Page 108 of The Cruiser
“And your business?” he asks.
“Vaughn and the team will cover for me.”
He swallows hard, tries for casual. “Where will you go?”
“Don’t laugh, but the plan is to charter a boat. Cruise the Mediterranean. You piqued my interest.”
“Have you decided on a boat?”
“Not yet. Once the house sells, I’ll map things out.”
“I’d be offended if you didn’t use Liberté,” he says. “No charge, of course, although I may have to drop in now and then.”
His generosity stokes a flame in my heart, as does the subtle need for control that comes along with it. But there’s a different Morgan here, too. One who has apologized, played his emotional hand with such frankness, and is clearly hoping for more. It would be so easy to say yes.
“That’s very kind of you to offer but, no. Liberté’s yours, and I need space to think about next steps. I haven’t even told Vaughn, but I’m considering starting fresh. In design. Maybe in a new city.”
“Vandana,” he says, not missing a beat with my news. “I don’t care if you need a month, six months, a year. Take whatever time and space you need. Eventually, you’ll be ready. If you tell me there’s a chance with us, I will wait. Patiently. Faithfully. I promise.”
“A year’s a long time, Morgan.”
He swipes his bangs back with a frustrated sigh. “Don’t you understand? I’ve waited my whole life for a woman like you. What’s one more year?”
Something in his face. I recognize the same nervous hope that rattled through me on the drive over. I chew on my lip, would gnaw it off if it could tell me whether I’m doing the right thing.
“I don’t give a lot of people second chances.”
“If you offer one,” he says, “I will fall to my knees and weep.”
He’s serious, about to leap to the ground. I hold up both hands to stop him. “Please don’t,” I say. “The last thing we need is another video going viral.”
Funny how the thing that wedged us apart is what brings us back together. When I say it out loud, our silly smiles turn into chuckles at the absurdity of being international gossip for all the wrong reasons. And maybe there’s a sliver of pride because damn, we did look good.
“I think I’m done with videos,” Morgan says, ruefully.
I make a cringey face. “What did your parents say?”
“My father. He’s a man.” Morgan shrugs, no further explanation required. Only bucketloads of embarrassment the next time I see Alix. “At the very least, you put my mother’s biggest fear to bed.”
It slowly dawns on me. “She thought that?” Wow. Morgan playing for the other team is like the Pope being a polygamist. Maybe Cèline needs to get out more.
“And your parents?” Morgan asks. “I heard your father didn’t win the election.”
“No, he didn’t. It might be the best thing that ever happened to both of them.”
He tilts his head. “How so?”
“Their marriage wasn’t a happy one. My mom finally packed it in.” During her phone call to me two weeks ago, she cited me of all things as her inspiration. If you can weather a global scandal and come out on top, I can leave Lorne and survive. Screw these miserable OC bitchesand their gossip train.
“I hope she’s doing okay,” he says.
I eye him across the table. “I don’t know if I should tell you this, but both she and my ex asked for your phone number.” Morgan bursts out laughing, loud enough to draw attention from guests at a nearby table. “I’m not joking,” I insist with a small smile.
“That would be a very awkward ménage à trois,” he says, a twinkle back in his eye.
And then I’m laughing too, because why not?
Morgan suddenly stands, arcs one long leg over the table, then another. He sits beside me, and I can feel his body heat, warmer than the heat lamps. See the glow of his tanned skin that I remember feeling like heaven against mine. Our eyes hang together in deep, longing silence.
