Page 107 of He Should Be Mine

Another staff member leads us to the front of the ship, to where a round table on the deck has been beautifully set with a starched white tablecloth, fancy silverware and a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket.

My seat is pulled out for me, and I sit with what grace I can muster. Dario takes his place next to me. Close enough that I swear I can feel the heat of him.

The staff retreat to a distance that gives us privacy, but ensures they can respond quickly if we need them.

I chug down more champagne. I look around the empty deck. There are no other tables. It is just us.

I stare at Dario. “Where are the other passengers?”

He smiles. “It is a private cruise.”

I stare some more. I’m trying to find words, I really am, but it is proving to be quite difficult.

“You are taking me on a private yacht down the Thames with a champagne lunch?” I eventually manage to blurt.

Dario sips his champagne and looks entirely too pleased with himself.

“You deserve it,” he says casually, as if it isn’t the most wonderful thing that has ever been said to me.

I pick up a breadstick from the artistically arranged breadbasket.

“Duckling, remind me to give you private shows more often.”

He laughs. The sound is deep. Happy. Almost content. I think it is the first time I have heard him truly laugh. I love it. I want to hear it again.

Dario shoots me a wink. “Told you I could afford you.”

He did. It was one of the first things he ever said to me. Seems he was right all along.

I roll my eyes and snap the breadstick in half. To keep up appearances and because I can’t let him know how much he has flustered me. Because that would be embarrassing. I’m the one who does the flustering. It’s my thing.

But right now, I have to admit that the tables have been well and truly turned. His kindness is too much, and I never knew he was this rich. I mean, I would love him if he was as poor as me, but… this… well, all this private yachts and stuff certainly doesn’t hurt.

And the very best thing about it, is that with wealth comes power, and with power, hopefully comes the ability to get us both free from Rick.

I settle back in my chair. That is the last time I’m going to think of Rick.

It is time to have the best date in the history of the universe.

Chapter thirty

Dario

Carlo’s nightclub makes him a lot of money, legitimately, and not just the cash flows he cleans through it. But still, rather him than me. The place is loud and obnoxious. Even up here on the VIP mezzanine.

It is quieter up here than it is on the main floor, and the seats are comfortable. Carlo, Nicolo and I are in the far corner, in a section tied off with red rope. The whisky I have been served is of decent quality. But I would still rather be nearly anywhere else. I would definitely rather be back in the apartment with Molly.

I really hope Dante gets here soon. I’m trying very hard not to think about what he is doing that has delayed him. His text only said,‘Tied up with work.’But I seriously doubt he is the one who is tied up, and none of it is in a kinky way.

I sip my whisky and look out at the sea of writhing bodies down below on the dancefloor. The lights are flashing, blues and reds, and I don’t understand how it is supposed to be fun.

Although, the clientele are very young, so that might explain it. The seething mass of sweating bodies is all people in their late teens and early twenties.

Like Molly.

The ice smashes against my lips as I take a big gulp. Molly is twenty-four. That’s nearly mid-twenties, not early twenties. Besides, none of these youngsters have the world-weary, beaten look in their eyes that Molly does. He has seen far more than this sheltered crowd ever will. It makes him older in ways he shouldn’t be.

I take another sip of whisky, more graceful this time. Even though I feel like smashing my glass into someone’s face. Anyone’s would do. It would feel good to unleash some of my pent up rage.