Chapter 23
Despite my better judgement, I try on every single item in my closet no less than three times trying to figure out what’s the sexiest. Inevitably, I discover that the answer is none of them, but since Caleb first met me in my diaper-esque plane underwear, I figure anything’s an improvement.
I settle on my ratty jean shorts and a dark tank top and spend the two agonizing hours after dinner sketching Caleb’s drool-worthy face in my cabin.
There’s cubist Caleb. Impressionist Caleb.
And, my personal favorite, Caleb as a merman.
If we’re being honest, I’ve never let a man take up this much mental airtime in my life.
But no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to get this one off my brain. Or, ahem, other organs.
I sneak through the open door and creep along the edge of the deck.
I can’t see much out here at night, but there’s too much at stake here for me not to make sure I imagined it.
But no—there it is again. A soft moaning sound coming from the direction of the bow.
I cringe. If it’s my sister and Harry going to town in some dark corner, I swear to Neptune I will walk the plank myself.
I step forward, and a beam of moonlight reveals a figure standing against one of the walls.
The close-cropped black hair and dark slacks give him away immediately: Steven.
But he’s not alone. Two hands wrap around Steven’s waist, grabbing onto him as he leans forward and presses a second figure against the glass.
This is definitely not a friendly squeeze.
Is he making out with one of the crew? Yara? Gia?
I back away as slowly as I can, not wanting to get involved in whatever this is, but my foot catches on one of the stanchions.
I throw my hands out to catch myself as I careen into the rail, making a loud thunk that’s impossible not to hear.
Steven whorls around, his eyes petrified, and my stomach ejects into my chest as I see who’s behind him.
Oh. My. God.
The person he’s making out with is Matthew.
I meet my nearly-brother-in-law’s petrified eyes for a split second before skittering backwards and beelining inside.
Steven and Matthew? Matthew, who goes through Instagram models like Kleenex?
Who spent thousands of dollars on bottle service just to take a bodyshot off the bachelorette at Cloud Nine?
I hear one of the boys swear behind me. Get to your cabin, Stella—get to your cabin…
I think back to every indication I might have missed—every time I’ve seen them together.
The boys laughing in their double kayak.
Matthew’s hand on Steven’s arm. Steven inexplicably on this family trip with us.
How long has this been going on?
I don’t want to do anything to wake anyone else up, so instead of heading downstairs, I hipcheck the swinging door to the galley and duck inside, pressing my bare shoulders against the cool surface of the refrigerator.
“Stella,” I hear Matthew hiss from just outside the door. “Stella, I know you’re in there!”
When I don’t say anything, he bursts through the door and flicks on the light, exposing my half-ass hiding place. But that seems to be as far as his brilliant plan goes, because he just stands there across from me, lips shut tightly like he’s trying not to breathe.
“Look,” I reach my hands out like I’m facing a wild animal. “You don’t have to say anything. This is as awkward for me as it is for you.”
“Somehow, I doubt that,” Matthew quips as he leans into the counter. But he doesn’t look so untouchable now—the arrogant Matthew I’ve known has left the building. Instead, he looks vulnerable. He looks nervous.
“I could tell you it wasn’t what it looked like,” he says, looking down at his Vela Bianca slippers, “but that seems like a pointless exercise.”
I clear my throat.
“How long have you two been…”
“Together?” Matthew shrugs. He still can’t bring himself to make eye contact with me, so his gaze darts around the room until it settles on the pristine stove. “I don’t know. Six years?”
“Six years?” I gasp.
“Not all at once,” he protests. “It started in college, although it wasn’t really anything then—at least that’s what I told myself. I was still seeing other people. Girls. Doing what I was supposed to.”
“What about all the women? The tabloids?”
Matthew shrugs.
“Just photos. Mostly. Sometimes when we’re in Europe, we’ll meet someone who both of us—“
“Ok,” I stop him, putting up my hand before he defiles my ears with the details of his sex life. “I don’t need the specifics.”
Matthew sighs.
“So, nobody knows?”
Matthew shakes his head.
“Steven’s family are ultra-conservative. And his dad is my father’s business partner. But even if he wasn’t…”
Matthew’s eyes roll upwards and he pinches the bridge of his nose.
I know that move. It’s big strong man for “I’m not crying.
