Chapter 12
Gregory pulls us into the port in a rental Porsche. An unnecessary extravagance to get from the airstrip in St Maarten to the harbour but I guess when money is no object…
‘I can’t wait to see the boat,’ Amanda squeals, jumping out of the car. ‘Which one’s yours?’ She glances at Gregory then scans the host of white and blue boats docked in the Marina.
Gregory rolls his eyes and I dig an elbow into his ribs. ‘None of those.’
A port official comes to talk to him and is soon replaced by a man maybe in his late twenties or early thirties: cute tan, ruffled, dirty-blond hair, handsome. His black, knee-length shorts and black T-shirt tell me he’s probably crew. He shakes Gregory’s hand.
‘Nice to see you again, sir,’ he says with a North American twang.
Gregory nods. ‘Is she ready?’
‘Sure is.’
‘And is the tender ready?’
‘Ready and waiting, sir. We’ll get you out there and I’ll come back for the luggage. Rick will wait with it on the dock.’ He inclines his head in the direction of the wooden jetty. In turn, Gregory flicks his head at Amanda, Williams and me.
‘I guess that means come hither,’ Amanda jibes.
Ignoring her, I happily swish my way to Gregory’s side in my sundress.
‘Carl, this is Scarlett Heath.’
‘Miss Heath, pleasure to meet you.’
‘Scarlett, please.’
Carl eyes Gregory, then me, and smiles. Guess I’ll be staying Miss Heath, then.
‘And congratulations.’
‘Thank you.’ I blush, taken back by his openness when I hadn’t realised Gregory had told anyone our news yet. ‘So, you’ll be keeping us above water for the next ten days?’ I ask, swiftly moving on.
‘Whilst you’re on the yacht, that’s the idea.’
‘Then I best keep you onside.’
Gregory guides me along the jetty with a protective hand on the small of my back – whether he’s protecting me from the water or the handsome crew, I’m not sure.
Carl helps me into the small tender boat and introduces me to Bryony, a sun-kissed and quite striking woman about my age who’s wearing the same crew uniform.
I roll my eyes at Gregory over the rim of my shades – of course the entire crew is flawless.
There’s a ghost of a smile around his mouth and I know those goddamn eyes will be twinkling with arrogance behind his lenses as he takes a seat alongside me. He rolls back the sleeves of his shirt and lazily drapes an arm across the rim of the boat behind my back.
‘I can’t tell you how much it turns me on that you’re jealous.’
Scowling at the truth of those words, I glance sheepishly at Williams and Amanda, but she’s too giddy looking around at the boat and Williams is chatting to Bryony.
Gregory asks Carl about the weather and the expected sea conditions for the coming days as Bryony backs us away from the pier and turns the boat so we’re facing out to sea, her glossy hair blowing in the wind.
We break out of the harbour and pick up speed so water crashes against the front screen and spray reaches my bare arms, cooling my skin under the hot Caribbean sun. We head out beyond a huge cruise liner and a yacht, anchored alone, comes into view, gleaming on top of the turquoise sea.
My jaw literally drops as I switch my eyes between the super-yacht and Gregory. ‘You. Are. Fucking. Kidding. Me.’
He chuckles, as does Williams. Amanda almost pees her pants.
‘I’ve told you to mind your fucking language when you’re not in the bedroom.’
I pull down my shades to peer at him. ‘Gregory. Come the fuck on. That’s your yacht?’
A supercilious grin draws on his face. ‘Working hard has a few perks.’
‘Ho-ly shit!’ Amanda eventually says, each syllable laboured.
Williams wraps his arm around her ribs, pulling her tenderly onto his lap. ‘Our baby is going to come out preceding everything with “holy”.’ He kisses her temple and I want to coo. He’s definitely the Bingley to Gregory’s Darcy. Light to dark. Easy to intentionally difficult.
‘I have a surprise for you,’ my dark and difficult man says.
Bryony slows the boat to a stop, still twenty metres or so from the yacht.
Carl speaks to someone through a radio. Then a man appears on the deck of the yacht, near the bow.
A blue banner hangs over the brim of the yacht.
Gregory takes my hand in his, then nods to Carl, who gives the okay to whoever is on the other end of the radio.
The banner is rolled up slowly and for the second time, my jaw hangs loose as I read the name of the yacht.
S. R. Aurora
My eyes glaze but I still manage to tell him, ‘Presumptuous, wouldn’t you say?’
He liquefies me with his stunning half-smile and I throw my arms around his neck. ‘Thank you. It’s incredible.’
Scarlett Ryans, Aurora.
‘Oh, for God’s sake. I really want to hate you,’ Amanda says, swiping away a tear.
I feel Gregory’s chest move as he chuckles in my hold.
Bryony and Carl expertly position us adjacent to eight white steps.
