The dark-haired Morgan, Damien, sat in front of her during the ceremony. Damien might smell like autumn forests but he also had that “don't mess with me” sneer on his face—just as he’d had ten years ago.
Memories plagued her. Serenity's father had spoken to Damien at their family dining table. She remembered him as a gangly young twenty something, but he was now a guarded man a few years older than her. She didn’t know what they’d discussed. It was probably for the best, but it was a reminder to keep her guard up.
Now her father was in federal prison and Damien probably deserved to go there as well. More memories ran through her mind. Her father and Damien had worked on some “project” a few years ago for Mitch Morgan that was the primary evidence in the case against her own father. She tilted her head to see around him, but his muscular body blocked her view of the bride and groom. The couple exchanged vows as the sun at last faded into the waters.
As she sat calmly in her seat, she noticed Matthew Morgan on a chair near the altar. She had enough selfies with the superstar to show all her employees on Monday morning and she'd fuel the fangirl conversation that would follow.
Serenity settled into her seat and wondered how soon after the ceremony she could skip out. She wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders and stared out to the dark ocean. Her sister had tried to ruin the groom's life. Her throat felt parched. All the champagne in the world couldn’t mask the prickles of her skin.
When everyone stood up and cheered for the bride and groom's kiss, Serenity was tempted to sink back in her seat and hide until the room emptied but she forced herself to rise and clap along with the others. Soon, the yacht would return to shore and she'd make her escape home.
The bride and groom walked by in a fast pace down the aisle. The captain said, "Please wait in your seats for five minutes while we transition to the reception. Waiters will offer everyone a glass of champagne for this short intercession."
More champagne might help her survive this. She slumped into her seat and held her hand high to signal she wanted a glass. The waiter handed her glass to the man at the end of the row and her neighbors passed it.
Once everyone in her row had a glass, the server moved forward and she nodded her head at the people next to her then took a sip. The champagne tasted sweeter without staring at people her sister had almost killed, or the man that set her father up for prison. Her skin grew goosebumps despite the warm air. Damien turned around and winked at her. "This will be over soon, sweetheart."
Sweetheart? Did he know that she’d placed him? That she’d overheard his rude remarks? "Don't be sexist." She swallowed her fizzy sip and took a deep breath for calm. Damien had no right to say anything like that, to her. She turned her nose in the air. "I'll never be your sweetheart."
"Relax." He then motioned for the man next to him to change seats so he could sit beside her. "I'm here to make amends."
"How?" He clicked his glass with hers. She refused to drink and shook her head. "Damien Morgan, that's impossible. You and I can never be friends."
"Why?" He raised his eyebrow.
Tonight, he’d insulted her. Years ago, he’d ruined her life and he had no shame about any of it. Steel ran up her spine. "I know who you are and how you knew my father."
He cradled the flute between his palms. "Neither of our fathers were boy scouts, sweetheart."
"Perhaps I wasn't clear. Don't patronize me with the nickname sweetheart. It's insulting." Her free hand formed a fist at her side. Damien Morgan was the last person on earth to insult her, again. She knew better than to get riled up. She forced her hand to uncurl itself and imagined a calming breeze. In one minute, she could get up with the crowd and lose Damien.
"I'll happily be your sweetheart."
"Never going to happen." Sometimes she wished she was a guy who could tell another to back away and be respected. She folded her hand over her waist. "Forget this conversation."
"Serenity..."
"Wow." Her eyebrows both raised as she shook her head. "You do know my name?"
"I should not have insulted you earlier. I'm sorry."
"Don't." Sorry echoed in her ear. If it was anyone else, she'd close her eyes, say a prayer and then wish him well. However, Damien wasn't anyone else, and he had no idea how hard she’d tried to forgive him but couldn’t.
She finished her drink and then waved for the waiter to get another. Once she had the crystal stem in hand, she squared her shoulders and stared hard toward the vacant altar. "You didn't know I would walk in on your conversation about me earlier. You didn't know I would remember you at my father's house.” She held up a palm. “And for the record, you say what you want about me. I don't care."
He brushed his arm against hers. "My mother taught me never to insult a lady."
His mother? Her own was in the hospital—weakened by scandal and humiliation. Her face felt hot. "Too bad her lessons didn't include talking about someone behind their back or setting up her father for federal prison."
The captain returned to the microphone and said, "It's time. Follow the sounds of music to the reception of Mr. and Mrs. Morgan."
She stood fast, nodded at Damien and followed the crowd. With luck, she'd lose him and this conversation would end. As she made her way forward, Damien's hand tugged on her elbow. She turned around and he pointed toward the stern. No one else was there.
What could he possibly have to say?
“Please,” he said.
His chocolate brown eyes mesmerized her and curiosity won. She nodded and turned. "Where are we going?"
He pointed to the dark corner.
Attraction flowed through her and she fought against it. She recalled her mother's tears that night their father had been arrested. Later she’d discovered that Damien had paid a woman to steal her father's computer password, and later sold the information to the FBI. The evidence the government had on her father, Henry Hansom, was too enormous for them not to get involved.
Following Damien now made no sense—she should run in the other direction.
