Chapter 27
Caroline
The shower in my hut was every bit as luxurious as it looked, with a rainfall showerhead and four separate nozzles on the wall, hitting me with water from all sides. I was normally a quick shower-taker, but I must have stood there savoring it for at least twenty minutes.
The phone next to my bed—which I hadn’t even noticed—rang shortly after that. It was the island concierge informing me that a package had been delivered and was waiting outside.
Wrapping my towel around myself more tightly, I opened the door a crack. A dress bag was hanging next to the door, along with several accompanying boxes on the ground. I quickly brought them inside and opened them up.
The dress lay across the bed like a secret meant only for me, liquid silk in a deep shade of midnight blue that shimmered like the sea at dusk.
When I slipped it on, it clung and floated at once, scandalously soft against my skin, cut low at the back so the warm air kissed my spine.
The boxes contained accessories: diamond drop earrings, a necklace that sparkled like a cluster of tiny stars, and heels that glittered as if they’d been stolen from a fairy tale.
I put it all on, telling myself I just wanted to see what it looked like, that I wasn’t actually going to wear what he had sent me. I felt expensive and transformed. Not quite myself, but the version of me worthy of dining on a billionaire’s yacht in the Caribbean.
“I can’t wear this,” I said, as if speaking the words out loud would convince me. But the longer I stared at myself in the mirror, the more I liked what I saw.
The sun was setting as I walked down to the beach. Immediately, I heard the rumble of a boat’s motor in the distance; the boat was coming to pick me up.
“You look stunning,” Rafael said, walking up behind me.
“You clean up nicely yourself,” I replied. Rafael was dressed in beach formal, a semi-baggy linen button-down. But his face was a mask.
“They like to dress their women,” Rafael observed. “Which is the sort of chauvinist power move from the eighties that normally makes me roll my eyes. But Lucien’s taste cannot be questioned.”
“His taste,” I replied, “or whatever tailor he has on his boat?”
“Lucien,” Rafael replied, surprising me. “He’s famous for it. This isn’t the first time he’s done this.”
“That feels like a warning.”
“It is,” he said bluntly.
“I don’t think I’m in any danger, Rafael.”
“You’re not in danger,” he agreed. “Which is why you need to keep your guard up around that man.”
“I will keep that in mind.”
“Why did you accept his invitation?” he asked.
I turned to face him directly. “I’m making myself useful by keeping Lucien away from Harrison and Dyson. At least until the Intel deal is finalized.”
“Is that the only reason?” Rafael demanded.
“I’m not sure I have to answer that,” I replied. “You’re not my boyfriend.”
He grunted, then turned to watch the small boat draw closer to the beach.
“If you don’t want me to have dinner with him, I’ll stay,” I said.
Rafael blinked in surprise. I was kind of surprised, myself. The words just kind of slipped out, but I knew that I meant them.
“But you have to ask,” I said. “Tell me to stay, and I will.”
The tall man with sun-kissed skin stiffened. “You said it yourself. I’m not your boyfriend.”
He walked away, leaving me feeling more confused than ever. I had wanted him to say something to me. Some indication that this was more than just sex. Which made no sense, because I didn’t want this to turn into a real affair that would undermine my position as Harrison’s biographer.
I hated how confusing feelings could be sometimes.
The servant driving the boat helped me on board, then guided us back out to sea.
The sun had finally set, making Lucien’s yacht stand out even more with all its well-lit windows and spotlights.
Lucien himself stood at the railing, two drinks in hand while watching me climb the staircase to the top deck. He handed one glass to me.
“Louis Roederer, from the year before the millennium,” he said. “Welcome, Caroline. I have a delightful meal planned for us.”
He placed a hand on my back and guided me across the deck toward the bar.
“I am pleased you accepted what I sent over,” he said. “There is no other woman in the world who could wear it the way you are now.”
“It’s a little too much, but it’s nice,” I said.
