Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The drive through the hills outside Madrid took nearly forty minutes. Forty minutes of city lights fading behind us as old estates and iron gates replaced modern skyscrapers across the Spanish countryside.
I sat in the back of the Rolls, scrolling absently through acquisition reports on my tablet while Wyatt finished a phone call beside me.
Rain from earlier still clung to the windows, distorting the passing lights outside into streaks of gold against the dark glass.
“Tell me again why we’re going to this?” I asked without looking up.
“Because old European money enjoys pretending that dinner parties still control global markets.”
I rolled my eyes. Why did three weeks overseas feel like twelve months on this trip?
I glanced back at the screen before locking the tablet. Tomorrow’s board meeting would include my announcement that we were selling the underperforming Milan hospitality division. Tonight, though, I just needed to survive another evening of bullshit.
Truthfully, I couldn’t focus on anything. Not on numbers, negotiations, or the hospitality acquisition currently bleeding money across three countries.
And why? Simple. My attention kept drifting back to California. Back to Catalina. It was equally annoying and thrilling how completely she’d captured my attention.
None of it made sense. Somehow, Catalina Veléz had become both the quietest and loudest part of my life at the same time.
The estate finally came into view through towering cypress trees moments later. Massive stone architecture sat overlooking Madrid from the hills, while warm lighting illuminated fountains, terraces, and luxury cars filling the circular drive.
It was all old money, not flashy, and most certainly not American. It was the kind of wealth that existed long before people started posting pictures of private jets online for attention.
A valet opened my door the moment the Rolls Royce stopped. I stepped out, buttoning my suit jacket as music drifted through the warm Spanish night. Guests in black tie moved between terraces, crystal glasses catching the glow of hanging lights.
It was a beautiful evening, which was completely wasted on me because all I could think about was how Catalina would’ve been here to organize the event if she hadn’t stayed in California.
I didn’t want to imagine her here working the event, though. I wanted her on my arm as a guest attending this party. Somehow, even imagining her at my side made the entire night feel more bearable.
“Jesus Christ,” Wyatt muttered beside me while adjusting his cufflinks. “Where the hell has your mind been this entire trip?”
I glanced toward him, “You sound observant tonight.”
“I know it’s not on that woman,” he smirked, “but then again, maybe the impossible has happened and there is one thing in this world that can take your mind off of running this damn business.”
“Perhaps it is,” I answered, “perhaps it’s not. I’m just growing tired of this trip.”
“You’ve looked annoyed since we left the office.”
Annoyed was certainly the right word for this feeling. Annoyed that a woman thousands of miles away somehow occupied more space in my head than the billion-euro negotiations happening tonight.
The second we entered the estate, conversations subtly shifted. I wasn’t surprised. I always arrived late to demand this reaction whenever I was attending an event.
Including my own.
A feint smile touched my lips recalling the night Cat was on my yacht, pissed off that I arrived strategically late.
What Cat didn’t know—but I did—was that people noticed power before introductions were ever made. Investors straightened, executives quickened their pace, and women watched in awe. In my world, everything was strategic and everything served a purpose.
However, I’d spent years becoming numb to it.
A server handed me a bourbon as wealthy guests filled the massive open-air terrace overlooking Madrid below.
The usual laughter, music, perfume, and money all held zero interest for me tonight.
“Titus Hawk.”
I recognized the voice instantly before turning. Isabella Moretti approached in a black silk gown with dark hair falling over one bare shoulder while confidence moved through her body like second nature.
She was a young Italian heiress who was heavily involved in her family’s winery business. She was a woman who defined beauty, the kind men wrote songs about and ruined marriages over.
She stopped directly in front of me before kissing my cheek lightly. “There you are,” she smiled. “Half of Madrid thought you disappeared.”
“Unfortunately not.”
A laugh escaped her softly while her eyes diverted to Wyatt to see if everything was okay with me.
Six months ago, I would’ve taken her upstairs before dessert. But now? I felt absolutely nothing standing in front of her except exhaustion.
“You look terrible tonight,” Isabella observed casually while studying me closer.
“That’s an interesting greeting,” Wyatt said, laughing into his bourbon.
“I’ll survive,” I answered ignoring the bullshit remarks.
“No.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “You genuinely look bored.”
I took a slow sip of bourbon instead of answering.
