Chapter 42
MELODY
We stepped off the tender boat onto the yacht’s swim platform, both of us covered in salt and sand. My hair felt like straw, my skin tight from the sun despite all the sunscreen Austin had so carefully applied.
“I need a shower,” I said, already imagining the hot water washing away the ocean.
“Same.” Austin’s hand found the small of my back as we climbed the stairs to the main deck. “We should clean up before dinner. Jean-Pierre is planning something special.”
“How special?”
“He wouldn’t tell me. Just kept saying it would be ‘magnifique.’” Austin’s terrible French accent made me laugh.
We made our way through the yacht to our stateroom, and I immediately started peeling off my damp swimsuit.
“I’m claiming the shower first,” I announced.
“Or…” Austin appeared in the bathroom doorway, already shirtless. “We could save water and shower together.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Save water? On a yacht that probably has unlimited water?”
“Environmental consciousness is important.” But his grin was pure mischief.
“Right. Environmental consciousness. That’s definitely what you’re thinking about.”
“Among other things.” He stepped closer. I could smell the salt and sunshine on his skin. “Come on. I’ll even wash your hair for you.”
That actually sounded amazing. My arms were tired from swimming, and the thought of someone else working shampoo through my tangled mess of hair was tempting.
“Fine. But you actually have to wash my hair. No funny business.”
“I would never.” He was already turning on the shower, adjusting the temperature.
The bathroom filled with steam as we both stepped under the spray. The water was hot enough to soothe my sun-warmed skin but not scalding. I tipped my head back, letting it run over my face and through my hair.
Austin’s hands appeared with shampoo, and true to his word, he started working it through my hair. His fingers massaged my scalp. I couldn’t help the small sound of pleasure that escaped me.
“Feel good?” he asked, his voice low.
“So good. You’re hired as my permanent hair washer.”
“I accept. What’s the pay?”
“Kisses. Lots of kisses.”
“Best job offer I’ve ever received.”
He took his time, thoroughly washing every strand before rinsing it clean. Then came conditioner, which he applied with the same careful attention.
“How do you know how to do this?” I asked.
“Would you believe I went through a long-hair phase?”
“Like you had long hair or your girlfriend did?”
I was only half-joking. But to think of him washing another woman’s hair made me jealous, which was ridiculous. He had a past. I knew that. I didn’t expect him to be a saint.
“Me.” He chuckled. “I think I was sixteen or seventeen. Dad always made sure we had bi-weekly haircuts. Can’t have Bancrofts looking shaggy.
“How long did you let it get?”
“It was just past my shoulders. Then I got over it. It was a pain in the ass to keep up with. But it pissed my dad off. Mission success.”
I laughed and leaned back, allowing him to massage my scalp. “Well, if you lose your trust fund and all the other money you have stashed, you could make a killing washing hair.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
When my hair was rinsed clean, I returned the favor, washing his hair while he closed his eyes and let me work.
His hair was thick and soft. I found myself taking my time, enjoying the intimate moment.
I couldn’t believe how at ease I was with him.
After his declaration on the beach, I decided to do better.
I wasn’t going to second-guess his motives or let my self-esteem issues come through.
He made it clear he liked what he saw and that’s what I was going to hold on to.
After we were both clean, he stepped out of the shower to give me a few minutes. I climbed out shortly after and slathered on lotion for my skin. I used some of the luxury moisturizer on my face and stepped into the state room.
There was a note on the bed. I smiled and picked it up.
It was from Austin, letting me know he would see me at dinner.
I knew it was going to be a nice dinner.
Yes, it would just be the two of us, but I wanted to wow him.
I wanted to feel as good as he thought I looked.
When I packed, I had assumed there might be a few nice dinners at restaurants.
We weren’t going to a restaurant, but that was okay.
I wasn’t dressing for anyone except him anyway.
My cheeks were pink from the sun despite all the sunscreen Austin had so thoroughly applied. My shoulders too. I’d probably feel it tomorrow, that tight warmth that came with too much sun exposure.
But for now? I looked glowing. Alive. More importantly, happy. I looked like a woman who spent the day on a tropical beach.
I sprayed myself with the glittery body oil I’d packed on a whim, the kind that caught the light and made skin shimmer. Probably too much for a normal dinner, but this wasn’t a normal dinner. This was dinner on a yacht in Tahiti with the man I loved.
The man I loved.
God, it still felt unsettling to think those words. To know they were true. I wasn’t ready to tell him that, but it was the truth. Maybe I would be able to tell him one day. Maybe he’d even say those precious words to me.
I reached for the dress I’d been saving, a simple silk number in blue.