“You are too humble. Please, sit.”
He pulled out a chair for me like he was a gentleman and like this was a real date. A Japanese man dressed in white chef’s clothes stood on the other side of the bar, stirring rice in a large, circular wooden container with flat sides.
“This is Caroline Fairfax, the Wall Street Journal’s most talented writer,” he introduced. “Masaki Saito was kind enough to fly down for me on such short notice. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble to close your restaurant.”
Saito dipped his head and said in heavily-accented English, “You honor me with your invitation.”
“Do you like rice wine?” Lucien asked me. “A saki pairing has been prepared for each course, but if you would prefer another drink, we can accommodate you.”
“Saki is fine,” I said. I had never been a big fan of the drink, but I didn’t want to seem needy.
“Excellent. Please excuse me for one moment.”
After Lucien left, the chef dipped his head at me again while adding some liquid to the rice. “The key to sushi is not the fish, but the rice. A little secret for you.” He showed me the contents of the wooden container. The scent of vinegar was strong as he resumed stirring it with a wooden spoon.
I quickly Google’d his name. Masaki Saito was the owner of the only restaurant in Canada with two Michelin stars. And he was here, on a private yacht, serving us.
“You like omakase?” he asked me.
“I do!”
“Masaki is a master of his craft,” Lucien said, returning and taking the seat next to mine. “Let us enjoy the experience.”
For the next two hours, I was mesmerized by the sushi chef.
He moved with the quiet grace of ritual, every gesture deliberate, every slice a performance just for us.
His knife sang against the grain of fish and wood, his eyes steady as though each cut carried a sacred weight.
He laid the first piece before me: otoro so marbled it looked like pale pink silk, brushed with soy and set with a single bead of caviar, carefully placed with his chopsticks.
“Use your hand. Two bites,” he instructed.
Lucien watched me taste it, his expression unreadable, as if he’d orchestrated not just the meal but this very moment on my tongue.
An involuntary noise escaped my throat. “Oh my gosh. That is incredible.”
Masaki dipped his head in thanks, placing an identical piece in front of Lucien. The billionaire savored the bite, closing his eyes and chewing slowly.
Course by course, the rhythm deepened. Uni was folded into warm rice like ocean and cream, translucent slices of fish dusted with yuzu zest, a curl of ika so tender it dissolved before I could breathe.
Masaki placed each offering directly into my hand, creating a kind of intimacy in the meal, erasing the distance between chef and guest. Even the silence between courses tasted deliberate, filled with the sound of the waves against the ship, and the faint hum of the engine somewhere deep beneath us.
This was not simply a dinner. It was a ceremony.
And as Lucien had promised, each course was matched with a sake that shimmered like a secret.
A servant placed each bottle before us, announcing its qualities before filling the small cups with the clear liquid.
A crisp junmai daiginjo went with the otoro.
A honeyed and floral saki accompanied the uni, followed by a deep, almost smoky vintage that lingered on my tongue for the next piece.
The pairings complemented the food, coaxing the flavors open in a way that felt like a symphony on my tongue.
I clapped happily when the meal was concluded. Saito dipped his head and assured me that it was his great honor, then began cleaning up his cooking space.
After dinner, Lucien led me to a sitting area at the other end of the deck where a bottle of wine was chilling. The salty sea air stirred my dress around my legs, and Lucien sighed happily.
“I fear that Masaki has ruined me,” he said. “I cannot accept any other sushi. I am like a virgin who has been touched by the greatest lover in the world, unable to stand anyone else!”
The analogy was silly, but I laughed. “He might have ruined me, too. I don’t think I can go back to my regular sushi bar in the city.”
Lucien began pouring wine into the two glasses. “None for me,” I quickly said. “I’ve already had too much saki.”
“If I do not get you drunk,” he said, “then how will I convince you to write my biography?”
“I’m not sure there is enough wine on the island, let alone this boat,” I replied.
