Below Deck

She cursed his name and got angry on my behalf, but all I could do was stay curled up in a ball in the bed, unable to make my limbs move an inch.

Had I been wrong about him all this time? Had I misjudged or misheard the things he said to me in the wheelhouse that night? How could I be so stupid? How could I think that a man I just met would ask me to stay with him and never leave?

“That’s it. Get your ass out of bed and get in the shower,” Brooke suddenly orders, sliding out of bed from behind me where she’d been holding me and letting me cry into my pillow.

“I don’t want to,” I sniffle.

“I know you don’t. I know you’re pissed and you’re hurt and you’re sad, but this is your last night on this boat. Your last night with Declan.”

She comes around to my side of the bed and I glare up at her when she says his name.

“I know. He’s an asshole and I really want to go find him and chop off his balls, but you need to do this for you, not for him. If you skip out on this dinner with him, avoid him, and walk off this boat tomorrow without looking back, you’re going to regret it. Take a shower, get dressed, hold your head up high and show him what he’s missing. Show him just how royally he fucked up,” Brooke demands.

I close my eyes and burrow my face into my pillow, wishing she wasn’t right. Spending the evening with him will kill me, but I know it would hurt even worse if I walk away tomorrow without even trying, always wondering “what if.”

With a sigh, I pull myself out of bed and head for the shower.

Wearing my favorite pair of jean shorts and a fitted t-shirt I got from St. Thomas before we boarded the ship almost two weeks ago, I make my way along the outside deck, running my hand along the railing as I go, staring out at the dark water we’re slowly making our way through while the gentle ocean breeze rustles my hair around my face.

My bare feet come to a stuttering stop when I get around to the sundeck and see what Declan has done.

The lounge chairs have all been folded up and put away, and he’s spread a blanket out on the floor in the middle of the deck. The blanket has been set up just like the table usually is for dinner—with two white plates and silver domes covering them, silverware and crystal glasses, napkins folded into elegant shapes, and a large vase in the middle filled with fresh flowers. Dotting the blanket, and set up all around it, are small glass candleholders with flickering tea light candles lit inside.

“You’re beautiful.”

Declan’s voice brings my head up from the spread in front of me. I find him leaning his shoulder against the side of the ship with his hands in the front pockets of his cargo shorts, staring at me. His eyes heat my skin as they slowly travel up my bare legs and across my torso to my face. The corner of his mouth tips up into a smile and I press one hand to my stomach, the sight of his dimples making me want to jump over the blanket to kiss him and cry at the same time.

After tomorrow morning, I’ll never see those dimples again. I’ll never hear his voice telling me I’m beautiful and actually making me believe it. He went along with me keeping things light and easy, and we’ve had fun together the last few days, but then he went and ruined it all and made me second-guess everything we’d shared. Now that the moment is here, now that it’s almost time for me to leave him, I wish I’d told him everything I wanted to say. I wish I had the courage to do it now, in spite of how wrong I was about him. I hate myself for being a coward. I hate myself for not wanting to ruin our last night together, even though he ruined what I thought I could have for my future.

“I’m wearing ratty jean shorts and a t-shirt,” I tell him with a raise of one eyebrow, breaking his stare to look down at myself and joke about the “beautiful” comment, even though it’s taking everything in me to remain calm and casual when all I want to do is break down and cry again.

“You could be wearing a potato sack and you’d still be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he replies softly, pushing away from the wall to walk over to the opposite side of the blanket from me.

He gestures with his hand for me to join him, and I paste a smile on my face, taking the few remaining steps to the edge of the blanket.

We both sit down across from each other, and he reaches towards me, wrapping his hand around the handle of the silver dome on top of my plate, as well as the one in front of him.

“I asked Marcel to make something fancy and special for tonight.”

With a flourish, he whips both domes off at the same time, and I can’t help but laugh loudly when I see what he’s had Marcel make.

“Cheeseburgers and french fries!” I exclaim, clasping my hands together and holding them against my heart. “My favorite.”

“Only the best for my girl.”

My hands slowly drop down into my lap and I keep the smile on my face, even though my eyes burn with tears. I don’t know why he called me that, and I hate how it makes my heart flutter when I know it’s not true.

I just want him to take back what he said to me in the galley. I want him to apologize, tell me he was wrong and I was right. Tell me I wasn’t imagining things in the wheelhouse the other night and that I still make him want to break all the rules and change his plans.

I just want him to ask me to stay.

We eat our dinner in silence, listening to the waves crash against the side of the ship that brings me closer and closer to the moment I’ll have to leave him. It takes a lot of effort for me to eat, swallowing past the huge lump in my throat, but I finish everything, not wanting him to think I don’t like or appreciate the meal he had Marcel prepare for us. Wanting him to think I’m perfectly fine this thing between us isn’t going any further and that I’ll be perfectly fine when I get off that ship tomorrow and never see him again.