Chapter Eleven
“I’m sorry to do this to you.”
From the sound of Rosa’s voice over the phone and the sheer exhaustion in every sigh and pause, Mari knew it was the right thing to stay clear of her friend.
“Stop. You’ve done nothing.”
“I’ve been going like I’m thirty,” Rosa said.
“Which explains a hangover, not a stomach flu. Have they been feeding you?”
Rosa moaned. “I’m not hungry.”
“You still need to eat.” Mari’s solution to most things in life was food. It pained her to not be able to provide for her friend this way.
“They’ve sent fluids. Broth, Jell-O . . . almost as if I’m in a hospital.”
Mari sat in a chair looking out over James’s balcony, watching the ship pull away from the island they’d spent the day on.
“Are you able to keep that down?”
“Not really.”
“It’s best, then. I’ll see what the chef in the Italian restaurant has on offer for tomorrow. Maybe I can convince him to lend me his kitchen so I can prepare something for you.” Mari’s mind whirled with possible combinations that would settle Rosa’s stomach.
“At least tomorrow is a day at sea. My only hope is that we have good weather. I don’t need this boat rocking.”
Mari chuckled. “Write down the room number I’m in. If you need me, call.”
“Did they put you in a suite?” Rosa asked after Mari gave her the cabin number.
“Yes and no.” Mari glanced over her shoulder and listened for the water running in the shower.
James was rinsing off first since the promised clothing had yet to arrive from guest services.
Hearing water still dripping, Mari returned to her conversation with Rosa.
“The ship is out of extra rooms. James is in a suite, and he volunteered to accommodate me.”
For the first time since the call started, Rosa’s voice lifted an octave. “Is that right?”
“It was a nice thing to do.”
“A very nice thing.”
Mari found herself reaching for excuses. “They put him on the spot.”
“You mean to say he didn’t want to help out?”
“Of course not. He’s a decent man. You and I would’ve likely done the same thing,” Mari said.
“Ah-huh.”
“There’s a separate bedroom and living room. It’s almost the same as two separate staterooms.”
“Ah-huh.”
“Rosa!”
“What? I said nothing.”
“Ah-huh,” Mari tossed back to her friend.
The shower turned off, and Mari wrapped up the call. “You should be resting. Call me in the morning. I don’t want to wake you.”
“I’ll do that. Enjoy your evening, my friend.”
“Get better.”
A knock on the stateroom door pulled her out of her thoughts.
Still in the clothes she wore on the beach all day, Mari pulled the cover-up tight across her chest as she opened the door.
A porter on the other side held a garment bag in one hand and had her wheeled suitcase at his side. “Mrs. D’Angelo?”
“Yes.”
The man handed her the garment bag. “This is from our onboard clothing store. Take whichever you like, I’ll pick up the others when I’m back with your clothing.”
Mari stood aside for the porter to enter the room. “Isn’t that my clothes?” she asked, looking at her suitcase.
“Shoes, toiletries. Everything has been cleaned. The rest is still being seen to,” he told her.
“Oh.”
After placing her suitcase in the room, the porter left.
Mari moved to the sofa and unzipped the bag.
“Was that the door?” James asked as he walked into the living room wearing only a pair of pants and holding a towel that he used to brush against his wet hair.
Even though Mari had been with a shirtless James all day, there was something far more intimate in being in a room alone with him half naked and fresh from a shower.
She diverted her eyes and focused on the bag in her hands. “They brought something for me to wear.”
There were three dresses in the bag. Two of them black, and one in a cream color.
The cream was something Chloe would wear and look fantastic in. Straight, spaghetti string, a dress one didn’t wear with a bra.
Mari had had three children.
Braless wasn’t an option.
One of the black dresses was similar, with straps for sleeves but a plunging neckline.
The third had cap sleeves, a modest neckline, and a slender but not tight fit on the bottom.
The final dress would have to do.
Chloe would approve.
“Looks like I need to up my game tonight,” James said from behind her.
Mari nearly forgot he was standing there. “You don’t have to.”
“If a woman puts in the effort to put on a dress like that, the least I can do is find a dress shirt and tie.”
Mari found herself smiling. If she hadn’t expressly taught both of her boys that very etiquette, she might have pressed the issue. Instead, she placed the dress on the sofa and opened her suitcase to see if the shoes she’d need to wear with the dress were in there.
They were. Black, simple, with a small heel.
