He couldn’t make a toast to me—it felt wrong. I wasn’t the girl who was ever the reason for the toast. “Let’s hope the fireworks are good,” I said, raising my glass.
He shook his head and I wasn’t sure if it was because I’d ignored his toast or because of my expectations of entertainment from the shore. Outstretching his arm, he guided me to the portside, which was closest to the shore.
“It’s beautiful without the fireworks,” he said, and when I glanced at him he was looking right at me.
My heart thundered under his attention, and at the possibilities of his intentions. “And different from the South of France, right? It’s only a few miles away but you can tell it’s another country.”
He nodded. “Do you get to go ashore a lot?”
“In Italy? Not much. You end up with time off where you’re picking up your next charter—which is usually Saint Tropez or Monaco. The French Riviera, mainly. But I do volunteer for trips ashore during charters down the Italian coast. You know, if guests need anything. Do you like Italy?” I was babbling, trying to hide my desire for him. My eyes flitted across to him. I wanted to see his reaction, to study him, to know what he was thinking.
“Yeah. I’ve been to Milan for business countless times. And I’ve holidayed in villas in Tuscany.”
Boom.
The first of the fireworks exploded in the sky—an umbrella of bright pink followed by white raindrops—stark against the black backdrop. I turned to him. I loved it. He smiled back at me and I had to look away his stare was so intense.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The sky exploded into a shower of orange and blue stars as if we were in our own, alternative snow globe.
“I like this smile.”
I turned back to him and realized his eyes had been on me the whole time.
“This smile?”
“The Avery Walker smile. It’s different to the stewardess smile I normally get. They’re both beautiful, but I prefer this one.”
Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.
I wasn’t sure if the noise pounding in my ears was the fireworks up above or every atom of my body thundering in unison.
I glanced down at my glass, hiding my blush.
Another burst of light pulled our attention back to the sky and we watched for a few minutes in silence.
“Michael would love this,” I said to myself, watching the colors surge and retreat. One of my first memories was Fourth of July fireworks with Mom and Dad and Michael. I’d missed that annual family outing since I’d begun yachting. Since Mom left.
“Michael?”
“My younger brother.”
“You’re close?” he asked.
Though I shouldn’t, I took my first sip of champagne. I had to be up early tomorrow, would probably have to pick up the slack from August and Skylar because of their hangovers. “Yeah. Kinda.” I didn’t see him that often and although I spoke to my dad every day, Michael and I didn’t shoot the breeze or say much at all to each other unless I was at home.
“But you want him to see the fireworks?”
I exhaled, my shoulders dropping. “He had an accident. There were spinal injuries. Head injuries. He doesn’t walk anymore. But he loves sports on TV and he would love this.” I wished I could transport him here, show him how beautiful this place was. But he was unlikely to ever leave Sacramento, let alone the United States.
“I’m sorry,” Hayden said, sweeping his knuckles over my cheek as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
I shook my head and pulled my shoulders back. “It was seven years ago. And he has excellent medical care. And he and my dad eat too much pizza and watch far too much TV.” I smiled at the thought of the two of them pretending to like my stir-fry or the vegetable casserole that I made whenever I was at home.
“Is that why you wanted to work abroad, to escape what was happening back home?”
It was such a personal question—prying and invasive—but I wanted to tell him.
I leaned against the railings, holding the stem of my glass with both hands. “Nope. I’d prefer to be with my family. But medical bills mount up, you know?”
He closed his eyes in a long blink as if what I’d said pained him. “I get it,” he said, settling next to me, like we had been when we were watching the sunrise. “I have a brother. Younger. I’d move mountains for him if he wasn’t more than capable of moving them for himself.”
Tears misted my eyes. “That’s what family does, right?” My mother hadn’t felt the same.
“Not always,” he said, as if he were reading my thoughts. He took a sip of his drink and turned so his body was facing me side on. “What would you do if the medical bills didn’t exist?”