by Stacy Travis
“What’s this?” I asked.
He turned around. “Oh, I asked Clothilde to grab some clothes when she was in town earlier. I know I turned your city vacation upside down when I invited you out to the beach, so I suspected you might not have brought anything.”
It was a nice gesture, but it bothered me. “You could have asked.” I realized it didn’t sound particularly grateful, but I couldn’t help it.
“I didn’t think you’d have a problem with it. I apologize. Next time I’ll ask,” he said like that was the end of the discussion.
I wasn’t sure I was satisfied, and I felt myself suddenly wanting to go back to Paris, back to a vacation I controlled. I wasn’t accustomed to having things done for me, especially when they were being done on the assumption that I couldn’t possibly do them right on my own. I knew he was just trying to be a good host, but I couldn’t help feeling like a project, someone he was trying to mold into the kind of person he was used to entertaining.
“I just… I feel like you’re anticipating all the ways I’m not going to be able to keep up with you and trying to cut me off at the pass before I embarrass myself. And you.”
He turned around from the computer, where he was checking something, looking surprised. “Why would you think that?” He got up and moved in front of me. He gently tipped my chin up so I couldn’t help but look at him, and the expression on his face was serious and caring. “Have I done something to make you think you embarrass me in any way?”
I thought about it. “I guess just the fact that you know I wouldn’t have the right thing to wear to your movie premiere or the right clothes to go on a boat… it just makes me feel like you’re doing everything you can—and it’s really so nice—to make me fit into your world.”
“Please stop calling it my world. I don’t have a world. I live on planet earth just like you. But I do tend to move quickly and make decisions and push forward to the next thing, so this was a moment of thinking you might need a bathing suit. Then, I assure you, my mind was someplace else in very short order.”
He ran a hand through his hair, which was slicked back and sexy. He was ruining it with each finger that loosened it and ruffled it up. I didn’t want to be the cause of the ruin. “I just assumed you didn’t bring a ball gown and resort wear. I apologize.”
“No, I mean you’re right that I didn’t bring those things. I never in a million years imagined that I’d need them. It’s more that you’re anticipating everything I’m missing before I even realize it.”
“Like I’m expecting you to come up short? Is that how you feel?”
I nodded. That was exactly it. So maybe this wasn’t the first time he’d found himself overstepping on behalf of someone else. Or maybe he was just figuring out how it felt to live inside my head.
He sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m just… bad at this.” It wasn’t what I was expecting him to say.
“Bad at what?”
He closed his eyes for a moment, then let out a deep sigh. “Knowing the right thing to do for a woman I’m interested in.” He looked at me like this was a big admission. The truth was, I’d had that impression. That morning, before Chris was awake, I’d done a little web surfing to learn more about this superhero man who I felt like I was getting to know but who was still a mystery.
He’d had his share of tabloid stories linking him to a long list of actresses, including photos of them on red carpets all over the world. And for each blurb suggesting he’d started dating someone, a week later there would be speculation that the real woman in his life was a different actress, based on a new set of photos. It seemed like always had dates, but he didn’t really date any of them for long periods.
There were even a few murky images where it wasn’t even clear who he was with or if in fact he was the one sneaking a kiss in the back booth of a restaurant, but it didn’t seem to stop the tabloids from plastering the images all over their magazines with gossipy headlines about his “latest flame” or his trail of broken hearts.
I’d pushed away my initial instinct, which had me feeling jealous of those other women. After working in public relations, I knew better than to fall for the publicity machine fueled by the very film studios that made millions by keeping Chris’s name in headlines. The articles were clearly there for the purpose of ginning up interest in the magazines or Chris or whomever he supposedly was linked with. It all felt fake and reminded me why I never took on actors as clients at the PR firm. I’d never been interested in that scene.
And here I was, dipping a toe into it. But not really. The time I’d spent with Chris—except for the luxury that surrounded me at his house—was about as removed from celebrity life as it could get.
It was my turn to take his hand and try to make him feel better. “Look, you’re so sweet to think of me and worry about my vacationing needs. And I appreciate it, I really do. It just feels a little, I don’t know… just not me. I don’t wear caftans and expensive bathing suits,” I said, picking up the maillot. I held it up, imagining how it might look on me.
“You don’t have to. You can wear whatever you want. I just thought you might want to swan around like the jet set and drink champagne in your caftan.”
I recalled our conversation at the restaurant, where I had been enthralled with the woman in the caftan. He was just trying to do what he thought I’d want. “How about if I swan around in my daisy dukes instead, but take you up on the champagne?”
“Deal.” He pulled me in and kissed me, doing his best to undo all the effort I’d made to tuck my T-shirt into my belted shorts. Pulling my T-shirt over my head, he took in the black string bikini top. “I like this,” he said, his eyes roaming over my cleavage like he was formulating an undressing-me plan.
“I’m glad.”
