Pierce
Getting through security and onto the boat was easy. Thea looked like she might hyperventilate during the entire five-second process, but we made it.
We found our room and made ourselves at home.
Well, Thea did. She collapsed onto the bed and slept for two hours.
The woman can snore. Like a freight train.
I never fully appreciated that metaphor, but I do now.
I had to turn on the TV just to block out the sound.
She didn’t snore in my recliner; I’ll have to see if I can scrounge one up.
It’s dinnertime. This is where the Larsens were likely to meet or make friends, so we’ll have to avoid the places they went and whatever assigned seating they may have had.
“Are you almost ready?” I holler, buttoning up my last button.
The bathroom is exactly four square feet, and she’s been inside for the last hour and a half. I’m claustrophobic just thinking about it. What could she possibly be doing in there?
“Almost.” Her words are muffled, like she’s speaking with something in her mouth.
I check the time. It’s nearly eight. I wanted to wait until after most people had eaten, but now I’m starving. It’s been ages since breakfast, and a man my size needs protein.
The door to the bathroom cracks open.
“Final—” The word evaporates on my tongue as a sea of baby-blue material flows around her like the ocean we’re sailing, off her shoulders, effortlessly down her legs.
There’s a slit to her mid-thigh and a triangle cutout in the center of her stomach through which half the heart of freckles is visible.
My throat is too dry to breathe properly. “No.”
She frowns as she tosses her curled hair over her shoulder to put in her earrings. “Excuse me?”
“I mean…” I swallow. What did I mean? “Why would you wear that to dinner?”
“I thought cruise dinners were supposed to be fancy. You’re wearing a button-up.”
“Yeah, which is also island attire.” Why am I fighting this? The more I talk about her wardrobe choices, the more I think about the way the dress flatters her curves. The more I think about her curves, the more I want to test the material of the dress and see if it’s as soft as it looks.
“This is the definition of island attire.” She brushes her hands across the ruffles at her side. “I was supposed to be on the beach for my romantic getaway, hopefully getting engaged, remember? I never repacked.”
Well, that certainly brings up some images it shouldn’t. What else did she pack… no. No more.
I clench my jaw and step back instinctively, ensuring my room key is safely tucked inside my wallet. “I suppose it will do.”
“As far as compliments go, that one was found wanting.”
“I’m not exactly a people-pleaser.”
“Heaven forbid you flatter me.” She deadpans. She’s a therapist, so she can probably see right through me. I need to up my mental armor. No more flirting, no more reacting to her. I need to remain professional. Distant. Cold. Like an iceberg—alone in a frozen sea.
“Let’s go, I’m hungry.”
“You mean hangry?” she taunts.
My eyes find her bright blue ones, and one word slips from my lips. “Starving.”
Her throat bobs, and she straightens the straps of her dress. “Let’s go then, Love Muffin.”
The horrible term of endearment is enough to ground me, and I yank open the door. “No.”
“How about cuddly bear, or Snookie Pie?” I flinch. If Noah could see me now… I’d never hear the end of it.
“Are there any good nicknames in your arsenal, or are they all this atrocious?” I ensure the hall is clear before stepping out and holding the door for her.
“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we, Honey Buns?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose but am relieved by the lack of tension in the hallway.
I might have to sleep out here tonight. Because I can’t sleep next to that woman in that miniature cabin.
Every time she moves, the air shifts around her.
I can feel her, smell her. What is happening to me?
I tamped down all my desires years ago. I thought the well would have dried up by now.
I lead her up to the dining deck. There are two dining rooms and an all-day buffet. Buffets mean more movement, more exits, less security.
I choose the dining room with fewer seafood options and give our ‘names’ to the hostess.
The petite hostess types something on the tablet, then frowns. “I’m sorry, sir. You missed your reserved time.”
I duck my head sheepishly. “Sorry, it’s our honeymoon, couldn’t get this one off me.”
Thea pinches the back of my arm hard enough I flinch. “Yes, it’s our honeymoon, but he made me sleep in a chair last night.”
The hostess blanches at me.
“She snores.”
Thea gasps, clutching her chest. “You tell me this now, after we’re married? I thought you loved me.” The woman I once thought couldn’t act blinks back tears.
I reach for her arm to stop this runaway train. I was only trying to get us a table, not an audience. “Of course I…” I choke on the word love. “Adore you. Your snoring is beautiful. I’m sorry.”
