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“I missed you too.” I held my breath, hoping I wasn’t making a mistake by admitting it.
“Oh, shit. Seriously?”
I winced. “Um…”
“Nice timing.” Bryce pulled back, and I realized he wasn’t talking about me. I followed his glare: Michael, Mimi, and Felicia Jones were being seated at the table right next to ours.
Motherfucker!If it wasn’t Bitchface herself!
And she was staring at my husband as though he were the only man left on earth.
SEVENTEEN
below deck
Mimi and Michaeldidn’t look in our direction, but Felicia did.
First, her gaze lingered lovingly overmyhusband.
Then, her eyeballs almost popped out of her head when she saw me.
Finally, she narrowed them into a glare as she took in James’s arm wrapped protectively around my shoulder.
Despite her sour expression, Felicia looked great. Her long, dark hair cascaded in waves around her shoulders. Her complexion was perfect, fair, and sparkling, and her blue eyes shone underneath her insanely thick lashes. The smattering of freckles across her nose was unexpected, making her that much more striking.
“Hi Bryce.” She tossed her hair and didn’t acknowledge me.
“Felicia. Mr. and Mrs. Jones.” Bryce’s voice was cold.
“Bryce.” Mr. Jones’s lips were set in a grim line. Probably seeing Bryce reminded him that Bryce’s stepmother, who was less than half his age, was pregnant with his baby. More precisely, it probably reminded his wife. Mrs. Jones looked sour indeed as she gulped the martini she’d brought from the bar. She stared at the table, her face ashen, and I felt sorry for her.
An awkward silence descended over our tables. Bryce motioned for the check, and the server brought it blessedly quick. As we stood to go, Felicia only had eyes for Bryce. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“There’s not exactly a lot of options.” He pulled me close against his side. “Have a good night.”
“You, too.” She still didn’t look at me. It was like I didn’t even exist.
I was shaking by the time we got outside. “Don’t let her get to you.” Bryce squeezed my hand. “She’s the ultimate mean girl, Chloe. She’s always been the most popular, the richest, the best at everything. She doesn’t know how to handle not getting her way.”
“And what does she want, huh?” I glanced back at the restaurant. Michael Jones angrily gestured at the water, where the paparazzi boats floated, their zoom lenses still angled at the restaurant.
Bryce shrugged. “Who cares?”
I wished I could be so cavalier about Felicia Jones. The way she acted like I wasn’t standing right there was disorienting, unnerving, and totally fucking rude. She made me feel like I was nothing, no one. Which was probably exactly what she wanted, but still…
Bryce kept his arm around me until we reached the dock, then he kissed me briefly before we boarded the boat. “Thank you for dinner. I enjoyed it.” Again, things seemed so normal between us—in spite of the paparazzi floating in the water and Felicia Jones and her family glaring at us from the deck—that I melted a little.
“Thank you.”
“We didn’t get dessert, though.” Despite the lobster fried rice, Bryce still looked a little…hungry. “Below deck, Mrs. Windsor,” he growled as he helped me on board. “We’re going to take care of that right now.”
He tugged my hand and pulled me inside the cool interior of the yacht. And I, as usual, was helpless to resist my handsome husband.
We headed straight for the living room, where there was an oversized sectional couch. Bryce hit the intercom. “We’re ready, Johnny. Mrs. Windsor and I will be downstairs until we dock at the house. Is everything clear?”
“Crystal, Sir,” the captain replied. “I’ll take the long way around the island and use the new dock. Is that acceptable?”
“Perfect.” Bryce hung up and grinned at me. “We have a little longer. Perfect for what I have in mind.”