He ran his hand along my waist and I shuddered. It was the heat of his hand combined with his whisper-soft touch on my skin. He kissed my breasts through the fabric of the bikini top, which was somehow hotter and sexier than had he taken it off. His hot breath on the column of my throat made me moan and tilt my head back to give him better access. “You make me crazy,” I breathed, feeling my brains sailing away without me on a boat of Chris’s making.
“Good,” he whispered. “Fair’s fair.”
He kissed my lips gently, then took my hand and led me back to the peaches and pastries. “Have some breakfast.”
“Okay, but you’d better be right about the calm water. I don’t want to eat all this, then toss my cookies.”
“It’s as calm as a lake. And I think you’ll like the boat.”
“I’m very interested in her four-meter beam,” I said. He laughed and kissed me again.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Mary Celeste, on the Mediterranean Sea
It turned out four meters was the width of the boat. And she was one of the loveliest sea creatures I’d ever seen, spanning more than sixty-five feet from bow to stern. The Mary Celeste was white with polished wood trim and navy-blue seat cushions and its sails still furled while it sat bobbing in the slip. The mast loomed above us, with a tiny weathervane contraption on top that was spinning around.
The boat had a French flag mounted on the back, where a nice seating area had already been set up with navy cushions on all the benches and a tray of sliced bread and assorted cheeses on a wooden board.
Chris introduced me to Louis, the captain, and to the two crew members who would sail the boat while we lounged around like tourists. “I thought I was going to be working on this boat,” I said.
“You want to work?” Louis asked in accented English. “I will put you to work.” He winked. I wasn’t sure whether I was scared of him or not. He seemed nice, but I’d heard captains could be mean if you didn’t use boat terminology or respect the dangers of the sea.
“Later maybe. She can get a lesson once we’re out of the harbor,” Chris said, leading me to a seat on the bench. “I figured I’d get you started on your champagne drinking, but Louis loves to teac
h, so if you have questions, ask him. Or ask me, and I’ll translate.”
They got busy untying lines and talking to each other in a language I didn’t understand, even though some of it was in English. “Can you secure the traveler?” Louis asked Chris after he’d returned from below deck with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. Chris did something with a rope then pressed down on something else.
We sat on our appointed bench, and I watched everything Louis was doing at his perch behind the large steering wheel. He was fiddling with dials, and it looked like he was checking readings of something.
“Is he making sure this thing is seaworthy?” I asked, trying to sound casual despite my nerves. The truth was, I had never been on a sailboat, and the sight of the giant mast made me think of pirate movies where boats were plundered and ended up at the bottom of the ocean. I knew that probably wasn’t what Chris had in mind, but I couldn’t fight the image.
“Oh, she’s seaworthy.”
“That’s right, she’s a female.”
“She’s my favorite one here. I don’t go on any of the others,” he said, looking out across the marina, where each boat was larger and more elegant than the last.
“So this isn’t your boat?”
“Nope. Maybe someday, though.”
Now that he had the house here, I felt certain the boat wouldn’t be far behind. I couldn’t blame him. If I could afford the life he had, I’d be looking at boats too.
Louis and the crew began pulling the boat carefully out of the slip and motoring through the harbor while Chris and I hung out on the deck in back and drank cold champagne and tasted the cheeses. I couldn’t stop until I’d tried every one. Once we’d made it out past the boat slips, Louis turned into the channel that would take us into open water. Then he turned off the motor, and they started unfurling the sails.
Louis was yelling orders, the two crew members were pulling on ropes and cranking levers, and moments later, a huge white sail flapped above our heads. Louis yelled some more, and they pulled and cranked again until the sail stopped fluttering and caught a bit of the wind. Then they unfurled the one in front, which I later learned was the jib, letting its triangular shape help the other sail gather wind that was beginning to guide the boat.
“Okay. We’re sailing,” Chris said, leaning back on the bench seat and putting an arm around me. Louis had stopped yelling, and the crew had settled into positions near the ropes they’d later work on. It was almost silent on the water, the wind pushing us along and the boat tipping to one side as we picked up speed.
Despite its enormous size, the boat moved with such quiet grace that I almost couldn’t believe it was completely powered by wind. I’d been on a few motorboats pulling water skiers and associated the noise of the ripping motor with being on the water.
The boat tipped to almost a forty-five-degree angle to the water, and I tensed up, feeling like it could easily overturn. “Is it supposed to do that?”
“Yes. It’s called heeling,” Chris said. “The wind pushes the sails, and it takes the boat with it. If you can relax into it, it’s like being in a recliner.”
“I don’t know if I can relax, because all I can think about is tipping over.”
“It’s impossible. The boat has a keel on the bottom.”
“I’m not really a seafaring lass. What’s a keel?” I asked.
“It’s a huge iron counterweight that hangs down into the water. If the boat leans over too far, the keel will always right it. Trust me, no one’s tipping over.” He held my hand reassuringly.
I decided to trust him. I looked at the boats out on the water, some twice the size of this one, all well-appointed with leather seats and technical contraptions and polished wood. I doubted anybody would spend the kind of money it cost to own a boat if it could easily tip over. After a few sips of champagne and the breeze blowing on my face, I fully relaxed.