It had delicate draped straps and subtle beadwork along the neckline.
I had bought the dress months ago and kept waiting for the right occasion.
My dating life was pretty much dead. I kept telling myself I would wear it to a party, but it never felt quite right.
The only other time I wore it was when I took pictures of it and posted it on my Instagram account.
No matter how often I pulled it out of my closet, it never made it out the door.
Tonight was the right occasion.
I slipped it on. The silk felt cool against my sun-warmed skin. The fabric draped perfectly, falling across my hips in a way that emphasized every curve. It was elegant but sexy. Sophisticated but playful.
It was just right.
I turned in front of the mirror, examining myself from every angle. Any other night, wearing something this form-fitting would make me self-conscious. Despite my brand of body positivity, I would worry about my stomach or my thighs or a dozen other things that society had taught me to scrutinize.
But not tonight. Tonight, I wanted Austin to see me. Really see me. Wanted him to look at me the way he had on the beach, like I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
I added simple jewelry. I didn’t want to take away from the beauty of the dress. I put on small gold hoops and a delicate bracelet. Again, nothing that would compete with the dress. I touched up my makeup, adding a bit more shimmer to my cheeks, a darker shade to my lips.
Then I reached for my phone, angling for a photo. This dress deserved to be documented. My followers would love to see me dressed up.
I stopped.
No. It wasn’t for Instagram. Wasn’t for my followers or my brand or the carefully curated image I’d built. It was just for Austin. For us.
I wanted him to feel special. He was the only one that was going to see me in it. Well, he and the crew. But I wanted him to know I wasn’t doing this for clicks. We were both stepping away from who we were supposed to be according to people who didn’t know us.
Smiling at the realization, I set my phone down without taking the photo.
Some moments were meant to be private. Some things were too precious to share with the world.
But I couldn’t resist checking my notifications while I was holding it.
The phone showed a handful of messages. I scrolled through them.
My mom had sent three texts asking for more photos and reminding me to drink water. I sent back a quick selfie and a promise to stay hydrated.
Cleo had sent approximately fifteen messages, most of them memes and GIFs about yacht life. But the most recent one was a link to the Instagram account dedicated to Austin’s worst paparazzi photos.
Just reminding you what you’re working with, she’d written, followed by a string of crying-laughing emojis.
I clicked the link and scrolled through the latest additions.
Austin looking disheveled leaving a nightclub.
Austin with terrible bedhead at a coffee shop with black sunglasses hiding what I assumed would have been some horribly bloodshot eyes.
Another one of him looking at the bottom of his shoe after obviously having stepped in something.
I laughed, shaking my head. God, Cleo was relentless. I was about to close out of Instagram when I noticed an email notification. From an address I didn’t recognize. Just a string of random numbers and letters.
The subject line was blank. But there was an attachment. A folder titled “Austin.”
I stared at it. My thumb hovered over the notification. Something about it felt off. Wrong. Like when you get a text from an unknown number asking you to click a link.
It was probably spam. A phishing attempt. Some hacker trying to get access to my phone and all my accounts. But why would they title the folder “Austin?” That seemed oddly specific.
It could be someone trying to mess with me. Send me something that would ruin this perfect trip in an attempt to plant seeds of doubt about Austin. Cleo would be more obvious. And she’d send it from her email account.
Whatever it was, if someone had to hide behind an anonymous email address to send it, I had no business opening it. I deleted the email, my finger decisive on the screen.
But my stomach was suddenly swirling with nerves. What if it was important? What if it was something I needed to know?
No. I shook my head at myself. That’s what they wanted me to think.
Whoever “they” were. That’s how these things worked.
They played on fear and curiosity and the need to know.
It could be one of my followers that was jealous.
Or maybe they thought I didn’t know about Austin’s past and were trying to warn me.
But I didn’t need to know. Whatever was in that folder, it could stay there.
I looked at myself in the mirror one more time, trying to recapture the confidence I had felt moments ago. The dress still looked beautiful. My makeup was still perfect. My skin still glowed. But the smile I managed wasn’t nearly as bright as the one I’d worn a minute ago.
There was a knock on the stateroom door. “Melody? You almost ready?”
Austin’s voice. Warm and familiar.
“Almost!” I called back. “Give me two minutes.”
I took a deep breath, pushing thoughts of anonymous emails out of my mind. This was my vacation. My time with Austin. I wasn’t going to let some random internet troll ruin it.
“I’ll be upstairs waiting,” he said.
“Be right there,” I said.
I spritzed on perfume that was tropical and beachy. I checked my reflection one last time, forced my smile to reach my eyes.
I was going to enjoy my evening. The anonymous troll could get bent.