” I remember Dr. V pulling it on me right after he told me he was leaving me for discount Dolly Parton, because it was just “so hard” for him to see me hurt.
But Matthews near-tears seem somehow more genuine.
“I’m a Warren,” he tells me. “This part of me… it doesn’t fit. I’m supposed to join the board and marry a Kennedy.”
Have I really been so focused on my own drama that I’ve missed this? Matthew may be a narcissistic twat, but he’s far from untouchable.
He’s just as afraid of disappointing his family as I am.
“Matthew,” I say carefully, “your parents adore you. So does Harry. You don’t think they’d understand?”
Matthew looks at me like I’m the village idiot.
“How many gay billionaires do you know, Stella?”
I screw up my face at him.
“Matthew, I know this may come as a shock to you but… I don’t know any billionaires.”
That makes him laugh, just a little. But it’s enough to shake up the dark cloud that’s been hanging over his head since he came in.
“Please,” he begs me, and I can hear the desperation in his voice. “Don’t tell them. I know I probably don’t deserve any favors from you, but they already think I’m a mess. I don’t need to give them one more reason to be disappointed.”
I pause for a second, because maybe there’s a tiny part of me that wants to let him sweat it out, before I grab his hand. A look of utter shock comes over his face, but there’s no malice in it.
“I would never share anything about your life that you didn’t want me to. If you don’t want your family to know about this, they won’t hear anything from me. I promise.”
Before I can say anything else, Matthew launches himself at me, wrapping me in a massive bear hug. For a second I’m so shocked at the genuine display of emotion that I forget to hug him back.
“Thank you, Stella,” he gushes. “You have no idea how much this means.”
I pat him on the back, hesitantly, still feeling like this is some kind of trap. But the way he’s grabbing onto me, the vibration of his still trembling hands, tells me he’s not faking this.
He pulls back, composing himself as the weight of having actually hugged me settles in.
“I seriously owe you one,” he says.
“You don’t owe me anything. But if you ever decide you do want to tell them,” I take in a breath before I manage to utter the last part, “I’m here for you.”
“I—” I can practically see his defenses go up as he springs back from Matthew the human to Matthew the frat bot.
“Just go back to bed before you make me break any other ship rules,” I tell him, saving him the pain of responding. “I didn’t read the welcome packet, but I’m pretty sure being caught in the galley unattended is grounds for a public flogging.”
Matthew looks at me, surprised, before he bursts out laughing. Despite my better judgement, I smile too. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him entertained by a joke he didn’t make. He hesitates before he leaves, turning back to me from the doorway.
“Look, I’ve never had a sister before,” he says, then forces the next part out as quickly and quietly as humanly possible. “But as far as in-laws go, you and Jules aren’t so bad.”
And then he’s gone. If that was supposed to be a compliment, it was a pretty weak one.
But after the week I’ve had with him, any show of vulnerability from Matthew is a welcome surprise.
If all it takes to get his hackles down is catching him swapping spit with his prep school bestie, I’m going to have to start taking more midnight boat strolls.
When I step into the bridge, Caleb practically jumps out of his seat, shoving away his logbook as if I’ve caught him with the spring issue of playboy. As soon as I lock eyes with him, I feel my whole body exhale.
“Sorry I’m late.”
I take a few cautious steps towards him until his face is level with my chest, and he has to crane his neck up to meet my eyes.
Caleb swallows.
“I was beginning to worry you’d changed your mind.”
I shake my head and lift my hands onto his shoulders, resting them on the sexy little black and yellow patches that pad his uniform. He tenses when I touch him, his eyes darting back towards the door.
“Don’t worry, I did a thorough perimeter check,” I tell him, letting my unruly hair fall over his shoulder as I lean down to kiss the tanned skin just above his white collar. “Pretty sure we won’t be bothered anytime soon.”
I pull my head back, watching his eyes boring into mine with mythic intensity as I drag my palm down his chest. But Caleb grabs my hand before I can trail it any further, never breaking eye-contact as he stands up beside me.
He presses my fingers into his shirt, right above his heart, which I would probably think was cheesy if I weren’t swimming with more hormones than a conventionally farmed chicken.
“Then you won’t mind me doing this.”
He ducks his head and brings his lips to mine, his hand guiding me against him as he presses me against the edge of the dash. I let out an embarrassing, breathy squeak and he pulls back, megawatt smile lighting up his features.