif, Rania stepped back. “Cloude, you and her, you’re together.”

  “No,” Moj said. “We don’t have a relationship, we have an arrangement. We pretend to be together so the paparazzi has something to chew on. Pretty sure she’s gay, but it helps her career, and it keeps me from explaining why I’m not dating.”

  “Because of Fiona,” Rania whispered, though she didn’t quite remember what had happened to Moj’s wife.

  Moj nodded.

  “Yeah, because of her. But she’s gone.” His hand strayed to his chest, to the wedding rings hanging from the gold chain.

  “I’m sorry,” Rania said. She thought for a minute about the arrangement, and it made sense. The paparazzi did eat it up; even she had jumped to the conclusion. It kept Moj safe.

  He looked away; Rania wanted his eyes on her. Without thinking, she took his chin in her hand and looked into his eyes, so brown, so full of magic and life.

  “I was serious about the phone. I am sorry. I had no right.”

  He gently took her hand from his face and held it for a minute. His fingers were huge compared with hers. His arm was the size of her thigh. What a playground he would be. Rania felt a tingle swerve through her body and coalesce between her legs. Every cell seemed to spark.

  “Fuck the phone,” Moj said, his voice deep and commanding. “Tell me about you.”

  “Me?” Rania blinked, and her mind went blank. What could she say? Giving him her whole history would shatter the moment, and she didn’t want to lose the connection she was feeling.

  “Yeah, you,” Moj said. “Lindsay says you’re some kind of genius engineer. She listed off all these schools, one in Sweden, I think. I got lost after the first two.”

  “Only two,” Rania said. “I liked school because it was simple compared to people. As you can see, I’m not very socially graceful.”

  “I am,” Moj said, “and it doesn’t make it any easier. People are complicated, complex, and they want one thing, even when they go after the exact opposite. I use that in my music, layers of conflict and forbidden desires.”

  Rania placed her hands against his chest. The feeling of his body touching hers made her heart beat faster. It felt so right.

  “Forbidden desires? I like the sound of that.”

  Moj grinned. He took his fingers and brushed a wisp of hair out of Rania’s face. “Forbidden fruit. You know, tastes the sweetest.”

  Rania couldn’t breathe, talking about this, with this man, who towered over her. She wanted to feel his lips on hers, to kiss him and drink him in, his taste, his smell, his skin. To let him see her, every part of her.

  In truth? She was being silly. She was not going to get involved in a shipboard romance, not when she was already on such thin ice with Lindsay. Maybe if she hadn’t thrown the phone into the ocean, maybe if she hadn’t had to apologize for her apology, maybe she could tell Moj she wanted nothing more than to kiss him and let him take her.

  The reality was, any kind of romance with Moj would have to wait until after his vacation, and by that time, he’d be back on his phone and back to work.

  More than that, Rania couldn’t let herself be devoured by the media. Her past would be exposed, every detail, and she wouldn’t be Rania Elsaeid anymore. She’d be Moj’s Egyptian girlfriend who was, gasp, Muslim.

  Step back here a minute, she warned herself. Who did she think she was? An international celebrity in love with her?

  And then there was Nassef Youssef Fayed to consider, always him, his specter haunting her every step.

  Moj stepped in closer, raised her face with a finger, and Rania felt a magnetic pull, could tell he was going in for the kiss.

  What did Moj really want?

  More importantly, why did she want him to do it?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Moj couldn’t believe what he was doing.

  He had his fingers on Rania’s chin, lifting her face to him, and he felt the pull to kiss her, like an ocean tide pulled by the moon.

  Moj leaned in, unable to breathe. He was so hard he thought he might be causing himself permanent damage.

  A slim hand fell on his chest.

  “I can’t,” Rania whispered.

  The spell was broken. Moj stepped back. He felt himself soften as the embarrassment and guilt set in. Then he started rambling. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. Really, I came to talk. I’m sorry.”

  Rania caught his hand. “If things were different, I would be kissing you right now. It’s just that shipboard romances… the drama… I don’t want to mess things up with Lindsay. I love the Bonnie Blue. So, I just can’t.”

