JESSA
“He’s a looker, ain’t he?”
I give a start of surprise and turn to the petite brunette in the kitchen with me. I've already forgotten her name, but she’s looking at me with a little bit of amusement and a lot of understanding.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I answer lamely. It takes more willpower than I’d like to admit to keep from looking back towards the kitchen’s long rectangular windows. We're below deck, but the windows open out across the floor of the yacht’s upper deck, enough for me to see glimpses of what—or rather, who—I’m trying not to gawk at.
"It’s okay,” she laughs, not buying my lies for a second. “I’ve been there myself. I don’t blame you for looking.”
“I’m just intrigued, is all,” I say as I blush hot. “He’s… strange.”
“That’s not the word I would use to describe him,” she says. She picks up a knife and starts dicing onions for the soup I’m preparing.
“What word would you use?”
“Dreamy,” she says with a giggle that betrays her age.
She can’t be more than twenty or twenty-one. Young enough that she can lust after Anton without stopping to consider whether that kind of thing is a good idea.
I smile. “I’m just here to cook.”
“And I’m here to chop vegetables and carry dishes,” she retorts. “But a little eye candy never hurt anyone.”
“Which one are you talking about?” another girl chimes in. “The hot younger brother or the even hotter older brother?”
She’s maybe a decade my senior. A chatty blonde with a mischievous smile and sharp eyes. I’ve forgotten her name, too. My brain is a little flustered right now, for more than one reason.
“You know Anton is more my type," the brunette says. “He’s taller and he’s lean but still muscly, you know? Also, he’s got those gray eyes. To die for.”
The blonde snorts. “You’re a sucker for the whole ‘dark and broody’ thing.”
“And? What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s the quiet ones you’ve got to watch out for.”
I should probably remove myself from the chatter. Just find a quiet corner to put my head down and work. But the truth is that, deep down, another part of me wants to be here, soaking up every little tidbit I can about the broody older brother who seems to have every woman on land and sea alike eating out of the palm of his hand.
“Not necessarily,” I hear myself saying. “My fiancé wasn’t quiet at all. In fact, he was the life of the party. And he turned out to be a complete dirtbag.”
Their eyes fall on me and I wonder why I spoke at all.
“Well, it’s not, like, an absolute rule,” the blonde mumbles awkwardly.
The brunette is more direct. “What did he do?”
“He cheated,” I answer, mostly because I feel the need to say it out loud. “With my best friend. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s been cheating consistently for as long as we’ve been together.”
“Jesus… when did you find out?”
“On my wedding day. Today.”
She winces. “Fuck. I’m so sorry. That’s rough.”
My eyes flit back to the rectangular windows. Anton is sitting in the same spot he’s been in all night. He’s got one leg cocked at an angle over his other knee, arms spread out over the white cushioned sofa.
Only a certain kind of man can look quite so relaxed and on guard at the same time. Like he’s fully aware that the entire world is at his fingertips for the taking.
“You deserve a medal for being here at all,” the blonde says.