Page 47 of Better When Shared (Kristin Lance Anthologies #2)

Gemma

Somewhere off the coast of Portugal

My bed was moving.

Was it? I rolled over, wondering if I was still drunk, expecting the subtle shift of expensive memory foam adjusting to my body.

Instead, I felt a slow, rhythmic rocking motion that made my stomach lurch. The obscene amount of champagne I'd consumed yesterday wasn’t helping.

I blinked, trying to look around, but my eyes felt like they'd been scrubbed with sandpaper. My mouth tasted like I'd been licking the bottom of a wine barrel. When I tried to sit up, the world tilted sideways, then righted itself again.

Bloody hell. I was on a boat.

More specifically, I was on the boat. The Amalthea. My honeymoon cruise. The trip I'd given to Jake’s two idiot sidekicks on impulse, driven by an intense urge to rid myself of everything that had anything to do with my ex-fiancé.

I rubbed my eyes, trying to clear the fog from my vision, and slowly became aware of my surroundings. The room was gorgeous—though I supposed that should be expected, considering how much I’d paid for it. It was all cream marble, plush carpet, and navy accents, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a view of endless blue water stretching to the horizon.

Bollocks. We were already at sea. And pretty far along, by the looks of it. I tried to remember how I had gotten here, but my champagne-soaked brain was struggling with basic logic.

The suite was exactly as luxurious as the brochure had promised, with its open-plan design centered around a massive, gorgeous bed. The same bed where Jake and I were supposed to have been having newlywed sex for the next three weeks. Instead, I was alone, and the bed felt way too big.

A soft snore drew my attention across the room, where I found two men sleeping on a massive sectional sofa. Brian Casey, Jake's older brother, was sprawled on his back with one arm flung over his eyes, his button-down shirt wrinkled and partially unbuttoned.

His light brown hair was mussed in a way that made him look younger, less like the uptight control freak I knew he was. On the other half of the sectional, Jake’s best friend, Enzo Santori, was curled up on his side, his dark curls falling across his forehead, one muscular arm dangling over the edge of the sofa.

They looked... peaceful. Innocent. Like they hadn't kidnapped a bride and spirited her away on the high seas. Or… whatever they’d done. The details were a bit… fuzzy.

As I catalogued the possible ramifications of my champagne-induced memory loss, my hands flew to my body, patting my body to check that my clothes were still intact. Overtook me. I was still fully dressed. Whatever had happened yesterday, it apparently hadn't involved any ill-advised sexual encounters.

Small mercies.

But why the hell was I wearing my wedding dress?

Bits of memory from the day before floated back to me. Imogen telling me that the alcohol vendor had accepted the return of everything but ten cases of custom-labeled champagne, which had been delivered to my apartment. Me, ripping into the boxes, laughing at the sight of my name printed next to Jake’s on the bottle. The gold-embossed script had seemed comically hopeful and naive.

Imogen had cautioned me to feel my emotions instead of numbing them with drink, but that was the thing. I didn’t have emotions about this — at least not the kind I should have had. Sure, I felt irritated, but where was the heart-wrenching sadness that should have come with losing the love of my life?

After the champagne, my memories of the night got fuzzier. There’d been something about making sure I got my money’s worth, since I couldn’t return the dress.

I looked down at my rumpled dress, which definitely could not be returned, or even resold. I’d lost my goddamn mind.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, shaking out the wrinkled dress, brushing at a stain that looked a bit like chocolate ice cream. Brian and Enzo didn’t stir.

First things first — I needed to change. But the cabin offered little in the way of privacy. It was built for a couple so madly in love that they wanted to watch each other shower. Not for a woman and her almost-brother-in-law and her ex-fiancé’s best friend.

Awkward.

At least it was large enough that I could move around without immediately waking the men. The plush carpet was soft beneath my bare feet—when had I lost my shoes?—I tugged my strapless dress up, then padded carefully toward the windows to get a better sense of our situation.

Ocean. Nothing but ocean in every direction.

It was morning, and I knew the schedule. We’d left yesterday evening, which meant we were well and truly underway, somewhere off the coast of Portugal, maybe. If I remembered the itinerary correctly, this was a sea day, whisking us directly to the first Mediterranean port on the itinerary. There wasn’t a stop planned until tomorrow. Which meant I couldn’t get a flight out of this nightmare until then.