“Are you done in there?” she asked James.
“Let me grab a couple of things and I’ll get out of your way.”
A few minutes later, she stood behind the closed door of the bedroom.
The bag she’d brought with her on the beach had a change of clothes, basically shorts and a shirt with clean undergarments that she’d never changed into.
And that was a blessing. Otherwise, they’d be having room service, and she’d be eating dinner in a wet bathing suit or one of the ship’s bathrobes.
There was no way Mari would leave the room without a bra.
James’s bathroom was huge in comparison to the one she’d shared with Rosa.
The shower actually had room to turn around, which Mari enjoyed to the fullest. Removing the salt and sand from her body was just as refreshing as the sea had been the first time she’d gotten in.
Taking her time, she dried her hair completely and considered putting it up. But she’d worn her hair on top of her head nearly every day and, with that, found tension building as the days went on.
She’d wear it down, put in a simple curl to help it brush from her face.
A little powder evened out her complexion, a small amount of mascara and lip gloss was all she was willing to use. “The basics,” Chloe had told her.
Truth be told, Mari was happy with her daughter’s intervention and insistence on a few cosmetics.
James had seen her without makeup all day. Every day, now that she thought about it. But this dinner and this night were intentionally just for them.
A forced first date.
The moment the word date popped into her head, Mari turned to the reflection in the mirror. “I’m going on a date.”
Nerves in her stomach began to flutter.
Looking down at herself in only a bra and panties had her evaluating what she saw. What a man would see.
Outside of pregnancies, she’d never been heavy. She also wouldn’t win a fitness award anytime soon. Her Italian heritage gave her a slight advantage in skin tone, but her age did nothing to help the elasticity of said skin.
And why was she standing in a misty bathroom, considering what her body would look like to a man when she had no intention of letting him see it?
Pushing the thoughts aside, Mari moved into the bedroom and pulled the borrowed dress over her head. For what felt like ten minutes, she struggled with the zipper in the back until perspiration threatened to undo what the shower had accomplished.
She did not want to ask James to help with the zipper.
And why the hell was she worried about that? “A woman in her fifties should not be this shy,” she chided herself.
Mari slipped on her shoes and checked her appearance in the mirror one last time. Happy with what stared back, she opened the door connecting to the living room and entered it talking. “I’m having a terrible time with this zipper.”
James was standing at the sliding door.
His lips were slightly open, his eyes wide.
No words came.
Mari looked down at herself, hoping she hadn’t missed something wrong with the dress. “Is it okay?”
“You-you’re stunning.”
Heat filled her cheeks. “Please, James, you don’t have to—”
“Stunning, Mari. The most beautiful woman on this ship by miles.”
How did she follow up that?
She took in what James wore. Black pants, a dark gray shirt, black tie, and dress coat. His clean-cut hair was away from his eyes, and he had a fresh shave. “As my kids would say, you clean up well yourself.”
James took a few steps toward her, his smile wide across his lips. “Let me see that zipper.”
Feeling on display, Mari pulled her hair aside and turned her back to him.
His fingers brushed her shoulder as he tugged at the zipper.
For a moment, James’s hands lingered on her before pulling away. “There.”
Mari let loose her hair and turned around. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
“I’m convinced men design dresses that make it difficult for us, so we need to ask for help.”
James smiled. “Remind me to thank the designer if I ever meet them.”
Mari ran a nervous hand over her stomach. “Are we ready?”
“I am if you are,” he said.
She nodded, and James led her to the door and opened it.
They only had two flights of stairs to reach the deck where the restaurant holding their reservation was located.
Twice, Mari felt James’s hand on the small of her back as they maneuvered in and around the other passengers going in every direction. Both times, a flow of warmth washed over her with that simple touch.
She missed it, she realized. That possessive hand, the one that said, I’m with her. Don’t bother looking. Perhaps that was too strong a statement for such a simple act. But it was how she felt.
And she liked it.
At the restaurant, people were waiting in groups of two and four. Virtually no families.
The scent of home lofted from inside.
Already, Mari’s nerves were calmed.
The hostess greeted them with a smile. “Buonasera.”
“Buonasera,” Mari replied back.
James stepped forward. “We have reservations. It’s either under James Russell or Mari D’Angelo.”
The hostess looked at her list. “Ah yes, Mr. Russell. Va bene, please follow me.”
Again, James took a step beside Mari, his hand on her back, as they were led to their seat.