Best Friend to Princess Bride
Page 18
He had enough time to have a quick talk with Mariah and Adrien and then relax with a glass of wine at the Mercury Bar on Deck Ten. No, he would head to the bar first. Mariah would probably be wondering what was taking him so long, but until she texted, he was just going to take advantage of having some time to himself.
* * *
As the elevator opened on Deck Eight, Vance caught a flash of auburn hair among a group of people walking down the hall. He felt his pulse jack up. And then another flash of fuchsia above snug-fitting white jeans. It was her. He smiled apologetically when he realized that several elderly women were waiting for him to move to the back of the elevator so they could enter.
Moments later, Vance leaned back in a lounging chair in the Mercury Bar, savoring one of the ship’s premium wines. It would kick off his week-long holiday after an intense nine months taking over Zodiac Cruises, his parents’ company. Even though he had initially balked when his mother had mentioned plans for a special cruise to formally hand over the reins of the company to him, Vance was looking forward to finally having some time to unwind.
Nine months ago, the life Vance had known and enjoyed had shattered. His father had had a heart attack after a family dinner. Before he had taken his last breaths, he had managed to tell his family that he loved them.
Vance swallowed hard. The man who had spent so much time away from home—and had relinquished parenting to build his business—had looked at him with piercing clarity for a few moments and rasped, “I’m sorry, son. For everything I said or didn’t say to you. For not being there for you as you were growing up. I... I wanted to build the company for my family. Now I leave it in your hands... Will you take it on, son?”
Vance had felt a sharp twinge in his own chest at his father’s words, and he had instinctively realized that he needed to forgive his father. The wall he had constructed around his heart over the years, brick by brick, had to give. But something had lodged in Vance’s throat, preventing him from expressing any feelings, and when his father passed seconds later, Vance was flooded by guilt that he had not given his father the satisfaction of knowing that he had forgiven him—or at least that he would try to forgive him—and that he would carry on with the company.
That was what his dad had always wanted, to have him working alongside him, learning the ropes and eventually taking over when he decided to retire. But Vance had balked from the beginning, always feeling a disconnect with the man who had barely been around in his youth.
And how could the concrete barrier around his heart even begin to give after decades of reinforcement? His father’s quickly uttered words to him as he approached the end of his life were too little and too late.
Getting involved in the company had been the furthest thing from Vance’s mind. In high school, when his father had urged him—on one of his rare home visits—to do his community service hours at Zodiac Cruises’ headquarters, Vance had declined, preferring to volunteer at a nearby art gallery. His time there had reinforced his interest in the art world, and the sketches he had shown his father to prove his intentions to pursue art at university had met with barely concealed scorn.
“You’ve got to be joking.” His father’s sharp laugh as he had tossed Vance’s scrapbook aside dismissively had struck him as if he had lunged a fist into his chest. Vance still remembered how he had wobbled backward a couple of steps, slack-jawed and speechless.
“Are you telling me you’d rather be a starving artist?” His father’s eyes, resembling gray storm clouds, had bored into Vance. “Don’t be a fool.” And then he had abruptly left, telling his wife that he had lost his appetite and wasn’t going to stay for dinner.
Vance winced at the memory. His father had been harsh with him, but Vance had refused to buckle and eventually graduated with a master of fine arts degree, receiving the highest honors and a substantial monetary prize from the department. His mother had been at his graduation ceremony, and the look of pride in her glistening eyes had moved him, but her effusive words of praise and congratulations could not make up for the fact that his father had not bothered to show up.
Within a few months, a prestigious art gallery in Toronto’s historic Distillery District had hired Vance as assistant curator, and his work there, along with his travels, had kept him quite occupied, with very little time to visit his mother save for the occasional Sunday dinner.
The dinner that had proven to be his father’s last had turned out to be the same as previous occasions—the atmosphere tinged with tension, stilted conversation and a formality that was never present when he was alone with his mother. Seeing his father—whom he had always categorized as tough and uncompromising—reduced to such a vulnerable and conciliatory state had been a shock. His father’s deathbed request had immobilized him, and Vance had barely had time to process the request before his father passed.
Vance took a gulp of wine. He had never wanted to get involved in the family business, but the irony was that after the funeral, Vance had spent every waking moment trying to prove himself worthy of following in his father’s footsteps. For his mother’s sake, he had tried to convince himself repeatedly. He was doing it for her, to keep the business running as smoothly as possible. And maybe to assuage the guilt that had surfaced knowing he hadn’t given his father the satisfaction of a positive response to his last request as he had taken his last breaths.
And to do the job properly, it meant that he had had to temporarily give up the lifestyle he had previously enjoyed, which his father had not approved of. And his job at the art gallery.
It had been too late to make a vow to his father, but not too late for Vance to carry out his promise to himself.
So for the last nine months, Vance had worked twelve-hour days at headquarters in Toronto and had undertaken several cruises, mentored by every department head of Zodiac Cruises. He had been surprised at how much he had enjoyed learning the workings of the business, and he had started to think of ways that he could put his art and history background to good use in the company...
His mother had planned this cruise to officially acknowledge Vance in his new position. “Your father wanted this, remember?” she had reminded him several times when he had claimed that he didn’t have time. “His dream was to pass the reins as president of Zodiac Cruises over to you himself one day...”
Vance felt a fresh stab of grief and the familiar swirl of guilt in his gut. What had he really known about his father’s dreams? His feelings toward his father were so convoluted. He was sure that he had felt every possible emotion when it came to his dad: bitterness, disappointment, abandonment, even hate in his adolescent years. He had never understood the man...a man who had chosen work over family.
What’s done is done, he told himself. He had another drink of his wine and willed the memory of his father’s last moments to vanish. As soon as that image had dissipated, green-hazel eyes flashed in Vance’s memory. Why did his thoughts keep returning to her? For nine months, he had stayed clear of women, focused entirely on the company. He hadn’t agreed to take a break and go on this cruise with the notion of resuming his past lifestyle...
And yet he had impulsively told her he’d like to buy her a drink. What the hell had he been thinking? And he had completely ignored the clear fact that she was engaged. Vance scowled. It was obvious that his playboy habits hadn’t been completely extinguished...
He couldn’t help wondering what her fiancé was like. Did he run his fingers through that blaze of hair? Did it get wild and tangled when they—?
Taking a deep breath, Vance forced the image out of his mind. He should have never agreed to this cruise. It was frivolous, considering the projects that needed his attention back at Zodiac headquarters...
Vance rolled his neck to one side and then the other. Maybe after the emergency drill, he’d relax in his private whirlpool. He felt tense around his shoulders, and the warm jets would be a welcome relief...
A bit later on, he’d either order room service for dinner or they could dine at one of the specialty restaurants if Mariah preferred.
And then they would proceed to the Milky Way Theater, where the ship’s troupe of dancers and singers would be performing a medley of songs from the ’60s to the ’80s. Classic hits from iconic singers. It was a great first-night show, and he would be giving a brief welcome to the audience before it started.
And maybe the Sagittarian might not be there to distract him...
Copyright © 2020 by Rosanna Battigelli
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ISBN: 9781488065033
Best Friend to Princess Bride
Copyright © 2020 by Katrina Cudmore
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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