He frowned and crossed one leg over the other. “Surely you are not so opposed to working with me.”
“I need to focus on Harrison,” I said firmly. “Maybe we can discuss your biography when that’s done.”
I was just trying to deflect his request for tonight. I doubted Lucien would be happy about the way he was portrayed in Harrison’s biography.
“I want to hire you tonight,” he insisted. “Name your price.”
“I cannot be bought.”
“Everyone,” he said with a smile, “can be bought.”
I smiled back at him and said nothing. There was nothing more for me to say, and even if there was, he wouldn’t hear me.
“Forgive me,” he finally said, raising his glass. “Let us enjoy the beautiful evening. Some music, perhaps?”
He tapped on his phone, and the soft music drifting from the speakers was replaced by something familiar.
“Hey, this is HAIM,” I said.
Lucien cocked his head. “You know of them?”
“They’re one of my favorite bands!” I said. “I saw them when they opened for Taylor Swift. I was hooked immediately.”
“You have excellent taste.” A strange expression crossed his face.
“What?” I asked.
“This will sound as if I am bragging,” he said, “but I was the one to discover them.”
“You mean, you were one of their first fans?” I asked skeptically.
He shook his head. “I purchased a small music label many years ago. These three sisters were one of the first bands we signed to a deal.”
“No way,” I said. “I don’t believe you.”
He shrugged and sipped his wine.
While he watched, I pulled out my phone and did a quick search.
“I’ll be damned.”
“Of course, I personally did not discover them,” he clarified. “Perhaps I exaggerated.”
“If not for you,” I said, “they wouldn’t be a huge success.” It was wild to think that the man sitting across from me was responsible for the existence of something that had given me so much joy.
“They are quite talented. I am certain that if we did not sign them, someone else would have.”
I almost instinctively reached for the bottle of wine, but stopped myself just in time.
I was already buzzing, and was afraid that if I drank any more, I might agree to whatever large number Lucien wanted to throw at me.
He was right that everyone had a price, and I didn’t want to find out what mine was.
“You could meet them,” he suggested. “If you agree to write my biography.”
“There it is,” I said. “This is just part of your ploy to win me over.”
He put his palm over his heart. “I swear to you this is only an amusing coincidence.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He shrugged. “I do not expect you to believe me.”
I leaned back in my chair and sighed as a warm breeze swept across the deck. Between this, the private sushi experience, and the expensive dresses and jewelry, I could get used to this lifestyle.
That was probably a bad thing. But right now, I couldn’t make myself care.
Lucien stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. “I am not bored with your company, I assure you. But I fear it is time for me to retire. I am still on Paris time, despite being in St. Maartin for the past three days.”
“I struggled when we got back from Paris,” I admitted. “I was waking up at two in the morning every day.”
With a soft hand on my lower back, he escorted me back to the stairs that led down to the boat that would take me back to the island. I turned and smiled at him.
“Thank you for a wonderful evening,” I said.
“The pleasure was all mine.”
“Even though I refused to write your biography?”
“Your company was a gift on its own,” he replied smoothly. “The biography is, how to phrase it… the icing on the cake.”
He braced my arms and kissed me on both cheeks. With the warm sea breeze, and his understated cologne, and everything that had happened tonight, I found myself swept up in the moment. Especially as I gazed into his storm-gray eyes.
Almost automatically, I leaned in for a real kiss.
Just before my lips touched his, Lucien pulled away in alarm.
“Sorry,” I said. “I…”
“It is fine,” he replied curtly.
My cheeks were burning. I wanted to run down the stairs to the boat and flee as quickly as possible.
“Caroline,” he said, stopping me in my tracks.
“You are a beautiful woman,” he said softly, cupping my cheek. “There is an aura about you I cannot ignore. But this?” He brushed his thumb across my lip. “This is not why I invited you here tonight.”
I held my breath as he held my gaze.
“Bonne nuit,” he said, then strode away.