Page 26 of Forbidden Fruit

A hint of old pain in her voice resonates with me. “My father taught me to sail as a boy,” I tell her. “It was the only time he wasn’t working or drinking.”

Her eyes meet mine, filled with a quiet understanding that catches me off guard. “It’s funny how we hold onto those moments, right? The rare times when they were actually present.”

I nod, surprised by how easily she’s cut to the heart of it. Most people respond with pity or awkward platitudes when I mention my father’s drinking.

“Would you like to take her out?” I gesture to the speedboat. “Just a quick spin around the bay. The reef looks spectacular from above.”

Rebecca glances back toward the house, hesitation crossing her features. “I should probably check if Jack needs anything else...”

The words hang between us, and I see something in her expression—a flicker of awareness, perhaps, of the pattern she’s caught in.

“Of course,” I say, keeping my tone neutral. “Another time.”

She shifts her weight and then seems to make a decision. “Actually, a quick boat ride sounds perfect. Jack’s probably fallen back asleep anyway.”

I try not to look too pleased as I untie the mooring lines. “Hop in. I’ll show you my favorite cove.”

Rebecca carefully steps into the boat, settling onto the cushioned seat while I prepare for our excursion. Within minutes, we’re skimming across the turquoise water, the wind whipping her hair back from her face. Her smile is genuine now, unguarded in a way I rarely see when Jack is around.

“This is amazing!” she shouts over the engine noise, lifting her face to the sun.

I ease back on the throttle as we approach a secluded stretch of coastline, where limestone cliffs drop dramatically into crystal-clear water. The boat slows to a gentle drift.

“This is my thinking spot,” I tell her, cutting the engine. “When business gets overwhelming, or I need perspective, I come here.”

Rebecca leans over the side, peering into the water. “I can see why. It’s like being in another world.”

The following silence is comfortable, unmarred by the need to fill it with small talk. I watch Becca take in the scenery, cataloging the small details of her expression—the way her eyes crinkle slightly at the corners when she smiles, the thoughtful purse of her lips.

“Can I ask you something personal?” she says suddenly, facing me.

“Of course.”

“Why did you and Kay really split up? Jack says it was because you were married to your work, but...” She trails off, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry, that’s too intrusive.”

“No, it’s a fair question.” I lean back, considering how to answer. “The simple version is that Kay and I wanted different things. She wanted the status of being married to me more than she wanted an actual partnership.”

Rebecca nods slowly. “And the complicated version?”

I meet her gaze directly. “The complicated version is that we never should have married in the first place. We mistook mutual ambition for compatibility.”

I can’t help but notice Becca’s expression change—a subtle shift that suggests my words have resonated with her in some unexpected way.

“I think I understand that more than you know,” she says finally, her voice barely audible above the gentle lapping of water against the hull.

Before I can respond, a speedboat roars past in the distance, breaking the spell. Rebecca straightens, glancing at her watch.

“We should probably head back,” she says, though I detect reluctance in her tone.

“Of course.”

I restart the engine, guiding us back toward the dock at a leisurely pace. Neither of us seems eager to return to the reality waiting at Casa Azul. As we approach, I spot a figure on the dock—Jack, arms crossed, sunglasses hiding his eyes but not the scowl on his face.

“Looks like Sleeping Beauty’s awake,” I mutter.

Rebecca’s soft laugh carries a hint of resignation. “And probably not happy.”

I help her from the boat, conscious of Jack’s eyes on us, as I steady her with a hand at her elbow.

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