On the horizon, the sun had just risen, sparkling across the clear ocean. Despite my growing panic, I had to admit it was rather beautiful. No wonder people paid obscene amounts of money for this experience.

Speaking of obscene amounts of money, I was wearing an exorbitantly expensive wedding dress — the one my mother had insisted upon — like pajamas. Perhaps it was time to find my luggage. As I opened the closet door, bits of memory filtered back to me now, in fragments.

Imogen’s worried face popped into my mind. Ever since Brian and Enzo had dropped their bomb on me, Imogen had treated me with kid gloves, like I was about to break at any moment. I knew she was a little freaked out by my cool reaction to the bad news, and honestly?

So was I.

I closed my eyes, and saw Brian's determined expression yesterday, as he'd announced they weren't going on the cruise without me. Something about needing to cure my broken heart. Enzo had been sweet and gentle, encouraging me to have some fun with them, and later, helping me into the car. I'd been drunk. Spectacularly, unapologetically drunk.

Everyone thought I should be devastated, and there I was, downing champagne like water, just trying to feel something, anything to prove to myself that I wasn’t the ice queen he thought I was.

Maybe that was why I’d agreed to go with Brian and Enzo. That and the champagne.

Brian shifted on the sofa, his arm sliding away from his face, and I got my first clear look at him in the soft morning light filtering through the windows. He really was quite handsome in that boy-next-door way that should have been boring, but somehow wasn't. His features were clean and symmetrical, like Jake’s, but not quite.

Brian had these ridiculously cute dimples that appeared when he smiled and a scatter of freckles across his nose that made him look younger than his thirty-two years. Jake was effortlessly cool and devastatingly handsome. Brian was attractive, but more in a cute, boy-next-door kind of way.

He was Jake's opposite in every way—responsible and steady where Jake was flighty and unpredictable. Brian was the kind of man who probably had a retirement fund and changed his oil on schedule and never forgot his mother's birthday.

Boring, in other words. Safe and predictable and boring. Not at all sexy.

Enzo stirred, mumbling something in his sleep, and my gaze shifted to him. Where Brian was clean cut and conventional, Enzo was all wild energy and barely contained chaos. His mixed heritage had given him striking features—high cheekbones, full lips, and light brown skin that looked like it had been kissed by the sun. The colorful tattoos that covered his arms were works of art, telling stories of places he'd been and experiences he'd collected like souvenirs.

He was beautiful in the way that dangerous things were beautiful—appealing precisely because they represented everything I'd been taught to avoid. Impulsive, unpredictable, the kind of man who probably didn't own a savings account and made major life decisions based on gut instinct rather than careful planning.

He was everything my practical, organized brain should have found appalling. Not at all sexy.

I needed to get a grip. These men had essentially kidnapped me, even if their intentions had been good. I should be furious, not standing here in my wedding dress fantasizing about what they'd look like without their clothes.

But the truth was, I wasn't furious. Annoyed, yes. Confused, absolutely. But underneath the irritation and bewilderment was something that felt dangerously close to gratitude. When was the last time anyone had cared enough about my well-being to override my own self-destructive tendencies? When was the last time someone had looked at me and decided I needed saving, whether I wanted it or not?

Never, if I was being honest. I'd been taking care of everyone else for so long that I'd forgotten what it felt like to have someone take care of me.

Even if their methods were highly questionable.

Brian's eyes fluttered open, and for a moment we stared at each other across the expanse of the luxurious suite. His gaze was alert despite having just woken up, taking in my disheveled appearance and the wedding dress that had seen better days. I waited for him to look embarrassed or apologetic, to start explaining himself or making excuses for their ridiculous rescue mission.

Instead, he sat up slowly, running a hand through his tousled hair.

"How are you feeling?"

The question was so gentle, so genuinely concerned, that I felt something crack inside my chest. When was the last time Jake had asked me that? When was the last time anyone had asked me that and actually waited for a real answer?

"Like I've been hit by a truck. A truck full of champagne and poor life choices."

He nodded, and there was no judgement in his eyes as he poked Enzo, who startled awake, tumbling off the sofa in an undignified sprawl, then leaping to his feet, a big, infectious grin on his face.

“We’ll give you some space to change and clean up. The shower is a bit of a… problem.”

Brian’s eyes darted to the glass-enclosed cubicle, which was exposed to the room.

“Sexy as all he—Oof.”

Enzo’s flirtatious voice was cut off as Brian elbowed him in the stomach. “What?”