  The air conditioning kicked in, and Moj was glad. He was sweating everywhere.

  “I can’t, either,” Moj said. “But can we be friends?” He curled his fingers around her hand, so light-skinned and delicate in comparison.

  “Friends,” she said quickly. “And I’m serious about paying for the phone.”

  Moj squeezed her hand gently and let go. He moved back down the corridor to his suite. He threw a grin over his shoulder. “Told you. Fuck the phone. I’m on vacation.”

  Once on deck, Moj wanted to yell into the night. Instead, he stripped off his shirt. The sun was gone, and the moon was only a smudge on the horizon. The Bonnie Blue’s anchor chain and deck lights sent spikes of light into the water. Everything else was darkness.

  Moj was glad. He dropped his pants next to the ladder, kicked off his Hugo Boss underwear into the pile of clothes. Then he took three steps and dove off the ship into the darkness of the warm water.

  If there were sharks in the water, let them come. Maybe he deserved to be eaten.

  How stupid, going for Rania like that. What had he been thinking? He’d come on vacation to clear his head, not muck it up with a fling. But her touch had triggered him, had sent his heart rate soaring and damn, he’d gotten hard just being near her. When had that happened last?

  Fiona, at the Grammys. That was when.

  Fiona was the problem, here. Every time he felt himself drawn to a woman, he felt so guilty. But how long should he wait?

  Don’t be alone, Fiona had said. Find someone else to take care of. Find someone to love again. Promise me. Promise me.

  Moj hadn’t been able to make that promise. He’d left Fiona on the hospital bed, went to yell at the doctors again, to force them to heal her. He’d left her, thinking she would hold on to life a little longer, but in the end, death had come calling, and he hadn’t been there.

  All those months leading up to that moment, all of the doubts about her health had driven him insane. He’d questioned whether she was a hypochondriac or whether she was only seeking attention when her movie career hit the skids.

  He’d returned with the doctor, and it had been too late. She was gone and the truth laid bare. She’d been sick a long, long time.

  Moj drove his arms through the water, kicking as hard as he could, barely
feeling the water on his naked body.

  As his muscles worked, his mind cleared. Moj’s father had been a swimmer and had taught his son that if all else failed, flat-out physical exercise did wonders for the mind and soul.

  Moj had grown up swimming in the Rosenblatt Pool at Oxford University. When his parents split and Moj moved with his mom to Tampa Bay, he’d found a YMCA, far less posh but no less effective.

  He stopped swimming and treaded water, two hundred yards from the Bonnie Blue. The deck lights gleamed like candles, offering hope in all the darkness.

  He lay on his back and let the seawater hold him. The scattering stars swept across the sky. He felt the chain around his neck and the wedding rings tickling his chest. He never took them off, never.

  “How can I let you go, Fi?” he asked the glimmering blanket above.

  By finding someone else to love. By finding someone else to hold and protect. That was what Fiona would’ve said.

  “But Rania is worried about losing her job,” Moj shouted at the silent sky.

  Who’s paying the bills?

  That wasn’t Fiona talking. That was his mom. Both women were probably in heaven, looking down, laughing at him as he floated naked on his back in the middle of the Indian Ocean.

  He took in a deep breath. “Not sure I can move on, Fi. And Mom, I might be paying for the cruise, but we both know I don’t have much say when Captain Lindsay is in charge. She is one tough bitch.”

  You’re tougher.

  Moj doubted that. He’d seen Lindsay in action.

  Mom had an answer.

  You have to be tougher. You have to move on.

  Promise me. Promise me. Fiona’s last words to him. He’d left the room to find the doctors, and when they came back, she was gone. She’d died without him, almost as if she wanted to leave in private.

  He swam back to the Bonnie Blue.

  It wasn’t about the guilt, he decided. Fiona had made it clear she wanted him to love again. No, he was afraid. What if Rania was taken from him? What if she didn’t love him?

  He doubted he could survive losing another woman in his care. He’d lost his mom, he’d lost Fiona, and he couldn’t lose anyone else.