Because bored wasn’t entirely accurate. I felt more starved than anything, and not for food. For something more than just performance and fake smiles. I craved genuine conversation and laughter.
And without warning, she invaded my mental space again. Suddenly, all I could picture was Catalina sitting across from me at that ridiculous fish shack in Newport, laughing while stealing fries off my plate.
“You’re somewhere else tonight,” Isabella said carefully.
My attention shifted back toward her.
“You flew all the way to Spain physically,” she continued softly, “but mentally?” A faint smile pulled at her mouth. “You’re still with whoever she is.”
“I’m unsure why all the women I know believe someone else is stealing my attention away from them.”
“Because, Titus,” she said, “last time we were together, you acted like I was the only woman who’d ever—”
“That may have been true six months ago,” I answered calmly.
Her smile faded slightly because Isabella Moretti wasn’t accustomed to men losing interest once they had her. Unfortunately for both of us, the only thing I wanted was in California.
“Yeah, I believe the last time,” she cast a glance at Wyatt, who stood in conversation with a group of our Madrid friends, then stepped toward me, “you wanted me before dinner, not after,” she said in a low voice that should’ve done something to me.
It didn’t.
“That may have been what I said that night, Bella, but it wasn’t a permanently open invitation.”
I didn’t care to wait for her reaction. Instead, I made my cold remark and then made my way toward the terrace overlooking Madrid while music carried through the warm night air.
And for the first time in my life… an entire world of wealth, beauty, and access suddenly felt strangely empty without one woman in it.
Not even empty. Pointless, with nothing to hold my attention or offer me any excitement.
Tonight, I would endure what was left of this party, and tomorrow, I would meet with my board before alerting my flight crew that I planned to be in Southern California before Eterna dropped anchor off the coast of Newport Beach.
Warm California air hit me when I stepped off the Gulfstream onto the private runway at Los Angeles International.
My black Rolls-Royce was already parked near the aircraft, waiting beneath the glow of the terminal lights with my driver already standing beside the rear passenger door.
Fucking finally home. Or at least significantly closer to the woman currently occupying far too much space in my head.
My phone vibrated before I’d even reached the car. It was my yacht captain, Duarte.
I answered immediately while loosening my tie with one hand. “Tell me the Eterna didn’t sink crossing the Atlantic.”
A quiet laugh rumbled through the older man’s voice. “Certainly not, Mr. Hawk.”
“A lot of people may be disappointed to hear that,” I said with a smile.
“We officially received final United States coastal authorization this evening,” he informed me. “The Eterna will reach Newport anchorage shortly after sunrise.”
Excellent.
I slid into the backseat of the Rolls while the door closed softly behind me.
“We do have somewhat of a situation though,” he advised.
“Situation?” I asked calmly.
“Every major station in Southern California already knows we’re approaching the coast,” he answered. “News helicopters have already requested aerial positioning once we anchor offshore.”
Of course they had. Eterna wasn’t the type of vessel people quietly ignored. Nearly six hundred feet of steel, glass, and precision engineering crossing into California waters after weeks at sea tended to attract attention.
Especially because moving a yacht that size wasn’t as simple as people imagined.
It required a wealth of strategy, from international maritime authorization, Coast Guard clearance, fuel coordination, to crew rotations and environmental permits.
And enough preparation to move what essentially amounted to a floating private resort across an ocean.
Millions in operational costs alone. So when most people saw luxury, I saw strategy, risk, responsibility, and moving parts.
And somewhere beneath all of it sat one particularly ridiculous truth… I moved the damn yacht because Catalina wouldn’t leave California.
Jesus Christ, I was cooked.
The Rolls glided silently away from the terminal while Los Angeles lights blurred against the windows outside.
“Media estimates are already calling her the largest superyacht ever anchored off the California coastline,” Duarte continued calmly.
Not surprising.
By morning, helicopters would be circling overhead, filming aerial footage, while every wealthy idiot in Southern California suddenly found reasons to sail near Newport.
Normally, that level of attention would irritate me. Tonight, I barely noticed it. For the first time in years, I wasn’t bringing the yacht to California just to impress the wealthy—I was bringing it because I was going to hire Cat to plan every event I’d use Eterna for all summer.
It would be interesting to see this season’s attendees, as I pulled everyone’s interest in mingling and doing business deals from overseas to the States.
More than that, it would be interesting to see Cat’s reaction when I brought her aboard tomorrow evening for dinner.