Chapter 5
5
Josefine
Expecting Tyler to unplug right away was delusional. The second we boarded the plane in Los Angeles, he was on his phone and his laptop. According to him, in order for him to step away from work on the cruise, he had to wrap several things up on the flight to Europe.
My dad always wanted to take me to Greece—the island of Crete, specifically—where his grandfather’s family is from. But when he was diagnosed with brain cancer, he knew that dream would not become a reality. Instead, before he died, he set some money aside for the trip. It became accessible when I turned twenty-one and came with specific instructions that included a cruise to the Greek islands. He passed away twelve years ago, and I’m finally taking that trip on the anniversary of his death.
On the days leading up to my father’s passing, I would crawl into his hospice bed. He’d whisper stories of visiting Crete as a child. Stories about his grandmother skinning a rabbit as casually as most people would water plants. And the time his sister pushed him off a cliff into the sea. Aunt Rachel, of course, denies the transgression. About the time a peacock chased him around the botanical gardens. His cousin’s wedding when he was eleven; when his uncle let him drink wine, and he accidentally got drunk and threw up all over her wedding gown.
When I booked this trip six months ago, my mom had just checked herself out of rehab early. I hoped she would be better in time to accompany me, though, deep down, I knew she wouldn’t. And as I suspected, my mother is in no condition to travel to Greece—nor do I want to spend time with her in her current state.
I wanted to bring my cousin Millie, but when I was scheduling, she had just signed a contract to play Nessarose in the national tour of Wicked and couldn’t guarantee it would be wrapped up in time. Aunt Rachel couldn’t travel halfway across the world either. Between working part time and helping Asher raise his young daughter, she’s far too busy for an international trip at the moment. That left Tyler. It took some convincing, but in the end, he agreed it would be a nice break from work.
The Poseidon set sail from the Piraeus port in Athens and spent the first day and night at sea. We woke up at the island of Paros and spent several hours sightseeing. After another day at sea, we explored the island of Rhodes and a day on the island of Santorini. When we wake tomorrow, we’ll be docked on the island of Crete.
Tyler and I compromised when it came to his phone. He leaves it in the cabin during the day, but he plays catch-up with notifications in the evening. I get it. It’s hard to completely unplug when he’s building a musical empire. He convinced me to upgrade to a balcony suite, and I’m glad he did. I can’t imagine only having one tiny porthole to look out. I’m not typically claustrophobic, but excusing myself for fresh air (and a glass of wine) while he works from his phone on the bed has been wonderful. The view of the waves chasing the horizon settles my nerves.
Around the anniversary of my dad’s death, I tend to feel off. I miss him in small ways every day, but May is excruciatingly brutal. This year, though, finally taking the trip he planned for me, I feel closer to him than I have in years.
We’re on our way to dinner when a group of Americans recognizes Tyler. He politely poses for a few selfies so he doesn’t get a reputation for being an asshole to his fans. Yesterday he got mistaken for Machine Gun Kelly, but neither of us had the heart to correct the ecstatic fan.
Dinner on the ship tonight is beautiful, romantic, enchanting. Tyler listens intently to several manic ideas about my book and only pipes in once or twice with advice. Having his undivided attention makes my insides fizz like the effervescent champagne we’re indulging in. Our table is pressed against the floor-to-ceiling windows, offering us front-row seats to the world’s most magnificent sunset.
Clinking his glass of champagne with mine, Tyler announces, “To us. To you, my love.”
“To us,” I repeat.
The restaurant is cozy and quiet, with only a few servers, since we preselected our course options using an app ahead of time.
A server has just placed salads in front of us when Tyler asks, “Have you talked to your mom lately?”
I set my napkin in my lap and let out a noncommittal hum as I bring my champagne to my lips.
Tyler runs a finger up and down the stem of his glass before taking a long swig. “Do you know if she’s using again?”
My chest caves and I sigh. “She’s always using.”
“You know what I mean. ”
I do. What he wants to know is whether she’s using more than normal. My mom’s tolerance for pain medication is exceptionally high after years of abuse.
I shrug. “I don’t think so?”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
Draining the lemon-infused olive oil from its tiny tin dispenser over my salad, I keep my focus downcast. “Just before we left, actually.”
