Chapter Eight
Aiden
THE WATER OF the Mediterranean is so blue that it almost hurts to look at it. I come to the villa so rarely that the sight of the waves meeting the paler sky never fails to impress me.
This morning, however, I only give the water a passing glance.
No, my attention is fixed on the woman lying on a chaise longue on the balcony.
She’s dressed in one of her new outfits: navy shorts with gold buttons and a loose white shirt tucked into the waist. One long leg is crossed over the other, sunglasses shielding her face.
We touched down at the Marseille Provence Airport five hours ago.
The flight was quiet. Seraphina gave the hand-stitched Italian leather seats and polished ebony wood accents a quick look before settling down on one of the couches and falling asleep, waking an hour before we landed.
I had my stewardesses prepare her a light but nourishing breakfast—herbal tea, white peach slices and soft-boiled quail eggs.
Seraphina had forced a smile and thanked them, even made light conversation.
She never ceases to impress me with her ability to engage with anyone, to make them feel heard.
It’s one of the qualities I’ve always valued in her as a secretary, especially because I don’t always exhibit traits like patience.
But as I watched her, I realized I’ve come to appreciate those aspects of her myself.
When I ask her to be my sounding board, she listens.
Gives me feedback, even when it isn’t what I’ve always wanted to hear.
Perhaps that’s why I’ve been tempted to confide in her these last few days.
That, and the weight of everything pressing on my shoulders.
I shake my head. Yes, there’s a lot riding on this. But right now, that’s not my focus. My focus is making sure Seraphina is okay and that yesterday’s debacle won’t have a lasting effect.
When we landed, the limo ride was less than an hour to the villa. I didn’t bother with a tour—we could take care of that later. I pointed out the kitchen since she’d only picked at the food on the plane, then took her straight up to her suite.
It’s been five hours. Between the travel and the engagement and Dylan’s nasty questions, it’s understandable that she would be sleeping. But I need to see her, need to lay eyes on her and make sure she’s all right.
“I’m awake.”
Her voice is soft, a touch more life to it.
“I knocked a couple of times. I wanted to check on you.”
“Thank you.” She turns her head and gazes out over the water. “It’s beautiful here.” Her breath comes out in a long, slow exhale. “Thank you for letting me just be for a bit.”
“You’re welcome.”
She looks back at me, her sunglasses throwing back my reflection. “You look concerned.”
“I am.”
“You looked up Brett.”
I nod. I can only imagine what life with him was like in the four years leading up to when he was charged with domestic violence. His trying to attack her with a knife had obviously been the catalyst for her to file a restraining order.
I believe in justice. And paying debts owed.
But abuse is one I can’t justify or excuse.
Brett’s lucky he got such a long sentence.
When he does get released, I’ll be keeping tabs on him, monitoring.
If he violates the restraining order by so much as an inch, I’ll take personal pleasure in beating the hell out of him before turning him back over to the police.
“Would you be up for an outing?”
She tilts her head to one side. “An outing?”
“A little excursion. Introduce you to France, take your mind off things for a bit.”
I can practically hear the gears turning in her head as she contemplates my offer.
“Okay. Do I need anything?”
“A swimsuit. Meet me downstairs in the grand hall.”
Fifteen minutes later, we’re walking out of the back entrance onto a terrace that overlooks the small cove down below. A catamaran bobs on the small waves.
“A boat?” Excitement in her voice eases a huge weight off my shoulders. She glances up at me. “You know how to sail?”
“No, but I know how to turn the key and make it go.”
Her husky chuckle elicits a surge of protectiveness.
On the flight over, I felt…helpless. Utterly helpless for the first time in nearly two decades.
Every time I glanced at her, I cursed myself for following her that night, for dragging her into this.
If taking her out on a boat makes her happy, then we’ll go out every day.
We start down the dock, the warm Mediterranean sun beating down on our backs.
She accepts the hand I offer as we board the boat.
My jaw tightens at what’s becoming the familiar sensation of her palm rubbing against mine.
That skin-on-skin contact—thinking back to the photo shoot, how good it felt to hold her.
The weight of her breasts on my arm as I’d wrapped my hands around her waist and stared out over the park.
The way her eyes had dropped to my lips just before we moved closer on the chaise longue.
