excited, and when I glance over at her, she’s beaming at me.
She makes me laugh. The way she says it isn’t condescending. Some men would flinch at the size reference, but I know she would have called the Queen Mary 2 a boat as well. To her, it means floating, and that’s fun. I see it in her eyes.
“Yup, on a boat.”
CHAPTER 21
CASSIE
T he ride over the city was unreal. I’ve lived here for years without experiencing it like that. Flying in a helicopter isn’t the same as a plane. Instead of a rumbling horizontal ascent, you take off vertically like an elevator, shooting up into the sky and soaring over the skyscrapers. Landing is a similarly abrupt plummet through the air before parallel parking between two other helicopters. I was nervous watching Jon do it, but he didn’t act like it was a big deal. His confidence has grown up and internalized. He’s sure of himself. He doesn’t project it the way he did when we were younger. He just knows what to do and does it.
When we land at the heliport, a limo is waiting. We take the short ride to the yacht club. I glance around, seeing famous people and trying not to stare. I look over at Jon across the room. He’s speaking with someone, a man, about the yacht.
Jon stands there smiling warmly, one hand in his pocket and a confident look in his eyes. He nods and says something, then waits for a reply. The arrogant boy who never listened is gone. He’s soaking up every word the man says.
Jon thanks him and walks back to me. “Ready?”
I nod, stand, and smooth my skirt. “Yup!” I’m too excited to control my grinning. My face starts to ache. When he asked me to go out this morning, I thought he meant McDonald’s. I never expected this.
A few minutes later, we’re on the boat, and several men help to prep the vessel. Satisfied that everything is in order, the guys from the yacht club disembark and head back to the marina. I watch as Jon alone maneuvers the ship away from the dock in complete control.
As we pull away, we head up the river and toward the Atlantic. I sit there, happy to feel the sun on my face and the spray of salt on my skin. Before we left, Jon pointed out different areas of the ship I might want to explore. I stand, kick off my shoes, and pad around the deck, ducking my head into different cabins and wandering through a large sitting area adjoining a beautiful dining room. I’m watching a chandelier sparkle and sway in time with the water when Jon walks up behind me.
“Are you hungry?”
“Yes, but don’t you need to steer?”
He laughs and shakes his head, making that dark hair fall into his eyes. He pushes it back. “No, the ship has automation for that. Dinner was prepared and brought on board before we left. Should we eat in here and then have dessert on the deck after the sun sets?”
It feels like I'm in a dream. “That sounds incredible.” As he places the dishes and silverware on the table, I sit and ask him about his businesses, surprised he speaks so freely. He leases this yacht as well. The club cares for it and helps procure lessees. An agent does the rest.
In the middle of our meal I glance up at him. The sun is setting, painting the room with vibrant oranges and yellows. Jon’s hair is a mess from the wind and salty spray. It’s got a ruffled thing going on that makes my fingers itch to touch it.
Jon glances up at me and places his fork and knife down. “Can I ask you something?” His tone is serious, deeper than usual with less inflection. It’s not a question he wants to ask.
“Anything.”
“What did you tell that reporter about Dad's mistresses? It's odd how they honed in on my parents' relationship but skimmed over the other more immoral issues there. It was almost as if they didn’t know.” He watches me carefully beneath those dark lashes. This is a sore spot for him, a festering wound with the blade still buried deep within.
I’ve always felt horrible about this. I accepted blame for it, but
She makes me laugh. The way she says it isn’t condescending. Some men would flinch at the size reference, but I know she would have called the Queen Mary 2 a boat as well. To her, it means floating, and that’s fun. I see it in her eyes.
“Yup, on a boat.”
CHAPTER 21
CASSIE
T he ride over the city was unreal. I’ve lived here for years without experiencing it like that. Flying in a helicopter isn’t the same as a plane. Instead of a rumbling horizontal ascent, you take off vertically like an elevator, shooting up into the sky and soaring over the skyscrapers. Landing is a similarly abrupt plummet through the air before parallel parking between two other helicopters. I was nervous watching Jon do it, but he didn’t act like it was a big deal. His confidence has grown up and internalized. He’s sure of himself. He doesn’t project it the way he did when we were younger. He just knows what to do and does it.
When we land at the heliport, a limo is waiting. We take the short ride to the yacht club. I glance around, seeing famous people and trying not to stare. I look over at Jon across the room. He’s speaking with someone, a man, about the yacht.
Jon stands there smiling warmly, one hand in his pocket and a confident look in his eyes. He nods and says something, then waits for a reply. The arrogant boy who never listened is gone. He’s soaking up every word the man says.
Jon thanks him and walks back to me. “Ready?”
I nod, stand, and smooth my skirt. “Yup!” I’m too excited to control my grinning. My face starts to ache. When he asked me to go out this morning, I thought he meant McDonald’s. I never expected this.
A few minutes later, we’re on the boat, and several men help to prep the vessel. Satisfied that everything is in order, the guys from the yacht club disembark and head back to the marina. I watch as Jon alone maneuvers the ship away from the dock in complete control.
As we pull away, we head up the river and toward the Atlantic. I sit there, happy to feel the sun on my face and the spray of salt on my skin. Before we left, Jon pointed out different areas of the ship I might want to explore. I stand, kick off my shoes, and pad around the deck, ducking my head into different cabins and wandering through a large sitting area adjoining a beautiful dining room. I’m watching a chandelier sparkle and sway in time with the water when Jon walks up behind me.
“Are you hungry?”
“Yes, but don’t you need to steer?”
He laughs and shakes his head, making that dark hair fall into his eyes. He pushes it back. “No, the ship has automation for that. Dinner was prepared and brought on board before we left. Should we eat in here and then have dessert on the deck after the sun sets?”
It feels like I'm in a dream. “That sounds incredible.” As he places the dishes and silverware on the table, I sit and ask him about his businesses, surprised he speaks so freely. He leases this yacht as well. The club cares for it and helps procure lessees. An agent does the rest.
In the middle of our meal I glance up at him. The sun is setting, painting the room with vibrant oranges and yellows. Jon’s hair is a mess from the wind and salty spray. It’s got a ruffled thing going on that makes my fingers itch to touch it.
Jon glances up at me and places his fork and knife down. “Can I ask you something?” His tone is serious, deeper than usual with less inflection. It’s not a question he wants to ask.
“Anything.”
“What did you tell that reporter about Dad's mistresses? It's odd how they honed in on my parents' relationship but skimmed over the other more immoral issues there. It was almost as if they didn’t know.” He watches me carefully beneath those dark lashes. This is a sore spot for him, a festering wound with the blade still buried deep within.
I’ve always felt horrible about this. I accepted blame for it, but
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