We visited my dad’s grave together since I would be traveling over the anniversary of his death. At first my mom refused to accompany me, something she’s never done before. That registered as odd, but I tried not to give the thought too much power. She could have had a million reasons for not wanting to go. But when I picked her up, she was simultaneously groggy and jittery. That wasn’t totally out of the ordinary. What was, though, was her inability to string together a coherent sentence and the way she fussed with her hair obsessively on the drive to the cemetery—her tell. She was strung out.
I tried not to let her behavior affect my emotions at the cemetery, but our visit was cut short by her incessant need to talk about her newest fling. Frank this and Frank that. What he does for a living, where he’s taking her on vacation next.
“Can you just shut the fuck up for one minute?” I blurted. Apparently my prefrontal cortex could no longer regulate my ability to keep quiet.
Mom stumbled back at my outburst, catching the heel of her shoe on a rock. She fell on top of another person’s grave, crushing the fresh arrangement of flowers someone had left in their memory.
I helped my mom to her feet and dusted the dirt off her yoga pants. She couldn’t even bother to put on real clothes.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I started .
“No, it’s fine, Josefine.” She used my full name. “You finish up. I’ll wait in the car.”
A wave of guilt washed over me for yelling. No matter how many years had passed, she was still a grieving widow.
“I can get her into that new rehab,” Tyler says around a bite of salad.
A state-of-the art rehabilitation center recently opened in Palm Springs. The father of one of Tyler’s clients owns the facility. How convenient for a person in the entertainment industry to have that type of resource.
“That’s so sweet of you. I’ve brought it up to her, but she refuses to go.”
If she isn’t willing to do the work, then there’s nothing I can do, no matter how desperately I want to. The more I push her to get help, the more strained our relationship becomes. But dang if it isn’t hard to stand by and witness her crumbling brick by brick.
“Can we change the subject?” I plead, reaching for Tyler’s hand across the table.
“Of course.” He dips his chin. “What have you loved about the trip so far?”
“The water,” I say without hesitation. “I can’t believe how clear it is. And the sand. Just the beaches in general.”
“You were the hottest girl on all the islands.”
I blush at his praise. More often than not, his attraction is obvious in his actions, but he rarely compliments my looks, so I cling to the statement like a leech.
“Speaking of…” I cock a brow and give him an exaggerated perusal. “You look nice tonight.”
Skinny black dress pants hug his trim hips. His pale pink dress shirt is unbuttoned at the top, creating a deep V that reveals his chest tattoos. His long fingers are adorned with silver rings, but he’s removed his usual black leather bracelets.
“As do you.” He tips his champagne glass my way .
I’m wearing a skin-tight gold gown, and my long hair is curled in big waves and pulled over one shoulder to showcase the exposed back.
“Thank you.” I grin.
While the islands of Paros, Rhodes, and Santorini were far more beautiful than any image on the internet can convey, I’m most looking forward to Crete.
Sadly, the bed-and-breakfast my dad’s family owned was torn down years ago. Though I’m still eager to stand on the island where my father spent most of his summers as a kid. My parents even honeymooned on Crete.
“For tomorrow?—”
“Excuse me.” Tyler interrupts me when a server places two desserts on the table. “We haven’t gotten our main course yet.”
“My apologies,” the server says, fumbling for the dishes.
“It’s okay, you can leave them,” I say. We requested them, they just arrived out of order.
Tyler narrows his eyes on me.
“We’re on vacation.” I shrug. “Live a little. Eat dessert first.”
The server looks from Tyler to me and back again until Tyler nods once. He leaves a plate of baklava with sprinkled pistachio for Tyler and watermelon and basil sorbet for me.
“Mmm,” I moan, taking in the gorgeous presentation.
Tyler taps his fork on the table. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” I ask, peeking up at him.
Frowning, he leans in closer and grits his teeth. “Sound like you’re having an orgasm at the table.”
I huff. It’s not like I’m imitating Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally . It’s a tiny groan. “What’s with you?”
“Nothing’s with me. I just don’t want you to embarrass yourself.” He pushes his plate to the side. I guess he’s going to eat his dessert last after all.
“ Okay .” I struggle to keep an even tone. “Like I was saying earlier, we’re snorkeling tomorrow.”
As I’m going over the itinerary, our dinners arrive—filet mignon with roasted vegetables and rosemary mashed potatoes for him, the fresh catch of the day with steamed vegetables and a citrus glaze for me.
“After snorkeling, the boat will shuttle us to shore to a traditional Greek taverna for lunch, then bring us back to the dock to board the ship. How does that sound?”
His responding smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Great, Beck.”
