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Brandon followed his gaze, then blew out a resigned sigh. "I think Cory's right, Red. We need to get back to the house sooner rather than later." He gave me a rueful grimace. "Can you forgive me?"
Cory didn't even try to hide the disgust on his face at the question, but I just smiled and nodded.
"Of course," I said. "Whatever you need."
Brandon rewarded me with a bright smile that seemed to reflect off the impossibly clear waters in front of us, then leaned in to give me a quick, but thorough kiss. His hand snaked around my waist and gripped my shirt. The electricity mounted between us again; it was always there, just below the surface.
He released me with a grunt. "Damn," he murmured, too low for Cory to hear him. "I was hoping to make you scream on those rocks again before we left."
Something buzzed inside me, and I tried and failed not to blush. Brandon grinned, then turned back to Cory, who quickly resumed a bland expression.
"Well, you should probably stay for dinner," Brandon said. "Apparently, we've got some shit to take care of." He looked over his manager's shoulder to the boat driver, who was sound asleep on the bench. "That is, if our driver isn't already passed out for the evening."
"I'll fuckin' tow the boat back to Marseille myself if I have to," Cory said. "Now, let's just get your shit and go."
~
I ended up sending myself to the local market to pick up dinner, since after sitting in a boat with Cory for the twenty minutes it took to get back to town, I was heartily sick of the man. He reminded me of a cartoon rodent, one of those Looney Tunes characters who played slick bankers and traveling salesmen. He never stopped talking. I had absolutely no idea what Brandon saw in him, other than the fact that he seemed to be obsessed with his job, which was protecting Brandon's image, and the fact that he seemed to be good at it.
When I came back to the villa, the sun was already starting to set over the cliffs to the west of the city, and I paused for a moment on the front stoop to take it in. Pools of magenta, violet, gold, and tangerine streamed from the horizon, with craggy shapes of the cliffs blocking the rays like shadows of primeval ruins.
I sighed. Even though we still technically had a few days left, Cory's presence seemed to portend an early end of our blissful two weeks. I hugged myself close and closed my eyes, lost for a moment in the memories. Whatever stresses were coming for us, we'd always have this time. Brandon must have known we'd need it, and I was incredibly thankful for that foresight.
Voices filtered from the patio to where I stood below: Cory and Brandon, still debating how to resolve all of the drama.
"The board will keep as long as you call Karen Richards tomorrow," Cory was saying. "But you can't fuckin' forget, boss."
I moved to open the door, not wanting to eavesdrop, but stopped when I heard my name.
"Now, what about the Skylar situation?"
"What situation?" Brandon asked sharply. "You said it yourself. Miranda already knows, so it doesn't matter anymore, does it? I'm not going to skulk around like we're doing something wrong."
"So, it doesn't matter that to half of Catholic Boston, you're absolutely doing something wrong?"
"If Miranda doesn't want to be embarrassed, she should just sign the fucking divorce papers and be done with it!"
There was a loud screech of a chair leg on tile, then footsteps pacing––Brandon's, most likely. I could easily see him pulling his hands through his hair in frustration.
"It's not just that," Cory said. "The Miranda thing...it will blow over eventually. People will figure out that she's been hanging on you for years, and I agree that at some point she's going to realize it makes her look clingy as fuck. But Brandon, you asked me to vet you, and I did."
There was a long sigh. I couldn't tell if it was Cory or Brandon.
Cory continued. "That means I had to vet her. And her family's connections to the mob don't exactly make her a great candidate for First Lady, if you know what I mean."
"Cory, I swear to fuckin' God...do you want me to toss you into the harbor this time?"
"Hey man, it has to be said! You need simple right now, man, and she is not that. She's young and hot, I'll give you that. I'd want to hit that too––"
"You can stop right the fuck there."
"Brandon, the Brooklyn D.A. has an open investigation that lists her father!" Cory protested. "Not to mention that her grandfather was basically a runner for the Gottis until he was whacked. Don't even get me started on her stepdad. Maurice Jadot is one shady fuck. All I'm saying is, there are a lot of other redheaded fish in the sea, my friend."
There was an awkward pause, filled only with the din of a car driving down the street. I froze, my insides twisted together. Say something, I thought, mentally urging Brandon to stand up for us like he'd always done. In all of my worries about the dramas in Brandon's life, I'd never considered the fact that my family's history might be his undoing as well. How naive.
I was about to walk inside when Cory spoke again.
"I see," he said to some unspoken communication.
