Page 72 of Peasants and Kings
“You speak Norwegian?”
“Fluently. Along with French, Italian, and Shetlandic. Do you speak any languages?
“French and Italian,” I admitted. “Shetlandic? I’ve never even heard of that.”
“Shetland has both Scottish and Norse influence. So, the language is made up of Scot dialect and the Norn language—which is now extinct.” He shrugged.
Shrugged. Like it was nothing.
I looked at him in awe. “You’re not just a pretty face, are you Hadrian Rhys?”
“No more than you are, Eden Smith.”
I saw Lerwick from the back of a Mercedes that drove us to the marina where Hadrian’s yacht waited for us. It was past dinner time and my stomach growled in protest.
“I haven’t forgotten to feed you,” he assured me with a grin. “I just wanted to wait until we were on my yacht. Can you wait a few more minutes?”
I nodded.
“Do you like lobster?” he asked.
“I think so,” I said.
“You think so? Have you never had lobster?”
I shrugged and looked out the window again into the night sky. “There wasn’t a lot of money growing up to have lobster.”
The admittance tumbled out of my mouth and my heart pounded with sudden nerves. I hoped Hadrian didn’t drag me down a lane of my past, asking questions about me.
He took my hand and gave it a squeeze. “You’ll try the lobster—and if you love it, I’ll make sure you have it whenever you want.”
“You really won’t spare any expense, will you?”
“If something makes you happy and I can provide it, then I will.”
The car stopped in front of the marina and a man in a stretch golf cart greeted us.
“Mr. Rhys. Right this way.”
The car driver placed our luggage on the back of the cart and then we were off, headed through a small gate down to the illuminated docks. We drove for a minute or two and then the golf cart came to a stop in front of a massive yacht. It was lit from above and below with well-placed nautical lighting. I could see the hulls through the water at the rear of the yacht.
My mouth gaped. “This is yours?”
“It’s a power catamaran, and yes, it’s mine.”
Hadrian took my hand and guided me onto the steps at the stern of his yacht on the right-hand side. As we stepped up onto the vessel, my chest tightened when I was confronted with the magnitude of opulence. Even though I’d just been on his private jet, this…this was something else. I could rationalize a private jet. It was for travel, for business.
But a yacht?
A yacht was supreme luxury, a toy for the elite.
There was seating for eight people and a table for dining outside, all lit up perfectly to showcase expert craftsmanship and a real teak deck. A man appeared from a staircase just to the right of a set of sliding glass doors and he began to speak to Hadrian in low tones before disappearing again.
“I know just as much about yachts as I do jets,” I said to him, gliding my hand across the sleek stainless-steel handrail I’d been gripping.
Hadrian smiled. “Then I won’t bore you with too many specifics. This is Aegir. She’s an 80 Sunreef power catamaran, one of only seven like her in the world, and fully customized for me. But I promised you dinner. Take off your boots. I have deck shoes for you, or you can go barefoot.”
“Yes. Food and then bed, I think,” I said, my body tired from travel. I quickly pulled off my boots and followed Hadrian’s massive form across the deck.
