But I also knew (sensibly) that no one would believe it was unintentional if I’d gotten it wrong. When teenage boys can take pictures of your ass…while pinching it, you know the world isn’t fair or on your side.
“Just thought you should know everybody on the ship knows that you tried to steal my jewelry. I thought it would be a general service to warn people.”
“Okay. Let’s pretend like I care. Now move away.”
“But you should care.”
Her eyes swung from me to Cruz, her smile widening.
Pluck, she was rotten.
I didn’t understand what inspired some people to want to hurt others so much. Surely if you disliked someone so deeply, you would avoid them at any cost and forget their existence.
Trying to inflict pain on someone only showed one thing—that you were the one who was hurting.
“You should care, because there’s someone on this boat who knows who one of y’all really is.”
My heart fell.
For real? How was being a teen mom as many years ago newsworthy outside of my tiny town’s limits.
“That’s right, Dr. Wiseass.” Only for once it wasn’t me with the spotlight of shame—she was looking at Cruz. “Apparently, one of your med school buddies is here with his wife. He knows you’re here with a call girl. Or whatever this woman is to you. Not your actual wife. Don’t think we’re that dumb. No one in their right mind would marry this trailer trash.”
“Call her that one more time to my face, and I’ll be sure you spend your night being interrogated by security once I report you. You’re harassing us, and I won’t stand for that,” Cruz delivered the words like bullets, blow after blow, icy and poised.
“Aw. You’ve gotten attached, haven’t you? You’re just a meal ticket to her.”
“You’re in my way, Mrs. Warren. Move, or I’ll be sure to move you myself. Friendly tip: I won’t be nice about it.”
Satisfied she’d delivered quite a blow, Mrs. Warren flounced across the hallway and toward the elevator bank. I pushed the door open, waiting for Cruz to walk inside.
“Look, it’s all cruise gossip. And what are the chances this med school person even knows someone in Fairhope they could tell this to? It’s nonsense,” I said. “And why would anyone even care?”
I hated that I had to excuse my existence, but I had to admit I was far from the realm of the women who usually hung on his arm. I wasn’t a petite brunette with a liberal arts degree in gender studies and dance management.
Although I did have a three-hundred-dollar dress that looked deliberately wrinkled now, so we were definitely getting somewhere closer.
Cruz seemed cold and unresponsive as he moved around the room. I got it. I did. Up until now, it was all fun and games.
We’d adopted a false last name—Weiner. Under the guise of a married couple with a very strange sex life.
No one knew us here, and our little shenanigans had been nothing but harmless fun. Now, reality was mixing up with the bubble he’d thought was unburstable. He wasn’t used to being less than perfect, and I was cramping his style, big time. This served as a reminder that out there, in the real world, our lives couldn’t interwine. They’d forever collide.
“It’s fine,” Cruz drawled. “Hop into the shower.”
“I’ll talk to Mrs. Warren myself. Explain everything.” I followed him around the tiny room, apologetic all of a sudden.
He turned to me sharply. “Don’t you dare.”
“Why not?”
“She’s a mean piece of work, and I don’t want you to contribute to her power trip. Besides, you’re right. As far as I know, this person knows no one in my life. I only kept in touch with a handful of friends, and I know for a fact that none of them are on this cruise.”
“And anyway,” I added cooperatively, my soul dying inside, “even if it’s someone who knows you—so what? Our families know we’re together on a cruise, and I am the one who is accused of being a thief and a prostitute. You’re just the man who begrudgingly shares a room with me.”
“True.” Cruz stroked his chin, mulling this over.
Wow. Surprisingly: ouch.
He really didn’t want people in Fairhope to know we had any affiliation to one another.
“But see.” I gestured to the room. “This is exactly why we shouldn’t be kissing anymore. You’re ashamed of me.”
“I’m not ashamed of you.”
But his words lacked their usual lethal heat and sincerity, and he didn’t elaborate.
Dejected, I hopped into the shower and got out wearing one of the complimentary bathrobes while he hopped in right after me.
I slipped into one of the outfits he’d bought for me during our shopping spree—a knee-length dramatic black dress with a sweetheart neckline and satin ruffles around the hem—and strappy, camel-hued sandals.
Instead of making my hair big enough it could be recognized from Mars, I opted to let it fall down, allowing it to cascade in natural waves past my shoulder blades.
And, in the same spirit of trying to ease tensions, because I genuinely felt bad about the entire situation, I opted for minimal makeup, determined not to embarrass him as a companion by sticking out more than I already had.
Some blush, mascara, and lip gloss. No eyeshadow, contouring, and using the bronzer as a weapon of mass destruction.
After I was done, I stared in the hallway mirror and hardly recognized myself. I looked like a grown-up. A pretty grown-up. One with a sensible job. In insurance or medical equipment. Maybe even a teacher. But somehow, younger, too.
My fingertips fluttered over my ribcage, floating up to my lips.
I looked good.
I felt good.
And that was dangerous.
Hope was a very dangerous thing.
“You are, and always will be, the most beautiful girl in Fairhope, North Carolina.”
I let out a little gasp of surprise.
The words made me turn around.
Cruz stood, hands shoved deep into his front pockets, his shoulder leaning against the doorjamb, staring at me with unabashed hunger.
There was something so unbelievably sexy about him, with his dark wheat hair slicked back, his perfectly groomed mustache and carved-in-marble body.
He wore a navy dress shirt, designer jeans, and a pair of pointy loafers that made men look extra rich. He smelled woodsy and earthy and clean, his scent seeping into my nostrils even from across the room.
I threw him a mischievous grin. “Don’t let Gabriella Holland hear you say that.”
Or Fiona Sandford.
Or Mariah Navarro.
Or Alyssa Williams.
Funny, how I was the harlot while he was the one who slept around with half the town. Double standards and all.
Sometimes it truly sucked being a woman.
“Gabriella must know. That’s why she dislikes you.”
My heart did a violent flip. Did he just realign his alliances and move over to Team Nessy?
Unlikely, but a girl could dream.
“You’re breaking my heart here, Cruz. I thought she could be my best friend.”
“You don’t have any friends.”
“That’s because I’m a liability.”
“It’s because you are too beautiful, and no woman in their right mind wants to stand next to you. Now, can I buy you dinner?”