Page 65 of The Best Worst Mistake
“You just met me though.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Andy twists an imaginary key in front of his pursed lips, then tosses it over his shoulder.
“Come on,” I push. “You can’t leave me with a cliffhanger like that.”
“I’ve already said enough,” he tells me, setting down his empty glass. “Oh good Lord, honey, here we go again.” He juts his chin out toward Si and Carl, inviting me to take a look.
Two women have saddled up right next to Carl and Silas. One of them is so close to Si that her chest is practically touching his. Both of the women are giggling and making eyes up at him like he’s on their dinner menu for tonight.
I eye Andy.
“What do you meanagain?” I ask, carefully watching the four of them.
Andy sighs like this is an everyday occurrence.
“When you’re traveling with a globally known billionaire, he’s bound to get recognized here and there. Happens all the time. At first, it was like watching an all-you-can-eat buffet, but his appetite has tempered. Like I was saying.”
A sharp spike of jealousy sends my pulse racing while I watch these two women try to flirt with him. One even reaches up to touch his arm, practically drooling onto his shoes. He smiles politely then glances over in my direction, nodding toward the table where Andy and I are sitting. Both of the girls instantly turn their heads. Their expressions change when they see me. I give them a halfhearted smile, adding a little wave.
Between gritted teeth, I ask Andy what’s happening.
“If I had to guess, I’d say he’s telling them that he’s with us,” Andy replies, giving me a triumphant grin. “Withyou,more specifically.”
“Oh, he doesn’t have to do that,” I say, frowning. “He’s single. We’re in our own suites this time. He doesn’t have to . . .” But I trail off, realizing that he might nothaveto use me as anexcuse as to why he can’t connect with these two women, but that Iwanthim to use me as an excuse to walk away. And I’m not totally sure why.
“Oh, yes he does,” Andy chortles, then gives me an exaggerated side-eye that makes me laugh.
“And why’s that?” I ask.
The two women walk away like all the wind has just been knocked out of their sails.
“Because I have a funny feeling that he’s been waiting his whole life for this,” he tells me. “Whatever allthisturns out to be.”
Chapter 29
After the crew turns in for the night, Silas and I barhop our way down the boardwalk. We have an early sail in the morning but tonight Silas is everything I always loved about him: charming, charismatic, hilarious. Always two steps ahead, anticipating my thoughts before I even voice them, and by the time my jet lag is threatening to have me pass out cold, sitting at the last table, he’s already calling the waitress over for the final check.
When we walk out of the bar, into the balmy night air, I’m acutely aware of his arm brushing against mine as we make our way down the street.
Grant’s words fill the empty hollows of my mind, while Silas’ words join in next, like a chorus of reminders, compelling me to lean into him even more instead of pulling away.
Live because they can’t.
I link my arm through his like I’ve done a thousand times years ago, and he bends his arm at the elbow, locking me in. We walk like that, listening to the sound of the waves striking the rocky shoreline below while tourists and locals mingle on the sidewalk, weaving around groups still standing outside bars and eateries. The architecture here is pure magic and there’s something more beautiful to see on each block we pass, dating back hundreds of years, with hidden alleyways and wooden doors leading to delicious-smelling food and drink carts or street musicians making the most of the crowds heading home in the dark.
The faint echo of a Spanish guitar rings out when we turn the corner onto an old, narrow walkway that’ll lead us back to the hotel. There’s a small group of people gathered here, listening to a musician pluck the strings with an empty guitar case sitting open at his feet. It’s scattered with loose change and crumbled bills. A few couples dance on the cobblestone, gently swaying ineach other’s arms, illuminated by an old streetlamp flickering periodically overhead.
Silas pauses beside me.
“I think you owe me a dance,” he says. It’s not a question, but a command.
Before I can tell him no, he turns me toward him, pulling me in by the waist with one hand while grabbing tightly onto my free hand with the other.
“Si, you can’t be serious—” I begin to protest, but he holds me firmly against him, making me forget the rest of my words. I swallow the rest away and let him lead me, chuckling.
“A deal’s a deal,” he says, reminding me of our negotiation back at the hangar in Switzerland.
I groan, remembering, looking around at who may be watching us awkwardly sway on the cobblestone but no one seems to care.