After our out-of-order but delicious dinner, I collapse on the bed in our cabin. “I’m stuffed.” I grunt and wiggle my way out of my gown, relieved to no longer be strangled by spandex.
Tyler tosses the room key on the table and kicks off his black loafers. Next, he goes to work unbuttoning his shirt. He leaves it open, displaying a collage of chest and stomach tattoos.
I sit up, thoroughly enjoying the view.
His gray eyes rove over me, paying special attention to my bare breasts. His knees hit the side of the bed, and he pushes my shoulders to the mattress. When I’m flat on my back, he straddles my hips. The ends of his shirt tickle my naked stomach as he hovers over me and plants a kiss on my collarbone. With my fingers tangled in the hair at his nape, I pull him to me and savor the taste of honey and pistachio that fills my mouth when he drags his tongue across mine. I nibble on his lower lip, relishing the connection, but pull back when there’s a buzz against my leg. Either Tyler has something kinky in store for us or?—
He digs his phone out of his pants pocket. The phone that was supposed to be left behind at dinner this evening. “Dammit, I’ve gotta take this.”
I throw my hands over my face and huff. “Fine.”
“Yo!” He steps around the bed. It’ll just take a minute , he mouths to me. Then he retreats to the balcony to take the call.
Five minutes later, tired of making out pictures on the popcorn ceiling like I did as a kid, I roll off the bed and peer out the sliding glass door. Tyler is leaning against the railing and roughing his fingers through his blond hair. A minute, my ass. Whatever is going on can’t be good, and I can’t imagine he’ll be happy when he hangs up.
Scanning the ship’s schedule of events in the welcome packet we received, I find a description of tonight’s entertainment: Live Music at Muses Nightclub. Perfect. I slip into a coral mini dress and slide my feet back into the nude heels I wore to dinner. Tomorrow I may regret the decision to wear them, but I’ll look hot tonight.
By the time I’ve freshened up in the bathroom, Tyler has finished his call and come inside.
“Everything all right?” I ask, searching his expression.
Propped against the door, he shakes his head, his jaw ticking. “Just pissed-off clients.”
“Oh no.” I shoot him a frown and spritz the back of my neck with perfume.
“Yeah, really bad fucking timing.” He swipes a hand down his clean-shaven face, then crosses his arms. “The team is losing their fucking minds without me.”
“That bad?” I wrap my arms around his waist, forcing him to drop his arms, and press my chest to his. I thought he tied up all his loose ends before we left. Didn’t he tell me this trip was coming at the perfect time?
He grasps my arms and pulls back. “Yes, it’s fucking bad, Beck,” he grouses, dropping onto the mattress.
The bite in his tone startles me. I’m doing what I can to be a sympathetic and supportive girlfriend despite the way his work keeps interfering with our trip, yet it feels as though I’m about to get my head chewed off for no reason.
I stand in front of him, eyes fluttering, waiting for his next move. “How can I help?” I try again .
The furrow between his brows relaxes a bit, but he ignores my question. “Why are you dressed again?”
Finally, he sees me.
“There’s a dance club tonight. I thought we could go.” I refuse to be in this tiny cabin if he’s going to be cranky all night.
His eyes swim with hesitation, like he’s in two places at once. Come back. Be here with me , I silently beg.
“Come on, it’ll be fun.” I bounce on my toes.
“Fine.” He buttons his shirt, slips his bare feet into his loafers, and reluctantly follows me out the door and toward the elevators.
Muses is a social media influencer’s dream. Backdrops perfectly curated for a digital square grid are hung every several feet, like a selfie museum. A white clawfoot bathtub filled with blue-and-white plastic balls sits under a neon sign that reads “Make a splash. Dive into life.” Illuminated angel wings, complete with a floating halo, hang on the wall at just the right height for one to stand in front of for photos. On the other side of the club, a neon pink sign reads “Bad decisions make better stories.” Below it is a bench constructed entirely of banned book spines.
Tyler immediately pushes through the crowd to the bar, dragging me behind him.
“What’ll it be?” the bartender asks, throwing a rag over his shoulder.
“Two shots of tequila,” he shouts over the music.
Just as I’m about to tell him I don’t want tequila, he turns to me and raises a brow, silently asking for my order.
“Vodka water lime is fine.”
He downs both shots of tequila before I’ve even reached for my glass, and he immediately signals for two more.
“Don’t you think?—”
He brings a shot glass up and grits his teeth. “I don’t wanna think tonight.”