We were headed into pale-blue water more brilliant than any I’d ever seen on the California coast. The color grew only slightly deeper as we moved farther from land. As the French coastline receded behind us, I felt a sense of calm wash over me with the endless possibilities of an open sea.
“I could get used to this,” I said, getting comfortable on the seat and feeling my shoulders unclench as I breathed in the salt air and absorbed the quiet.
“Aaah. Right?”
“Oh yeah. It’s a good life if you can swing it.”
“Finally, she gets it!” he said. “I knew something about this week would grab ahold of you.”
“Are you kidding? Everything about this week has been incredible. But that was never the goal. I hope you haven’t been trying to impress me, because the whole point was to spend time together. We could have done that anywhere.”
He looked at me like he couldn’t understand how it could be so simple. “Well, true. But this is a little more fun, isn’t it?”
“It’s a lot more fun.” I curled up closer to him and looked at him from the side, this generous, mellow guy who’d swept me out of Paris on a private jet and who’d been the perfect companion for the past few days. Was he for real?
He brushed back a strand of hair that had blown loose from behind my ear then ran a hand down my arm. Each time his fingers grazed my skin, I felt the same shiver of attraction, the same destructive heat. While a small part of me felt like it was a good thing we had finite time together because he was awfully distracting, a bigger part of me wanted to stay next to him forever.
Whoa! Slow down, missy.
I had to remind my fantasizing brain that this was a summer fling. There would be no forever. Neither of us needed to say that out loud to know it was true. He’d go back to New York and the jets that took him to movie sets all over the world, and I’d go back to LA and the pretty decent life I’d built for myself there. Eventually, maybe I’d meet someone I liked half as much as I liked Chris. Better to calibrate expectations.
I looked up at Chris, who was staring out over the water as the boat skimmed along. He turned to look at me and smiled, because we were already becoming that couple—the ones who know what the other one is doing instinctively. So we shared a kiss and I tipped my head to rest it on his shoulder. The breeze coming off the ocean felt calming and I felt happy.
Louis and his crew seemed to have the same ability as Chris’s elves to do their jobs and disappear. The boat drifted on, and the sails shifted from time to time, but the crew members were in their own space, doing their own thing.
“Thanks for understanding my thing about the caftan,” I said. “I’m just more comfortable in shorts. And besides, I think it would have blown away by now and be off choking a dolphin somewhere.”
“I like you in those shorts. And the bikini is something else.”
An idea had been swirling in my brain and I had to know if there was merit to what I was thinking. “Were you a little bit worried someone would take pictures of you with a girl in cutoffs and the fashion police would put you in the dungeon by proxy?”
His lips twisted into a grin. “I’m learning so much from you. There are movie star manuals and fashion dungeons… you must think I lead a very dangerous life.”
I shrugged. “You know what I mean. If you were spotted with me, is it a thing?”
“Not particularly.” He looked like he was going to say more, but he stopped himself.
“But maybe a little?”
He shook his head. “More for you than for me. Paparazzi is annoying, but I’m used to it. And I don’t read what they write in the rumor magazines, but I wouldn’t want them invading your privacy.”
He looked like the topic bored him, but I wanted to know more about his life. “What’s it like, starring in movies? And seeing your face on billboards and buses?”
“Acting in movies is what I love more than anything. That’s the reason for going along with all the other stuff. But I’ll admit, the billboard part… was strange at first. Then it was cool for a minute. Then it was strange again. But then i
t just became part of life, and truthfully, I don’t look up anymore. It’s a job, and it’s necessary for the promotion of movies, and I know that’s all it is. I have to keep it separate from myself.”
“It’s your face, though. It’s you.”
“Exactly,” he said. “If I bought into it being me on the billboard, I think I’d want to crawl under a rock and hide. But it’s a character in a movie. And that’s how we get people to come see the movie, so it’s a necessary part of the machine.” He seemed at peace with the concept. He wasn’t that much older than me, and he already had an outsized sense of perspective and maturity about the whole thing.
“So you just think of it as a job?”
“Well, it’s a job I’m lucky to have. I mean, I get to do what I love, I get paid well, and I get time off between projects, in theory. Which means never, I guess. And I get to travel. So whatever crap I have to put up with has always seemed worth it. If there comes a day when I can’t say that, I’ll know it’s time to hang it up.”
“Seems like a healthy outlook,” I said.
“I try,” he said, turning to me with a wry grin.
I heard Louis talking to his crew urgently like they were trying to negotiate something. Then he and Chris debated in French for a couple of minutes, pointing and gesturing at the sails. They seemed to come to a decision that satisfied Louis, who tipped his cap to me. “You are enjoying the boat?” he asked me.
“Oui, vraiment,” I said, trying out a bit of the French I’d picked up. He smiled at me then nodded to Chris with a similar look to the one Marguerite had given him. I couldn’t make myself believe that Chris hadn’t been on this exact boat before, enjoying this exact vacation with someone else. Or many others.
