Chapter 11
Sette
“You sure know how to blow an afternoon,” Sette said, lounging on one of many chairs along the port side of the Priss & Moan.
She had a fruity drink in one hand. The kind that she secretly loved but would never be caught dead with in public.
The marina didn’t count as public. Zara did not count as public.
At the moment, Zara was making the rounds on her vessel, texting a personal assistant about improvements she wanted to make and, oh, would she do the honor of researching how much that would cost?
She was also thinking about buying a small charter plane for her own amusement.
Between throwing herself in death machines and playing loose and fancy-free with the possibility of STDs all over the city, Zara sure had a death wish of some kind.
Probably thought life wasn’t worth living otherwise.
Shit, did Sette ever need someone like that in her life.
“This is the only way to blow an afternoon.” Zara coiled some rope, then decided she hated this kind of rope.
Should she get another kind? What kind of rope were the other assholes using?
Sette tuned her out until she said something worthwhile again.
“Although that reminds me… the girls should be here within an hour.”
“The girls, huh?”
“So. Hot.” Zara dropped her ropes. “I met them at Lucky’s the other night. They’re not twins, but you would think they are. Because they’re both equally hot.”
“Uh… huh. So happens that there are two of them, of course.”
Zara slapped her hand on Sette’s shoulder, almost making her spill her drink. “It’s time for you to date a woman who is not milking your wallet dry in return for milking your heart dry. Hey, I ain’t gonna judge your love for June, but you should expand your horizons if hers are expanded 24/7.”
“Excuse you. That’s a lady we’re talking about.”
Zara rolled her eyes. “She plays the lady well, all right,” she mumbled. “Anyway, Toya and Tanya will be here soon. If you don’t want one of them, I’ll take both. I did the other night, so why not?”
“I can’t believe you sometimes.”
“It’s rich that a Ms. Monogamy like you would be enamored with…”
“That’s different.”
“Of course.”
Sette sat up in her lounge chair and adjusted her sunglasses. The sun had disappeared behind some cumulus clouds, so she might as well see for a change. “You invite whomever you want. Who knows. Maybe I’ll get my own boat one day, and you will never be invited.”
“First of all, the idea of you buying a boat is so hilarious I can’t even laugh.
Second, you not inviting me onto your imaginary ship means we’re not friends anymore.
Don’t be a bitch, Sette.” She guffawed. “I’m going to put that reminder on your phone for you.
Every time you act like a prick, I’ll call you up and have ‘DON’T BE A BITCH, SETTE,’ scream on your phone. ”
“So mature.”
“You once decided to look up pussy for a living. Who’s the mature one now?”
Sette leaned over and glared at her friend – and saw someone waltzing up the dock with eyes on the neighboring yacht.
Her stomach tightened before her brain caught up. Oh. Not a newcomer after all.
“Hey! Senorita Chica Rica!” Zara held up an arm to wave her down. “Haven’t seen you around for a while. Not since you made that lady your mistress, anyway.”
A hearty laugh floated up to the deck. “You’re killing me.”
Sette hadn’t heard that laugh since the day she had declined an invitation she had pretended not to want. Nothing serious. Now, her stomach dropped.
“Come on up and have a drink with us!” Zara shouted. “I want you to meet my friend.”
Within another minute, they were joined by Miquela from the neighboring yacht. Or rather, rejoined. Sette had seen her before, of course – in that coffee shop, pretending to understand English so she could score a date. I would remember a woman like this. And I do.
Refined. Beautiful. Effortlessly charming and confident. An infuriating meeting of old-money European self-involvement and that kind of je ne sais quoi that said Sette couldn’t help but like her.
I haven’t thought about her in a hot minute. But since June’s strange phone call…
“This is my friend, Sette Christie,” Zara said, as if Sette and Miquela hadn’t already exchanged lingering eye contact two weeks ago. “She’s a doctor.”
“Oh?” the other woman said with that strange accent Sette still couldn’t place. Not quite Spanish, not quite French, and vague traces of Brit in there. “We’ve almost met properly before, haven’t we?” Her smile tilted, quite knowingly. “I need to find a doctor around here.”
Sette needed to come off it already. This woman hasn’t done anything. I’m annoyed at Zara. When the hell wasn’t she annoyed at the stupid buffoon?
“Unless you’re pregnant or think you might have cervical cancer, I’m not sure how much help I could be.” Sette extended her hand from where she sat, careful to move her fruity drink. “Nice seeing you again.”
The woman took her hand. Strong grip. Not a single callous. “Miquela Bolivar, in case you’ve forgotten. I’m still new in town.”
New in town. Not new to me.
“She may be new in town, but she’s already old in my heart,” Zara declared. “She bought the St. Jude. One of these days, I’ll convince her to play chicken with me out in the bay.”
Miquela neither frowned nor showed overt amusement. She must like Zara enough to keep coming up on her deck. Zara was a great charmer, but there were a few who easily became exasperated with her. Some days that could be Sette. Yet I keep coming back for more.
“So,” Sette said, steadying her tone, “what do you do, again? Real estate?”
“Casinos and resorts. We’re in talks to build a casino not too far from here.” Miquela’s eyes flicked to Sette’s briefly. “It’s why I’ve been trying to get to know the neighborhood.”
In what way, exactly?
“I can’t wait to have a new place to gamble all my money away,” Zara said. “You can count on me to keep the coffers full. Drink?”