At the top, another six crew members wait to greet us, all dressed in the same uniform.
Bryony asks if Amanda and I would like to be shown around the ship, which of course we do, and I realise as she talks excitedly in her Bajan accent about the three-hundred-foot yacht and all its features, I really quite like her.
She walks us around the bottom deck where there’s an eight-seater dining table, two rattan sofas, two matching rattan chairs and four matching sun loungers. The main salon has a fully stocked bar and multiple television screens. There’s another dining table and more seating.
The hot afternoon sun beats on my face as I tilt my head and tie my hair back into a ponytail.
I open my eyes to a speedboat flying across the sea, two bikini-clad girls waving vigorously in the back as water crashes over the front of the boat.
Amanda lifts on to her toes in her gladiator sandals and waves back.
‘Miss Heath, Miss Darling, my name is Bertie and I handle all the food and beverages on the yacht.’
The chef meets us out on deck – also dressed all in black, albeit in kitchen attire. He’s a tall, red-haired man with pale, freckled skin and, unsurprisingly, the kind of green eyes a woman could dive right into. ‘Can I interest you in a fruit punch?’
‘Is it virgin?’ Amanda asks.
‘Absolutely.’
A glowing smile pulls on her lips as she takes the pink-orange juice from Bertie’s tray.
‘It’s delicious, Bertie,’ I say. ‘Is it your recipe?’
‘Sure is. Wait ’til you see what I can do with a bottle of Disaronno and Tequilla Blanco.’
‘I’m looking forward to it already.’
Amanda sighs and drains her virgin drink, depositing the empty glass back on Bertie’s tray.
‘Another?’ he asks.
She shakes her head, clearly sulking.
‘D’you guys want to continue the tour?’ Bryony asks, gesturing to the stairs, one set going down, the other leading up to the top deck.
‘Please.’
‘Let’s go up first.’
We meet the captain, who shows us a heap of gadgets and levers around the steering wheel and the view from the top deck is amazing.
Endless, sparkling sea merging into clear, blue sky.
I hold onto the metal rail and look out to the horizon, wondering whether I’ve ever felt more complete in my life.
Holding up my hand, I watch the rock on my finger twinkle under the sun’s rays. Forever.
And speak of the devil…
I see him standing at the bow, hands in the pockets of his shorts and looking out. All mine. I never knew I was possessive before now.
At the sound of my bare feet on the deck, he turns, welcoming me into his arms. ‘Have fun?’
I slip my arms around his waist. ‘I did. I like your boat.’
‘Our boat. It does have your name on it.’
Pulling back, I smile up at him. ‘Yes, it does. I like that something is ours. But maybe next time, we could share something like a case of wine. A yacht seems a tad extreme. We’re in prenup territory.’
His happy mood dissolves in a nano-second.
‘Prenups are for people who intend to break, Scarlett. Nothing is going to break us. Do you hear me? I won’t let it.
Everything I have will be yours. Everything.
’ He takes my hand and places it across his chest. ‘You already have the one thing I thought I’d never give away.
If you break it, I don’t think I’ll survive. ’
‘That makes two of us.’
He drowns me in a slow, tender kiss.
‘Sir, a drink for sail away?’
Gregory keeps me tucked to his side as we accept champagne from Bertie.
‘Pol Rodger Sir Winston Churchill 2002, like you asked.’
‘Thank you, Bertie.’
‘Would you like lunch when we’re asail, sir?’
Gregory nods. ‘Yes, thank you.’
‘After lunch, I’d like to talk you quickly through the plans for Black Diamonds,’ I say. ‘As in the game, not the stones on my finger.’
‘All right. Not too long, though; I want you to have a break. You need one.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Williams crosses the deck to us, his free arm loosely resting on Amanda’s shoulder. ‘All right, you two, a toast. To finally getting your shit together.’
‘Heartfelt, Williams, thanks,’ I tell him, smirking as we clink glasses.
Bertie serves up chicken Caesar salad and cool Semillon-Sauvignon.
We eat in the shade, a welcome break from the stifling heat.
Everything seems right somehow. Williams and Amanda are happy.
Gregory and Amanda have gone forty-five minutes without a jibe passing between them.
My perfect man is eating with his left hand as his right strokes the fourth finger of my left.
Yet, I have the same lingering feeling I’ve had since Katrina Martin showed up in Dubai. This is just a hiatus. Somewhere, she’ll be thinking up her next move.
‘All right, lady. Shall we talk about Black Diamonds?’
‘Oh, hell, I’m off if you’re talking work.’ Amanda is out of her seat quicker than she’d hit Harrods in a flash sale.
‘Mind if I hang around?’ Williams asks.
‘Not at all.’ Gregory pushes his seat back from the table, his elbow resting on the red tablecloth, his index finger and thumb pinching his chin.