I hum a noncommittal response, but try not to seem too excited. I have to keep him on his toes. Finally, I glance up at him. His face is expectant, his brows raised. It’s so unlike his usual cool, detached visage that I can’t help laughing. Okay. I’ll throw him a bone.
“Sounds like a promising start, Mr. Bellanti.”
I want to ask what the backup plan is, but maybe it’s best that I don’t know just yet. It’ll be more fun if it’s a surprise.
He gently steers me to the left, leading me to the slip where his gleaming white yacht awaits. I gasp out loud as I take in the pristine ninety-foot craft with its tinted windows and sleek shape. So much for playing it cool.
“You like it?” Armani asks teasingly.
“It’s okay,” I say. “Not too shabby.”
He throws his head back and laughs, a sound I’ve heard rarely but already feel addicted to. “It’s a Sunseeker,” he says. “The company has won tons of marine industry awards, so yeah, not too shabby indeed. I hope you’ll find it comfortable.”
A stern-faced older woman in a starched white captain’s uniform waits at the bottom of the gangway, her grey hair tucked up neatly under her cap.
“Welcome, Mr. Bellanti. Ms. Gallagher,” she says, a warm smile transforming her features from intimidating to maternal almost instantly.
“Permission to board, Captain?” Armani asks.
“Permission granted,” she says with a nod.
Armani and I make our way up the ramp. When we get to the end of the gangway, he pulls me aside and points to a basket sitting on the deck.
“Shoes off,” he says, slipping out of his already.
“What?” I blurt. “But these are Prada.”
Again, he lets loose a laugh that has me embarrassed and swooning at the same time.
“It’s standard boat etiquette,” he explains, now down to bare feet himself. “Keeps the deck clean and undamaged.”
I don’t make a move. There’s simply no way for me to bend over and unstrap these heels without losing my balance, and crouching down in a squat to keep myself from falling over would require me to bunch up my dress at the waist first, which, no. Before I can make this moment any more awkward, Armani seems to realize my wardrobe predicament. He drops to a kneel before me and starts working the tiny buckles on the delicate leather straps around my left ankle.
“Thank you,” I say, my cheeks flushing even hotter at the touch of his nimble fingers.
Once my shoes are off, I realize that the captain has been standing off to the side this whole time. She looks amused, but there’s no judgement in her gaze.
“We’ll be under way shortly,” she tells us. “Please make yourselves comfortable inside the salon.”
I smile, pretending I know what the salon is, but soon enough I find out.
After Armani leads me up a few steps, we enter a glass-walled cabin space with white leather furniture, futuristic light fixtures, and polished wood and white lacquer surfaces as far as the eye can see. The dining room beyond is equally posh.
There’s a long table set with candles and a green-and-white floral arrangement, lit by a gorgeous pendant light made of glass bubbles hanging above. I see a bottle of the promised champagne chilling in a silver bucket next to the table, and a small buffet beside it holds a variety of dome-covered dishes.
“This is beautiful,” I say breathlessly.
Armani gestures to the table and pulls out a chair for me.
“Champagne?” he asks.
“Please.”
My insides are a ball of nerves. Maybe the bubbly will help me relax.
Although I can’t shake the sensation that Armani is up to something with this whole six-month dating arrangement…but I can’t really come out and accuse him, can I? Not when I’m up to something myself.
The boat rumbles and a few moments later, we’re heading out of the marina. Excitement pulses through me. I’ve never been on a boat like this, and certainly never with a man like this.