I let go of her hand as soon as she’s on board. I can’t think about the kiss. Cannot relive the moment when she came to life in my arms with such fire I wanted to tell the Gilded team to come back another time while I carried her upstairs and finally made my dreams a reality.
The aftermath of Dylan Greene’s despicable behavior cooled my desire. Cooled, but didn’t snuff it out. Not by a long shot.
I head to the bridge. I turn just in time to see Seraphina easing herself onto the mesh net between the two hulls. She lies down, stretches out, a slight smile on her face. The most relaxed I’ve seen her since Saturday night.
I steer the boat away from the dock. The Mediterranean stretches out to our right, pale blue turning to navy where it meets the sky.
To our left, limestone cliffs plunge down into the sea, shades of turquoise broken up here and there by the occasional boulder.
Pine trees dot the cliffs. The wind is starting to pick up, creating small, white-capped waves as we sail east.
After twenty minutes, I spy an inlet. I turn the boat and guide it inside the long, narrow passage. The hills slope down to the water, covered in pines and scrub. At the far end is a crescent-shaped beach with golden sand.
Seraphina sits up as I cut the engine and toss the anchor overboard.
“Hungry?” I call down.
When she nods, I head down to the galley.
I open the fridge and note the covered plates I requested be brought on board while Seraphina was getting ready.
I pull out a plate and a bottle of Dom Pérignon.
As I turn around, I nearly run into her.
Her sunglasses are off, her eyes soft and her body relaxed as she brushes a strand of golden hair out of her face.
Stunning. And too close in tight quarters.
“Do you need any help?”
“No.” Hearing my curt tone, I add, “Thank you. Relax.”
I nod toward the terrace on the stern. She heads out and I join a moment later. It takes a couple trips, but at last the food is laid out and the rosé champagne is chilling in an ice bucket.
“We have Brillat-Savarin, a soft cheese infused with truffles. Beluga caviar and oysters.” I pull the bottle out of the ice and make quick work of popping the cork.
“Duck prosciutto, sliced baguette and fig jam. Wagyu roast beef sliders with arugula and truffle aioli. There’s mini lemon tarts and macarons for dessert. ”
Seraphina’s eyes are wide as she looks around. “And this is just for us?”
I smile slightly as I pour her a glass of champagne. “You’ve dined with clients before,” I point out as I hand her a flute and pour a glass for myself. “Dinner at Rao’s, brunch at Gabriel Kreuther’s.”
“Yes, but those were all for work.”
She picks up a wedge of the truffle-infused cheese and takes a bite. Her moan of pleasure has me gritting my teeth as I stare out over the sea.
“This is really good. Thank you.” She picks up an oyster from the bowl of ice in the middle of the table. “You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me, Aiden.”
The sound of my name on her lips ripples through me. I wait for it to pass, evaluate just how much I want the answer to the question that’s been haunting me ever since Dylan Greene stated that man’s name out loud and I saw the stricken look on Seraphina’s face.
“You flinched the first few times I touched you.”
She nods as she scoops the oyster out with a tiny fork and dips it into a small dish of mignonette sauce. “It’s a little strange having my boss hold my hand.”
“Does it have anything to do with how he treated you?”
Her brows draw together for a moment, and then her expression clears. “No.” She shakes her head fervently. “No. Nothing to do with him. I promise.”
I ease back into my chair. “Okay. I’m glad.”
A few minutes pass. I’m surprised to find myself relaxed.
I can’t remember the last time I left my laptop behind and put my cell phone on silent.
There’s the gentle roar of the sea behind us and the high-pitched twittering of a bird overhead.
The cover over the terrace captures most of the sun’s rays, leaving the terrace shady and cool as fans spin overhead.
I also can’t remember the last time I enjoyed sitting with a woman in silence. There’s no need to fill the gap, no awkwardness, just contentment.
Seraphina sits back in her chair, a half-empty glass of champagne in her hand and a look of satisfaction on her face.
“That was wonderful. I’m impressed your team put it together so quickly.”
I shrug. “I told them they had ten minutes and they made it happen.”
She shakes her head again. “I’ve seen the wealth you and your crowd deal in. It’s just a completely different world to be living in it for a little bit.”
Her last words slash through my contented state. A reminder that what Seraphina and I have in this moment is only temporary.
“It’s the least I can do.”
She takes a sip of champagne. “Because you feel guilty?”