Page 29 of King of Guilt

“It’s one of my silver linings,” he confessed with a cheery smile. “Do you have plans this Saturday?”

“No.” I then realized that I hadn’t looked at my phone the entire time. Flipping it over, I checked the time. “Wow, it’s getting late.”

“Would you like to go on a boat with me Saturday morning?”

Looking into his eyes, I felt my heart beat faster. The tone in which he asked was hopeful, almost joyful. And the thought of being alone with him on a boat felt dangerous. I was standing on the edge of falling for this man, and something that sounded like a mainstream romance trip could be the last straw. But someone like Dean Allen couldn’t possibly go sailing all alone. Hesitantly, I nodded. “I’d love that.”

Again, I went against my instincts to cheer him up. Who knew what Dean’s fun side was going to look like after four weeks of anguish? I promised myself not to ruin his excitement. After all, he was finally taking the initiative at enjoying something he loved.

Besides, there was still a secondary purpose. Perhaps, for a little while, I could forget all about Kyle and his sudden reemergence in my life. I could soak up the sun and maybe even take a dip in the deep blue ocean.

Maybe the salty water would drown my demons.

fourteen

Soaring and Sinking

Dean

On Saturday, I instructed my yacht crew to prepare drinks, lunch, and snacks. I also informed them that my new wife was going to be there, and that they should expect orders from her throughout our one-day journey. It was the first time for me to take the yacht out since mom had died, and I wanted to relax there more than anything.

When Emma came out of the house in her yellow sundress, revealed by her open coat and straw hat, she was a lovely sight enough to brighten the darkest of days. I wondered if I could get used to seeing her like this, with the air tousling her hair, and her smile reflecting every hope under the sun.

From the moment we stepped onto the yacht, I realized that this wasn’t going to be like any other time I had taken a girlfriend on a yacht trip. Not only did Emma greet everyone working aboard like they were soon to be friends; she even offered to lend a helping hand when one of them started to set up the breakfast table.

Captivated by observing her like an alien soul from a faraway planet, I realized that her mind still hadn’t registered the fact that she was technically a millionaire now. She wasn’t moving, talking or behaving like a woman who had a million dollars in the bank and owned a luxury penthouse worth north of three million. Emma was still Emma, an assistant at heart, satisfied with seeing purpose in helping others.

“Emma,” I called out her name from where I lounged in the corner, and she turned to me, her hands frozen halfway in the air with a stack of empty plates. “They can do all that.”

Her smile turned awkward for a second before she shrugged, resuming the task at hand, returning that confidence to her lips. “So can I.”

“Come.” I beckoned her over with an inviting gesture of my hand. “Sit next to me. You don’t want to miss this view.”

After setting down the last plate, she instinctively rubbed her hands against her hips and walked toward me, her eyes turning to where I was gazing. Her smile turned to a grin. “Wow, will you look at that.” Sitting down next to me, she smelled like fresh jasmine. “Do you get to see your house from here?”

Leaning closer to her ear, I whispered, “Our house.”

She turned to look into my eyes and, as if surprised by my proximity, withdrew an inch for only a moment before adjusting her position, chuckling. “Yeah. Point me to where it should be.”

Extending my right arm, I pointed with my index finger. “See the last tower to the left?”

“Mm-hmm?”

“Now, follow the trees further left. You can see the top, it’s that little brown bit there.”

“Oh my God! There it is!” She laughed.

Instead of looking at the house, I gazed at her profile. The way she laughed. The arc of her lips. The bend below the tip of her nose. “Yeah,” I whispered. “There it is.”

If only there was a way for me to erase the past. She didn’t deserve to carry all of that sorrow inside of her; nobody did.

Abruptly turning to me, she prompted me to quickly sit back and pretend to be examining the view. I felt confused and hyper aware of every move I made, like a teenage boy with his first-time crush.

Should I let her know how I felt?

Would it make her happy?

Or would it scare her away?

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