Love Overboard

Chapter 41

THE EVENING brEEZE BLEW HER unraveling curls in front of her nose. Lacey pushed the hair from her vision. She smoothed it down and tried to slow her beating heart with several deep breaths. Monarch’s first official masquerade ball was building to a smashing fever pitch.

This was no place to make a scene.

Jon’s hand remained on her arm.

She brushed it away. “You said you wanted to explain.”

“Yes.” Jon unbuttoned his tuxedo jacket. “I’m not sure where to start.”

“Why did you call yourself Jonathan King?”

“King is my middle name—after my mother’s maiden name. She met Dad when he was a one-ship operation. He was so besotted he christened the cruise line after her.”

“King.” Lacey’s eyes closed as she processed everything. “Monarch Cruises.”

“Exactly.” Jon pointed at the gold crown logo pin on his tuxedo lapel. “My father’s a mushy romantic.”

She tapped her fingers on her forehead. It all made sense. The job-hopping. His ability to show up anywhere and at any time without consequences or recrimination. He was the owner’s son. “Does that make you a billionaire? Like one of the heroes in those romance novels Gerry reads?”

“Not quite.” He grinned. “The last time I checked, I was still in the millions category. It’ll take a good thirty years before I reach billionaire status.”

Lacey’s breath escaped in a short, exasperated puff of air. “Why are you smiling?”

He sobered. “I’m sorry. I know this is a lot to take in.”

“You think?” She struggled to keep her voice quiet. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was waiting for the right time.”

“There were plenty of right times. When we first met, you were Jonathan King McMillan. When we met again, two and a half years later, you were Jonathan King McMillan.” Every time she said his name, Lacey bit out the words. “When we officially started dating, you were Jonathan. King. McMillan. Stop me if I’m getting anything wrong.”

Red tinged his cheeks. “No. You’re correct.”

“You lied to me.” She said it simply, without any emotion, like she was remarking on the weather.

“You don’t have to make it sound so serious, I only—”

Lacey’s ball gown billowed as she spun and walked away. She rounded the corner and collided with Emily crouching on the other side.

The little spy straightened and patted her gray hair. “Excuse me, dear. I misplaced my—”

“Don’t bother.” Lacey veered around, but Jon caught her at the edge of the tent before she walked into the noisy party.

“Lace, wait.” He observed Emily hovering nearby, walked in front of Lacey, and lowered his voice. “Please let me—”

“Hey, Jon. What time does the midnight buffet start?” A man in a feathered gold mask that matched his sparkly tank top and spandex biker shorts approached their trio.

Lacey rubbed a hand over her face.

Jon jutted his chin forward, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Mid. Night.”

“Wow.” The guy backed up. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to bother you.” He waggled his head as he walked away.

Lacey gave Jon the eyebrow. “Don’t take it out on the passengers. You should behave with professionalism, even if they can’t fire you for it.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means no one is going to risk offending the owner’s son.”

“Forgive me for being rich.” Jon raised his palms and laughed, but the sound carried no real mirth.

“It’s not about being rich.” Her volume rose. “It’s about the fact that you lied to me. Every day. Day after day. Month after month.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Cruise Director?”

Lacey and Jon turned again to find a woman with a broken mask.

She held the silver bedazzled piece of plastic by its elastic band. “Do these come in any bigger sizes?”

Emily swerved around them. “I can help you, dear. Follow me.” She cast a worried glance their way, then left with the woman.

“Ay! Ay! Ay!” Someone at the ball repeated the cry at lightning speed. A woman in a hot pink gown with a satin bow on her head skated across the polished wooden floor as if it were made of ice.

Lacey stared at the scene that was unfolding like a half-baked sitcom. Was this a practical joke? They must be filming her with a camera. Any minute now, Jon would drop the act, point a couple finger guns at her, and yell, “Gotcha!”

But he didn’t.

Jon faced Lacey and crossed his arms. “I didn’t think it was necessary to pull out my bank statement and wave it around.”

“It’s. Not. About. Money,” she said. “I don’t even know who you are. All those times I thought you were irresponsible and flaky because you didn’t like the job. It was the complete opposite. You were working hard, learning about the family business. No wonder I couldn’t reconcile your actions with who you seemed to be as a person.”

“Isn’t this good news?” He moved close and grasped her by the elbows. “I’m not a flake. I’m not irresponsible. And I’m in love with you.”

The words she used to treasure stabbed at her wounded heart. The warmth of his hands on her arms confined instead of comforted. She felt stupid and used and betrayed and … and stupid.

She shook his grip off. It hurt to acknowledge him, so she focused on the partyers in the background. “This is over.”

“What do you mean?” Jon bent forward and tried to capture her gaze.

Lacey looked him squarely in the eye. “I can’t be with a liar.”

He froze. “You’re giving up on us again? Without so much as a discussion? I’ve waited and watched and tried to win you over a thousand times. But you won’t even hear me out once?”

Her stomach tightened. “I spent my whole childhood listening to lame excuses. I’ve had my fill.”

She needed to get out of there. Needed to be alone. Needed somewhere to hide.

Her feet swiveled on autopilot and walked away.

Jon didn’t stop her.

Lacey cut across the dance floor and maneuvered through conversations until she pushed through the double doors and reached the elevators. She entered one and rode it down. Past the passenger floors. Past the staff cabins. Down, down, down to deck zero. The doors opened, and she walked the empty hallway to the place she’d once wanted to escape from with a passion—the lost and found. Lacey tried the door. Open. She twisted the knob to make sure it didn’t lock behind her. She flicked the switch. This time, it flooded the room with light. Once inside, she shut the door.

Lacey leaned her forehead against the wall and breathed. That’s all she could handle.

In and out.

In and out.

She lifted her face, and a flash of red-and-white-checkered cloth caught her eye. A lump the size of a sour grapefruit rose in her throat. Lacey clamped her lips shut and crumpled to the ground. The silent tears poured as her lungs heaved.

Love was no picnic.