“I guess I should be flattered you didn’t call it charity, for once.”
“I’m trying to mind my manners,” she says. “And I don’t know if I’m doing a good job.”
I reach out and put my hand on her knee, feeling her warm skin beneath my palm, conscious of how close we’re still sitting with each other, her legs up on my thighs, exuding a familiarity that probably shouldn’t exist yet. “You’re doing a good job. You’re being honest. We all need honest people in our lives, otherwise we’re going to keep on making the same mistakes. And whether you think the bags are overpriced or not—even with the labor and materials that go into them—we could definitely be more progressive. But I also see great value in holding on to the past. It keeps us accountable. Sure, maybe my uncle would be happier if we could go online and start cutting corners to turn a greater profit, but I admire my father for sticking to his guns.”
And now I think I’ve said too much. I can’t remember the last time I really opened up about my family or the business, even for a minute. My family is so complex and layered as it is, it’s like opening a can of worms, and that’s a lid that needs to be permanently sealed.
I clear my throat. “But I don’t want to bore you with my business. How about we talk about lunch instead?”
“Honestly, it’s not boring at all,” she says, just as her stomach erupts into a loud growl.
I laugh, finding it particularly cute how embarrassed she seems by it. “I think your stomach would beg to differ.”
“I thought I ate too much at breakfast, but I guess I was wrong.”
“Well, having an appetite is a good sign. Would you like to go into Cannes for dinner? Antibes? We could also eat at the restaurant here or order room service.”
“Aren’t I supposed to stay off my feet?”
“I can assure you, you won’t be walking anywhere. We could even have lunch on the boat.”
“Of course you have a boat,” she says dryly, but she’s smiling. And the more she’s smiling, the more I find myself wanting to keep that smile going, no matter what it takes. Don’t get me wrong, I always show a woman a good time, something to be remembered, but I can’t recall the last time I even had the urge to pull out all the stops like this. The funny thing is, it takes almost nothing to impress Sadie.
Actually, that’s the wrong way of looking at it. It’s not that she’s easy to impress, more that the things that impress her come from a different, more sincere kind of place.
Once again, a challenge.
But as much as Sadie is a challenge to me, when it comes to lunch, she doesn’t put up that much of a fight. She thinks she’s terribly underdressed for being seen in public, but even though she’s wrong, I can tell the idea makes her uncomfortable. So we decide to order in room service for lunch, and I have the chef craft her something off the menu, anything her heart desires.
Her heart’s desire is a simple American hamburger, which she scarfs down in a second. Sure, it was made with Wagyu beef, but I don’t need to tell her that. We follow with more champagne, this time mixed with cassis liqueur to make Kir Royales, and soon we are stuffed and tipsy and feeling pretty good.
At least I am. It’s nice to have a day where I don’t have to worry about anything, where the future is only the horizon: a thin, faded line in the distance.
The horizon right now is a rich blue, wavering ever so slightly from the waves. We’re both leaning against the railing and staring down at the large lap pool perched by the rocky edge of the shore. The loungers are all occupied, some people splashing around in the water, some being served drinks by the waiters. It’s peak season and prime for people-watching.
But my attention is on the girl beside me, the breeze blowing back a few loose strands of hair from her ponytail, a reddish-gold gleam catching in the sun. The few freckles across her face seem even more pronounced, like she’s blossoming right in front of my eyes.
Her gaze is locked on a sailboat cutting smoothly across the water, the white sail stark against the vibrant Mediterranean blue, but then she swoops her eyes over to me. I’d