The Wedding Party Collection. Кейт Хьюит
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room, his bare feet making no sound as he stepped out onto the tiles. She knew those feet, from surfboards of old, and she knew those big hands for she’d grasped them often enough as he’d reached down to haul her into a boat or up a cliff face. She knew what his hair looked like wet because she’d seen it wet a thousand times. She knew this man and loved him. And she knew he loved her.
He didn’t need to have performance anxiety. Not around her. She honestly had no idea why he would.
‘Ready to go?’ he asked, and she nodded.
‘We have a driver,’ she told him. ‘He’ll drop us off and pick us up wherever we want.’
Trig nodded.
‘Did you know that this place is still family-owned? About fifty years ago, the upkeep was sending the family broke and a terrace wall fell down, fortunately not on any guests, but they did find an iron strongbox buried in the footings. It was full of jewellery.’
‘Jewellery fit for a princess?’
‘Better.’ Lena grinned. ‘Jewels designed to placate a royal concubine. They sold three pieces, kept the rest, and it was enough to fully restore this place and run it as a luxury hotel until the hotel became profitable in its own right. Did you know that there are only ten guests here at any one time and eighteen permanent staff?’
‘I do now.’
‘And that they’ll shop for us if we tell them what we want?’
‘What do you want?’
‘Shoes. To go with the dress you bought me earlier. Which is glorious, by the way. I tried it on.’
‘Does it fit?’
‘To perfection.’
‘Not sure I got the colour right.’
‘I love it. It makes me feel like a dancer and I almost have curves.’ She’d never had curves. ‘Do you remember that dress you, Jared and Poppy helped me pick out when I was in year twelve?’
In the absence of a mother’s guidance, Lena had done her best with buying things like make-up and clothes, but the sheer choice that her father’s bankcard had provided had always overwhelmed her, and when it had come to choosing a dress for the school formal, Jared and Trig had just kept saying no. No to the little black dress because she didn’t have enough curves to pull it off. No to the A-line silk tunic with the psychedelic purple swirls because it was far too short and altogether too easy for someone to get their hands beneath it. And she’d been adamantly against any of the more feminine creations Poppy had urged her towards. Hard to embrace feminine clothing when she’d been so set on being one of the boys. She’d finally settled on a glittery red flapper creation with enough crystal beading hanging off it to sink a boat. ‘That dress was so wrong.’
‘That dress did not get my vote,’ said Trig as he slipped on a pair of shoes and pocketed his wallet. ‘It looked like a lampshade and weighed a ton. You could have worn it as a weight belt while diving.’
He did remember it. ‘Did I ever tell you that when I danced in it the beaded fringe flew out and started smacking people?’
‘Maybe you were dancing too close to them.’
‘Nope. Those fringes were really long. People got whacked from half a metre away. I didn’t get up close and personal with anyone at that dance.’
‘Probably because of the dress.’
‘Pretty sure it was because of me.’ Lena smoothed her fingers down the front of her serviceable shorts. ‘No date. No dance partners other than whoever was dancing in the group.’ Lena knew she pursued things too aggressively at times. Sports, adrenaline highs, men...boy, could she scare men away when she wanted to. And Trig and Jared had encouraged it.
Maybe she had been too focused on sex these past few days.
Maybe she needed to cut her husband a break.
‘I remember wanting to ask you to be my partner for that night,’ she said. ‘It would have made it bearable.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘You were twelve hundred kilometres away. And Jared said you were busy.’
‘Not that busy,’ her husband said, after a pause.
‘I also wasn’t sure whether I wanted to mess with the status quo between you, me and Jared. I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea—or possibly the same ideas that I had. You and Jared were my friendship group, my safety net, and I didn’t fit anywhere else. If I stuffed that up I’d have no one.’
Trig had his hands in his pockets and a frown on his face but he nodded as if he understood. ‘Weigh your risks.’
‘Exactly.’
He nodded again, his eyes dark with some unidentifiable emotion. ‘So about this date. You ready to go?’
She most certainly was.
* * *
Trig had more than one ulterior motive for having the driver drop them at the marina rather than the castle. This was the marina that Amos Carter had steered them towards. Jericho3 could be the name of a boat. It sounded too easy, but Trig didn’t mind easy. Right now he craved it. His other reason was nastier, because it involved making Lena walk to the castle from the marina—a distance she could have covered with ease two years ago, but this was now and he knew that she’d have trouble even making it to the castle from here, no matter how often she stopped for a breather along the way.
‘Are we looking for anything in particular?’ Lena asked, with her gaze firmly fixed on the half a dozen sturdy wooden tourist yachts bobbing up and down in their moorings. The sterns of the boats were loaded with cushions and lounges. The undercover bow areas contained dining tables and chairs. The boats were manned by young men with flashing white smiles and darkly suntanned skin. ‘Jericho3 perhaps?’
‘Yes.’
‘I knew it.’ Lena slid her hand in the crook of his elbow. ‘I knew you had an ulterior motive for dragging us down here this afternoon. You think it’s the name of a boat?’
‘No harm in looking.’ Trig eyed the people on the nearby tourist yachts.
‘No women,’ said Lena.
‘Maybe they’re below.’
‘Maybe we could do a trip on one of them. Good way to look around, make some enquiries.’
‘You don’t want to go out on those boats.’ The girl who sidled up to them had a bright smile, copper-coloured hair and enough confidence for a dozen street touts. ‘Come back tomorrow morning before ten if you want a day tour.’
‘Maybe we want a night tour,’ said Lena.
‘You might,’ said the girl. ‘But not on those boats. See all the pretty boys? You pay them and they serve you. The bedrooms are below. Sometimes they don’t even bother with bedrooms. These are the night pleasure boats.’
‘Oh.’ Lena coloured.
Trig grinned. ‘We’re not interested.’
‘I know,’ said the girl. ‘You want my boat. Taxi service only. Take you around the castle and then on a tour of the bay. Drop you back here or at the castle marina if you’d rather. Twenty-five lira.’
‘Seems a little steep,’ said Trig.
‘I also saved you from the night boats.’
‘What if we had wanted the night boats?’ Trig asked curiously.
‘Then I would have recommended my friend Akbar’s fine vessel. It is the most orderly of all the pleasure yachts because he does not allow drug taking or unruly behaviour on board. Nor does he drug your drinks and steal all your money, unlike some.’
‘What a gentleman,’ said Lena.