She stopped under a string of lights on the upper deck and inhaled his masculine scent. As a teenager, she'd been attracted to her enemy. She tried to not to breathe so she wouldn't let that scent into her mouth and make her remember how stupid she'd been, making googly eyes at him from a distance.
He stood too close as he said, "Thank you for waiting. I want to explain something."
"Make it fast." She licked her lips and held the railing of the yacht as they sailed along the Miami shoreline. Without the sun, the ocean turned dark as ink. The lights from the ship reflected back at her.
His voice sent a warm tremble through her. "I want to apologize..."
"You did." She cut him off. Perhaps the best way to end this was to treat him like he was anyone else. Her life was an illusion when she'd been in the dark about her family. In some ways Damien had shattered that illusion, but from complete destruction, she’d grown. Her shoulders straightened. "Okay. This time I'll accept. I don't care what you said earlier. I really don't. It's fine."
"It's not that. One more minute?" He shifted, leaning his left side against the rail and she glanced up.
Damien, with his sorrowful expression, reminded her more of a lost puppy that needed a home than a man out to harm her. Her heart whispered that he was cute and adorable, but her mind reminded her the last person to help was Damien. He wanted to clear his conscious of whatever he had to say and then he'd forget about her. She released her hold on the railing.
"Fine. What?"
"You say fine a lot when you don't mean it." He tugged on his ear. The night sky created a pale sheen to his skin, but his hand that he placed on top of hers near the rail was warm. "I said you were vapid and high maintenance because you're the prettiest woman here and I need to keep my distance from you."
Her head spun like it was a tennis ball in the middle of a game. She didn't move but said in a tone no one else might hear, "From me? Why? Because of my father and you?"
"No. I didn't know what would happen to your father though for hurting you, I'm sorry."
"There is no way any of us could have stopped him, I suppose." She sighed and held the ledge a little tighter.
"Would you get coffee with me tomorrow? I'd like to talk—away from here."
A date with Damien would be... actually she had no idea. Serenity avoided dating men like her father. She'd never be lulled into a false reality again, even if she could feel the trace of a beard tickling her skin if she allowed him to kiss her— no. The smell of Damien clearly evoked the fastest day dream in history. She played with the diamond pendant of her gold necklace, moving her head back.
He leaned closer. "I don't normally talk to angels, so you’re an exception to my rule."
None of this made sense, including the spike in her pulse. They were not suited. His last name was Morgan as his father demanded and he’d grown up under Mitch Morgan's tutelage. He was her enemy. She let go of the ledge. "Damien, do you remember meeting me when I was still a teenager?"
He lowered his head toward her face, like they were sharing a secret. "No. When did that happen?"
She stayed still as the image of Damien kissing her played as a vivid daydream. She clutched the metal rail tight. "My father brought me and my sister to a dinner party. Your father had you there with your brothers."
He blinked, but stayed where he was. "I don't remember."
The seventeen-year-old version of herself, complete in that stupid white dress with blue trim as she glided into the house party in one of the prettiest places she'd ever been made her feel like a princess at a ball. Then she remembered how Damien had stood beside her, a thin man in his early twenties and said, “a kid like you shouldn't be here.” A giggle escaped her throat now as she stayed close to him. "Clearly. Look, I forgive you. Let me think about the coffee. For now, I'm going to go get another champagne, and we'll talk later."
She shifted away from him and tried to regain her composure. She straightened the line of her dress.
Damien came closer and she backed into the rail. Her pulse quickened as she stared into his brown eyes. Longing for a kiss or his touch made her body ache. Every cell in her body was alive from being near him.
He said, "You should go then. I'd rather you leave me now and keep my heart away from your high heels."
Deflated, she tried to escape between him and the rail. The yacht dipped and she would have slipped if she hadn't held onto the metal. She shook her head, completely flustered. "My high heels?"
A roaring sounded behind her and Damien reached to grab her. “Look out!”
She twirled out of his grasp—instantly realizing her mistake as the ship rolled. The rush of oncoming water paralyzed her with fear. Before she could scream a huge wave captured her. She tightened her grip on the rail, but it slipped free. Water cascaded over her, and around her, and she lost sight of Damien.
Suddenly she was in the ocean, which had been tranquil a moment before. She kicked and tried to swim.
Ocean water went into her lungs and she gagged. Salt burned her lips. She cried out, "help," but wasn't sure anyone heard her between her coughs. The beads of her dress weighed her down. Her pocketbook was lost to the dark sea.
A splash sounded as another wave rolled. Treading water, she bobbed as best she could to stay afloat and get her bearings.
"I'm coming," she heard someone say. Words echoed in her head and she kicked harder, her shoes gone.
More salt water choked her lungs but she managed to rise and not get pulled under. She coughed hard. A bright orange ring was pushed into her hands—the kind on the sides of ships. She coughed again, bobbed, but held on.
It was easier with the ring to keep her head up. An arm around her waist let her know she wasn’t alone.
Once the waves settled, she stared into Damien's chocolate brown eyes.
“You jumped in?” He guided her toward the bright lights on the yacht. He tugged the life ring and pulled her to the safety of the ship and the rope ladder. She heard the rumble of people above her as she climbed, but she went one step at a time up the ladder, stopping to cough. Damien pushed her back onto the ship and she fell onto the floor.
Whether he was an angel or the devil himself, she now owed him her life.