Page 94 of Loving the Legend
I follow his trail toward the docks, my curiosity doubling with each step.
“Bab—Sid”—I catch myself despite being the only two people around—“you rented us a yacht for the night!”
“Rent?” His face scrunches up. “Why would I rent something I own?”
I freeze. “You own a yacht?”
He nods.
My voice plunges to a low yell. “We’ve been dating for how long, and you didn’t think to disclose that you own a—”
“Whoa, whoa! I disclosed it. Remember when you rode me in the back of the Aston, and you said that you could now cross fucking in a car off of your bucket list, and I said the plane and the yacht’s next, and you laughed?”
My jaw drops. “That was your way of telling me you own a fucking yacht? How?”
He shrugs. “I thought it was clear.”
I throw my arms up. “In what universe is that clear?”
“Listen, no one likes the dude who won’t shut up about his yacht. It’s corny. I’ll admit, I could have been less subtle.”
I scoff. “You think!” I peer down the line of beaming vessels. “Which one is it, Bruce Wayne?”
I’ve seen a million interviews with him, and never once was a yacht featured.
“How’d you know it’s modeled after the—”
Jogging away, I pass a cream and brass-colored yacht that’s too classic and boring for Sid’s taste. There’s a purple and orange one that you’d need to be on acid to appreciate.
“Hold up,” Sid says, on my heels as I zip past a row of similar classic styles. I race around the corner and freeze, causing Sid to barrel into me. He wraps his arm around my waist to break my fall.
“No fucking way!” I gaze up at the behemoth black vessel gleaming with a titanium trim.
“Sick! How’d you know it was this one?”
I glare at him. “You mean, besides the big dick energy radiating from it?”
He grins. “Meet Vengeance or V for short.”
I shake my head. “You own a yacht.”
He owns a yacht.
But it’s not just a yacht—it’s the Batmobile of yachts.
“C’mon. It’s just us tonight, but the captain will be here late morning to take us out. I haven’t been out in months. You like jet-skiing?”
“Never been.” My eyes take in every inch of the vessel as I trail him through a side gate.
“I’ll show you how. You’re gonna love it.” He leads me through a powered side door.
“Let me give you a tour. V’s a tri-deck, meaning there are—”
“Three levels,” I finish. “Damn, this is tight.” I take in a sweeping grand room with redwood—or maybe mahogany—walls and wide windows overlooking the water. “Is this the living room?”
He nods. “Main salon.” He pushes on a polished wood panel, and a fridge door opens. He hands me a glass bottle of chilled water and retrieves one for himself. My head feels like it’s gonna explode. Who’s hushed about owning something like this!
The center of the room has two plush tufted cognac-colored couches and a pair of matching leather armchairs. A circular brass-beamed glass table sits in the center. An enclosed glass bookshelf, full of leather-bound books I’m itching to touch, is offto the side. Curved glass with brass-finished wall sconces emit a soft glow over the space.