“Now you’re lying to me. This marriage is doomed.” Thea buries her face in her hands, and I step toward her. When I considered how one might sell a fake marriage, this situation never occurred to me. She has once again caught me off guard.
I lift my arms, wrapping them gingerly around her, careful not to touch too much skin. “There, there,” I mutter and glance awkwardly at the hostess.
“You know what? I think a table just opened up,” she squeaks before rushing into the dining room.
I wait until she’s gone to whisper, “You can stop crying now.”
“I don’t think I can.” Thea sniffles, hiding her face from me. “I just started thinking about things, and now it’s like a faucet that won’t turn off. The dead body, the drugging, the guy shooting at us…”
My instinct is to separate myself from the very existence of such emotions. But her whisper isn’t as quiet as she thinks it is, and that is the only reason I hold her a little tighter—to muffle her words.
“I can’t make it stop, Pierce,” she mumbles into my chest. “I’m so scared.”
She needs comfort, and I’m unfortunately the only one who can offer it. “Hey, you’re safe with me.” I slide my right hand up her spine, then back down, hating every moment of the feel of her smooth skin beneath my calloused palms.
“What if someone followed us onto the boat?” Thea whispers.
“That’s always a possibility.”
“And they kill us in our sleep?”
“And sell our body parts?” I say, to lighten the mood.
Her head jerks back. “People do that?”
I mean, yeah. “It was a joke.”
“As previously discussed, your sense of humor is frightful. Please refrain in the future.”
I bite back a smile. There goes sleeping in the hall tonight. She’d join me out there.
“I’m sorry, that wasn’t funny. Nothing is going to happen to you.”
She nods, resting her head on my chest again.
“I’m safe with you,” she says, if only to reassure herself.
I would be worried if she willingly followed a stranger without questioning their motives a little.
Especially a stranger whose job includes getting shot at.
I definitely should have thought twice before tying her to me.
I could have put her on the boat and left.
But it wasn’t safe for me in Mexico anymore, and I’m under contract to deliver the drive to Russia.
Those reasons were enough a few hours ago, but now I’m doubting.
I was banking on Mr. Smith bringing the drive back to the States, but it could still be in Mexico.
He could have left it for me somewhere to find, and I screwed up.
Did I make a horrible judgment call?
My muscles flex. No. I went with my gut. Doubting myself now won’t do me any good.
“I think you’ll feel better after you get a good meal.” We both will.
“Yeah,” she says. She scrunches lower in my arms, making herself smaller. Something deep inside me likes that Thea chooses me to keep her safe.
The only mistake is how I keep thinking of her. No more teasing or flirting. She is Jennie Larsen. My fake wife. That’s it.
I stare out the window at the flat expanse of ocean as I hold her. My mind drifts across the water, to my family in Northern California, and for the first time in a long time, I miss them.
I miss my grandmother’s oatmeal cookies and the way she does crossword puzzles every night before bed.
My grandpa always sat beside her, watching a football game.
He didn’t help her and they talked little, but they were always there together.
That’s the only true image of a home I can recall.
The only moments no one wanted more from me.
The only time I didn’t have to prove myself.
The hostess returns, and I clear my throat and step back.
I extend my left arm to escort Thea into the dining room like a gentleman, as the hostess directs us to a table in the back, near enough the kitchen to hear the banging of pots and pans.
The only hint of romance at the table is the single rose lying in the center.
Good. This is life and death. Not a date.
I slide out Thea’s chair, putting her back toward the room and taking the opposite seat for myself. Our closest table neighbor is an older couple who are both yelling to be heard by the other person.
There are three menu options, and we make our selections to the server, then we sit in silence. Thea is dabbing at the trails of mascara on her cheeks, utterly silent.
I assess the occupants of the dining room over her shoulder. The little family being completely chaotic and loud, then the table with teenagers sharing videos. In the center is a man sitting alone, engaged in a world that only exists on his phone. Dozens of diners, but no one outright suspicious.
I turn my attention to Thea as she brushes the last traces of mascara and sits back, her lips parting.
“What’s the deal with the bracelet?” I blurt and immediately want to take it back as Thea freezes, mouth agape.
“My bracelet?”
I look pointedly at the one she is currently twisting around her wrist.