We sailed around to a narrow dock that jutted out into the ocean. The crew anchored the boat and Ron helped me step off, but didn’t join me. He just nodded to the end of the small pier, and I began to walk.
The wind had untied my hair and now it hung loose in dark waves over my bare shoulders. The wood beneath my feet was smooth, worn down by air and water. I lifted the hem of the dress—I would die if I tripped—and wondered where I was going.
I didn’t have to wonder very long; at the end of the dock, small torches rose out of the ground, and their flames guided my way. I followed them down the beach until finally, I saw him.
It was hard to appreciate how beautiful the silent, secret beach was with Noah standing there, looking like sex in a slim-cut tux, lean and tall and extravagantly gorgeous. I dropped the hem of the dress, along with my jaw and my thoughts and everything else.
“You’re here,” he said.
The sound of him, the sight of him, stole my words away.
Noah gracefully crossed the sand and dipped his head to meet my eyes. “Mara?”
Still speechless.
Noah smiled that crooked smile of his and I thought I might dissolve. “Should I be concerned?”
I managed to shake my head.
He took a slight step back and considered me. I felt his eyes slide over my skin. “You’ll do.”
I broke into a brilliant smile. “You too,” I said, my voice strangely hoarse.
“You mentioned a tux in your fantasy, so . . .”
“Actually,” I managed to say, “I believe you mentioned a tux in your fantasy.”
Because I was too limited to comprehend what he would look like in one. I adored Noah’s I-can’t-be-bothered-to-care wardrobe of worn shirts and destroyed jeans, but this . . . there were no words.
“Hmm,” he said thoughtfully. “Perhaps you’re right.”
My smile widened. “I am right.”
“Well,” he said, his voice even as he glanced back at the dock. “I suppose if you’d rather go back to your house . . .”
I shook my head vehemently.
“This will do, then?”
Would it ever. I nodded.
“Excellent. Oliver will be pleased.”
“Oliver?”
“The tailor I rarely have the occasion to use. He was thrilled when I called, even though he had to drop everything to make it in two weeks.”
“Sounds expensive.”
“Five grand, but for that look on your face, I’d have paid ten. Shall we?”
I followed the line of Noah’s gesture down the length of the beach. There was a blanket anchored farther down the expanse of white sand, surrounded by torches. A piece of bright fabric was swathed between two trees.
He walked toward the ocean and stood at the edge where the waves licked the sand. I followed him almost all the way, careful to avoid the water. The sunlight was all gone and gray clouds chased one another across an inky, perforated sky.
“This is what I should’ve given you for your birthday,” he said, his voice velvet, but shot through with something I couldn’t name. Then he turned to me and his eyes dropped to my throat. He took a step closer, nearly aligning my body with his. His elegant fingers moved to my neck. They wandered over the jewel. “And this.”
They traced my skin, dipping below the necklace, then up. “And this,” he said, as they came to rest below my jaw, tipping my face up to his. His thumb followed the curve of my mouth, and his beautiful, perfect face angled down toward mine.
“And this,” he said, his lips just inches from mine.
He was going to kiss me.
He was going to trust me.
Somewhere between the boat and the dress and the beach and the sky I had forgotten what I’d done. But now it roared back loudly in my ears; if I didn’t tell him now, I never could. Lies make us look like someone else, but with Noah, I had to be myself.
The words burned in my throat. “I—”
Noah drew back slightly at the sound of my voice. His eyes translated my expression. “Don’t,” he said, and pressed one finger to my lips. “Whatever it is. Don’t say it.”
But I did. “I read it.” The words took my breath with them. Noah’s hand left my skin.
They lie, you know. It’s not easier to ask forgiveness. Not even a little.
45
I’M SORRY,” I STARTED TO SAY. “ I DIDN’T—”
“Yes, you did,” Noah said, his voice cold. He looked at the ocean. Not at me.
“I just thought—”
“Must we? Must we do this?”
“Do what?” I asked softly.
“This.” The word was a splash of acid. “This—whatever.” His voice had slid back into flatness. “You told me to write what I see. I did. Then you read it without asking. Fine.” He dropped a viciously indifferent shrug. “I suppose part of me wouldn’t have left it there if I hadn’t wanted you to. So, done. It’s over.” He stared ahead into the darkness. “It doesn’t matter.”