‘You build big ships,’ Lexi informed him.
‘Ah, si.’ Franco mocked that simplistic response. ‘We even build little ones occasionally—and there she is …’
And there she truly was …
Staring through the windscreen at the sleek white-painted yacht glistening in the sunshine, Lexi felt a lump of helpless tears grow thick in her throat. There were other boats moored in the marina, a couple of them very impressive-looking; but Lexi only had eyes for the Miranda.
‘She still looks so pretty,’ she whispered softly. Not too big, not too small, but just—perfect.
It was like bumping in to a long lost friend when you least expected it, and she laughed as she brought the car to a stop beside the aft deck and climbed out. She didn’t think twice about stepping from the quay onto the Miranda, and then just stand looking around her.
In the process of collecting their things from the boot of the car, Franco viewed the smile that had softened her face. So she still had good memories about the Miranda, he thought—and hoped he was not about to ruin them.
‘Here,’ he said, swinging their bags one by one towards her
so she could catch them and place them on the deck before he joined her. He handed her the cool bag. ‘You stash this stuff in the galley while I see to these.’
He strode ahead with the other bags, leaving Lexi to follow him down the narrow steps that led below. Nothing had changed down here. The same wood still covered most surfaces, and the same smell of fresh varnish caught her nose. A table that doubled as a bed when needed took up most of the cramped space next to the tiny galley kitchen, and the same nautical maps still decorated the walls. As Franco strode towards the other end of the boat Lexi lifted the cool bag onto the narrow work surface in the galley, then bent to open the fridge door.
‘I’ll go and start the engine,’ Franco said as he passed by her again. ‘Join me on deck when you’ve finished down here.’
He disappeared, leaving her staring into the small fridge, surprised to find it was already chilled and that someone had stocked it with basic provisions. He must have planned this trip before they’d even left the house this morning, she realised, frowning as she added the plastic cartons of meals prepared by Zeta into the crowded fridge.
The engine fired and she rushed to finish what she was doing, then clambered back on deck. Franco was standing by the wheel, his head tilted to one side, listening with expert ears to the engine’s quiet purr.
‘Someone’s been in and stocked the fridge,’ she relayed. ‘How long have you been planning this trip?’
‘Come and take the wheel while I cast off.’
Once again he walked away without answering her question. Irritation snapping at her, Lexi took hold of the cool aluminium wheel and watched him pull in the ropes, using a foot to shove them off from the quay. She felt the Miranda’s smooth gliding movement and tightened her grip on the wheel.
‘OK, ease out the throttle,’ Franco instructed.
‘No,’ she refused. ‘You come back here and do it. I haven’t been near a boat since the last time I was on this one. I’ve forgotten what to do!’
‘No, you have not.’ He came to stand right behind her. ‘Just look straight ahead and go easy on the throttle … Your “dos and don’ts” rulebook says I am not allowed to do it, Lexi,’ he informed her coolly.
‘Oh …’ Crestfallen by the unwelcome reminder, she asked, ‘Does the same rule count on the sea?’
‘No idea.’ He didn’t sound as if he cared, either. ‘However, since you brought up the rule thing you now have to deal with it. So take us out of here so we can catch some breeze and put up the sail.’
There was no arguing with that kind of logic. Lexi felt hoist by her own petard. Crushing her bottom lip between her teeth, she clutched at the wheel with one hand and reached out to clasp the throttle stick with the other. A tiny fizz of alarm churned her insides as the engine took hold and the yacht powered forward.
Tossing back her hair to send it streaming over her shoulders, Lexi concentrated so hard on steering them towards the gap between the two breakwaters that her eyes began to sting; but she didn’t care. She’d forgotten how long the Miranda was, how sensitive she was to the smallest movement of the wheel.
‘Don’t you dare move away from me,’ she warned tensely.
‘I’m right here.’ He rested his hand on her waist in reassurance. ‘Take us out onto the open sea, cara. Enjoy yourself,’ he encouraged softly.
Franco was glad she could not see the bleakness on his face right now. For this was it. He had kept his silence for long enough, and as soon as he found a place they could safely anchor, where she couldn’t jump ship, he was going to tell her everything he had been holding back. He’d held true to the Italian belief that you did not speak ill of the dead before they had been laid to rest. He’d done it in respect for his long friendship with Marco, and because he’d needed the extra time with Lexi to bring her to the point where she was beginning to believe in them again.
‘We’re coming up to the breakwaters,’ she whispered, as if this was the beginning of a fabulous adventure.
Detecting her small tremor of excitement, Franco eased closer to the warmth of her body. ‘Steady as she goes, cara,’ he intoned gently. ‘Be ready to feel the difference between the calm water inside the marina and the first tug of the ocean swell.’
‘Which way when we get there?’
‘I don’t have a clue.’