Miquela accepted a beer. “I just got back from Monaco. Well, Monaco and Spain. Had to see some family on my way back. Mostly Monaco.”
“Wow.” Sette finished her drink and motioned for Zara to bring her a beer, too. “You’re already one of the fanciest of the fancy here, then.”
“They are beautiful countries,” Miquela said, popping open her bottle. “But there is a lot I like about here, too.” Her gaze held Sette’s just a second too long. “Like the women. Top class.”
“Hear, hear,” Zara cheered. “Let’s toast to that.”
They stood around drinking craft brew on a five-million-dollar yacht and talking about the beautiful women of the city.
Sette did not often partake in these sorts of get-togethers.
Whether it was a lack of company or no drive to have “girl talk,” she had eschewed most of this kind of socialization.
Today, however, she found the company worthy of her time, if only because Miquela continued to haunt her mind ever since their esoteric encounter in the coffee shop. Here she is. What fortuitous timing…
Zara stood up rather abruptly. “All right, you two keep discussing the superior qualities of our country’s women. I need to check on something inside before something burns down the galley.” She pointed at them both. “Don’t elope without me.”
“With her?” Miquela arched a brow.
Sette snorted. “Please. I don’t even know if my schedule is clear.” It wasn’t.
“Rude,” Miquela murmured, though the look in her eye betrayed her.
Zara disappeared down the steps into the yacht, humming as if this were the best day of her life. The deck grew quieter in her absence. Just the low caress of water against fiberglass, distant gulls croaking for French fries, and the soft clink of the rigging moving in the breeze.
Sette took a sip of her beer and set it down on the rail. “Well,” she said, not looking at Miquela at first. “This is familiar.”
“The dock?” Miquela asked.
“No. You and I standing in a place pretending we haven’t almost gone out before.”
Miquela shifted her weight, hip against the polished rail. “Ah. That.”
“Yes. That.” Sette finally met her gaze. “You put on a whole show pretending you didn’t know English to get me to go out to dinner with you.”
“And you declined,” Miquela said.
“I did.”
Silence stretched between them. The kind that felt like a door left slightly ajar. Everyone knew it was open. It should be closed. But nobody was in a hurry to get up and close it. Certainly not Sette. June’s words continued to echo in her head. “If you think you love me…”
“I was…” Sette exhaled. “Preoccupied.”
“With the mistress Zara mentioned?” Miquela asked, curious.
“Something like that.”
A flicker of understanding passed across Miquela’s face. “Ah.”
Sette got up and leaned her forearms on the rail beside her. Close enough now that she could catch that subtle perfume again.
“Hypothetically,” Sette began, aiming for casual and missing it by a mile, “if someone were to regret declining a previous invitation…”
“Hypothetically,” Miquela echoed, amused.
“…Would that invitation still be open?”
Miquela didn’t answer immediately. She studied Sette the way she probably studied half of the offers she received. Romantic or otherwise. This was a discerning businesswoman from a wealthy family. Of course, she was careful.
“I suppose it depends,” Miquela said, “on whether that someone is available anymore.”
The words hit closer than Sette expected.
“I wouldn’t waste your time,” Sette replied. “If I asked you out, it would be because I intend to show up.”
Another pause. The breeze lifted a strand of Miquela’s hair. She didn’t brush it away.
“What prompted this change of heart?”
June’s voice echoed in Sette’s mind. Date someone else. Be sure. Don’t decide based on the expensive fantasy she offers.
“I realized,” Sette said, “that I might be making decisions without all the information. And that’s unlike me.”
“Very clinical of you.”
“I am a doctor.” She cleared her throat. “You met Artist Sette in the coffee shop. Right now, I’m Doctor Sette. Very logical and very practical. No romanticism.”
Miquela’s lips curved. “And what information are you seeking, Doctor Sette?”
She stepped just a fraction closer. “Whether I was an idiot for saying no.”
Miquela’s gaze softened. “I was hoping you would ask,” she said.
Sette slightly moved away from the railing. “You were?”
“Yes.” Miquela shrugged. “I also received encouragement to broaden my horizons.”
“From whom?”
“Someone with very strong opinions about love."
Sette’s pulse kicked up. That’s… interesting.
“So,” Miquela continued, “are you asking me on a date, Sette?”
“I am.”
“A proper one?”
“Dinner. Somewhere you can critique the wine list. I’ll even let you pick the country.”
Miquela’s smile widened. “Bold.”
“Suppose I just let some romanticism through.”
“Then yes,” Miquela said at last. “I’m still interested.”
Relief washed through Sette before she could contain it. “Good,” she said. “Friday?”
“Friday works.”
“Seven?”
“I’ll send a car,” Miquela offered.
Sette shook her head. “No. I’ll take care of myself.”
“Even better.”
From inside the yacht, Zara’s voice rang out. “If I come back up there and you two are planning a wedding without me, I swear—”
Sette didn’t break eye contact.
“Friday,” she whispered.
“Friday,” Miquela agreed.
And for the first time since June’s unsettling phone call, Sette was oddly content. I’ll do it. I’ll prove it. She’d prove to June that she could do whatever it took to be in love with the seemingly wrong woman. And to herself?
She would prove that she could do anything. Including go out with a stranger who was seemingly good for her.
END OF PART 2
Continue the saga in part 3, HER PATRON!