It was at this point, that Nick let him say a few words, then hauled him away from the press. As confusing as the scene was, it was probably for the best.
“Alright, alright—you’ve had your fun,” Nick said, when the three of us were a safe distance away. He smoothed down his tux, shooting James an amused yet exasperated look.
James glanced away innocently, running a hand back through his dark hair. “I don’t know what you mean. Whatever I was about to say, I’m sure it would have come from the heart.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” Nick muttered. “Straight from your shriveled little heart.”
The two of them shared an affectionate smile, before James took a step back. The smile faded into something thoughtful, then curious, then finally—bemused.
“So, uh...what the fuck’s going on you guys?”
Chapter 15
FOR THE REST OF THE evening, the three of us stuck together like white on rice. After hastily explaining what was going on—starting with the incident in the lobster tank, and ending with his father’s ghastly blackmail—Nick had to physically stop James from marching straight up to Mitchell Hunter and throwing him to the sharks once and for all. It was a tense moment for everyone involved, but once tempers had finally cooled, it actually proved to be a pretty damn enjoyable party.
James was a natural buffer from the harder-hitting questions the two of us were asked throughout the course of the night. Questions like, ‘why so fast’ and ‘is she pregnant?’ Instead, we were able to focus on the actual party, part of the party. Which, thanks to Harold Oates, was going down in history as one for the books.
We danced and drank and laughed until the sun went down. Forgetting about the real reason we were all there. Focusing instead upon the minute to minute. Enjoying the night.
There were several moments throughout the evening—moments when Nick and I were dancing just a little too close, or staring just a little too long—where I would see James glance over curiously and catch his friend’s eye. On each such occasion, Nick would deliberately look away—distracting himself with some passerby, or conveniently going to get us all more drinks.
After everything that had happened, I usually had no idea what to make of these moments myself, so I was hardly any help. I simply drank what was given to me, danced when I was asked, and did my best to forget the fact that all these people were here to celebrate my wedding.
A wedding that wasn’t actually going to happen. A wedding that only existed because of the devious efforts of Nick’s father.
A man who happened to be walking toward us at that precise moment.
Thus far, Nick and I had been able to avoid Mitchell Hunter. He’d stayed on his side of the boat—drinking scotch with his usual band of cronies, while we’d stayed on ours—drinking vodka and jello shots with the rest of the younger generation.
It wasn’t until hour five that he actually weaved his way across the busy floor to his son.
I stopped dancing immediately, and grabbed Nick by the sleeve to get his attention. On his other side, James perked up his head—like a lion on the hunt. Together, the three of us braced ourselves to face him, all with varying degrees of open dislike.
“Nicholas.” It was Mitchell who initiated conversation, giving his son a look like a smiling snake would give a mouse. “That was a lovely speech you gave. Allow me to offer my sincerest congratulations.”
In perfect timing with a host of flashbulbs, he stepped forward and wrapped his arm around his son’s shoulders, ignoring the way Nick stiffened at his very touch.
“Smile for the cameras, son.” His dark eyes glittered with every phosphorescent flash as they immortalized the moment forever. “It’s the entire reason you’re here.”
I wanted to kill him. Literally wanted to strangle him with his own neck tie. My eyes narrowed as I suddenly wondered if ships like this actually had a plank—or if that was only in Disney movies and cartoons.
But I wasn’t the only one having homicidal thoughts...
“Oh shit—Mr. Hunter! I’m so sorry!”
There was an audible gasp, as James stepped forward and ‘accidentally’ spilled his vodka tonic all over Mitchell Hunter’s starched Armani suit. The cameras went wild as he hastened to clean up the mess—using the man’s own tie in the process.
I froze, with a strangled laugh stuck halfway up my throat. Nick turned sheet white, and stared like he had never seen his father outmatched before. And Mitchell Hunter simply stared at James with expressionless eyes, that somehow, still promised certain death.
“How clumsy of me.” James turned his back to the cameras as he ‘cleaned’ Mitchell up, and for a split second, the two of them shared a chilling glare. “Look at me, always interfering in family moments that I should have nothing to do with.”
At this point, fearing for his friend’s safety, Nick snapped back to the present. He casually forced James aside, and caught my hand in the process.
“Sorry, Dad.” He couldn’t meet Mitchell’s eyes, yet somehow, he looked like he was having a better time than he had all night. “We’ll go find Harold and see if he brought a spare.”
Without a glance behind, the three of us hurried away—not daring look back at the drenched and fuming billionaire behind us. It wasn’t until we were clear on the other side of the ship, that Nick pulled us to a sudden stop—turning to gape incredulously at his friend.
“What the hell is the matter with you?”