Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
I love the sea. It’s AMAZING. I love being ON the sea. It’s absolutely out of this fucking world.
Heath dismisses our assistant with a non, non, merci when they offer us a talk as to what the tour involves. Turns out he already knows the deal well enough himself.
We are headed for the Lérins Islands. A group of five Mediterranean islands located off the coast of Cannes. The two largest islands are Île Sainte-Marguerite and Île Saint-Honorat apparently, but there are some smaller ones that are uninhabited. Jesus, every single view is spectacular.
We have the opportunity to moor up and explore the islands if we want to, but I have to decline. I don’t want to get off the sea. I don’t want to leave this gorgeous boat, not even for a second.
“Sorry,” I say. “I’m getting cheeky. I just… I love it.”
“That’s ok, curva,” Heath tells me. “If you would prefer to stay on the boat, we’ll stay on the boat.”
“I love the idea of the islands,” I say. “There are a billion things I’d like to explore here, I just… this is so great being on here. With you.”
“Why, thank you.” Heath slaps Josh’s leg playfully. “And how about you, sweet Joshua? Are you happy staying on the boat?”
“Too right,” Josh says. “This is a beast of a trip already without parking up anywhere.”
“Maybe next time, though?” I say, hopefully, praying there will be a next time here with Heath, because if there isn’t…
My heart can’t even go there.
Heath grins at me. “We’ll do a proper trip of the islands another time, don’t worry. For now, let’s all just enjoy the sea.”
His words are like music to my soul, and from the way Josh is grinning out at the waves, they are music to his, too. All three of us are buzzing high – and the hangover recovery begins. My soul loosens along with the tension in my head, and my stomach stops turning. No seasickness for me.
I adore the yacht, with its rich interior, but I barely spend any time in it. Fuck the cinema room – which is considerably bigger than Heath’s, and fuck the bar and the games room, too. I want to be Rose on the Titanic, standing with my arms spread at the guard rail and letting the wind of the ocean sweep my heart into the clouds.
“I think you must have been a mermaid in a past life,” Josh says when I plop my butt down between them after another squeak and arm spread. “A sea addict.”
“Good job I have a villa in Cannes, isn’t it?” Heath says, and it’s a rhetorical question, half spoken in jest, but it cements something.
He wants us back here. For real.
I could cry with glee, I’m so happy.
It turns out that three hours on a yacht feels like sweet FA once it’s over. I could spend three years on one, quite happily, and I look at the boat wistfully as we depart. I figure we’ll get a cab straight back home and disappear into the secluded confines of the villa, but Heath hangs back at the dock.
“Wait one moment. Maybe we could sample one of the seafront bars?” he says. “It’s been a while since I frequented one.”
My eyes widen. A bar? Right here on the bustling seafront? Heath really has picked up his socialising game.
“Sure thing, of course,” I say, and Josh nods.
“Whatever you want, boss.”
The bar Heath is gesturing to is heaving, and clearly mega elite. Swathes of swanky guys in white shirts and shorts. Youngsters blatantly from wealth, hitting it with the loud banter. Women who look straight out of Vogue.
I feel a bit out of my depth with this place, even though I’m lucky enough to be adept at playing extroverted, so I feel a twinge for poor introverted Heath, but he strides ahead. Josh meets me with a smirk as I look his way.
“He’s coming out of his shell. It’s fantastic. Look at the grin on his face.”
“Think people will recognise him?”
Josh takes my hand as we follow our client towards the entrance.
“I’d imagine so. I mean, his hat does a semi decent job and sunglasses are sunglasses, but he’s Heath. People know Heath Mason. They’ll recognise his hair, even if they can’t pin him down for absolute certain.”
We’re at the entrance when two girls come racing past us, shrieking about a real A Lister being in the bar and summoning their friends via video call.
Josh smiles at that.
“Actually, maybe he’ll be alright. There are plenty of eyes on plenty of people, it seems. He might just be able to shrink into the sea of posh without causing a stir.”
Heath is beckoning us over, and it gives me another damn round of butterflies to see how excited he is when the staff offer us a booth in the central aisle. We’re amidst the elite hustle and bustle, and Heath is glowing as the server hands us all a copy of the bar menu. The menu is as lavish as the rest of the place – cut into the shape of the Gates of Glory – foiled in gold.