Theo stood in the shower and let hot water flow through his hair, over his shoulders, and down to his feet. If only it could wash away the humiliation along with the salt and sand.
“Stupid,” he said, resting his head on the worn tiles. “Bloody stupid.”
He should have known better than setting foot in the water, should have known it would end with him being dragged to his feet amongst a bunch of toddlers by Luca Moretti—who was a sodding lifeguard. Of course he was! The guy Theo had clumsily tried to tip this morning was a lifeguard who thought Theo was drunk at midday.
He groaned and bumped his head against the tiles again. Maybe he should phone his father and admit defeat, let Grant Daly swan down here with his perfect abs and tangerine tan. He could give Moretti a run for his money: Theo could imagine them both jogging along the beach, looking sexy and gorgeous and utterly out of his reach.
His throat clogged, eyes prickling with frustration. It wasn’t fair. That was the thing. It wasn’t fair that all this normal stuff was denied him. For fuck’s sake, little kids could play in the sea on their bodyboards without ending up half-drowned. And yet, all these pleasures were beyond him however hard he tried—however much he wanted.
“Get a bloody grip,” he told himself. “You’re a grown man.”
Scrubbing his hands over his face, he let the water hammer down on his eyelids. He was an adult, he had a job to do, and he refused to give up. If convincing Jude Brennan that he understood the Majestic meant understanding the beach, then he’d bloody well understand the beach. Even if it killed him.
The problem with today had been the people. The water had felt like children soup. Too many bodies bobbing up and down, the waves washing them together in unpredictable ways, and the sand underfoot uneven and constantly shifting: too many random variables to coordinate all at once. Not to mention feeling like everyone was watching and laughing. No, he’d try it again but this time he’d do it early in the morning, before anyone else was in the water. Before Luca Moretti was around to laugh and point.
Okay, that wasn’t quite fair. Moretti had dragged him out of the water when he’d felt like a lost sock in a particularly vicious spin-cycle. He felt awkward about losing his temper, but Moretti had looked so smug standing there in his sunglasses, the handsome lifeguard smirking as he hauled Theo to his feet.
Most people say “thank you” when a lifeguard pulls them out of the water...
Patronizing sod. He’d made Theo feel stupid and graceless, and the familiar humiliation had lit the blue touch paper. Lashing out, he’d found himself blinking back tears of frustration because everything was so bloody easy for men like Moretti, and so bloody difficult for him. It wasn’t fair and Theo wanted to—
His alarm went off, reminding him he’d been in the shower for twenty minutes. Before he got distracted, he turned off the water and climbed out of the slippery tub. At home he had a fantastic walk-in shower, but this was a full-size bath tub with an ancient shower overhead and a creepy fabric curtain that kept sticking to his skin. Quaint, maybe, but begging for someone to slip and crack their head open. He’d have to be careful it wasn’t him.
When he was dressed, he hot-spotted his laptop off his phone—no Wi-Fi at the Majestic, of course—and lost himself in his in-box until his stomach began to demand attention. He was surprised to find the sky outside turning dusky, having hardly noticed the time slip past. It happened, sometimes; he got hyper-focused and lost track of the world. Still, he’d blasted through all his emails and handed off everything he couldn’t cover during his forced vacation. Miranda was on top of the rest. A good day’s work.
Stretching his back, he pulled off his computer glasses and moved to gaze across the garden toward the ocean. The horizon was already dark, a few stars visible in the deep blue, and when he opened the window and stepped out onto the narrow balcony he could hear the roar of the surf. It was a comforting sound, like the endless hum of a Manhattan night, only more gentle—and with fewer fumes. He inhaled a deep breath and felt the peace of the place sink into his bones. For a strange moment he found himself wondering what it would be like to belong here, to have that peace for himself. Impossible, of course. As the morning’s disaster had demonstrated, New Milton was not the place for him.
Needing food, he headed downstairs to investigate what the Majestic had to offer. The grand staircase, like something out of an old movie, opened out into the large circular foyer and he couldn’t deny the Majestic Hotel earned her name. He paused halfway down and cast his eyes over the marble floor, took in the softly ticking grandfather clock by the reception desk, and the stained-glass windows in the door that caught the light of the setting sun. Charming.
He’d just reached the bottom when he heard voices, one raised and the other less distinguishable. They were coming from the small office behind reception, and the loudest voice was Jude’s.
“...mountain out of a molehill, Don. It’s nothing to worry about.”
Ears pricking, Theo drew closer. He wasn’t eavesdropping, per se, he was simply passing. Slowly.
Don spoke then. Theo could scarcely make out his words, because he was talking so softly. “The doc wouldn’t have suggested the tests if she thought it was nothing, sweetheart. I think you should go ahead and have them done. And the sooner the better.”
“But the cost—”
“It’s only money, Jude.”
“Money we don’t have right now.”
He heard a sigh, a rustle of clothing: an embrace? After a pause, Don said, “If anything happened to you...”
“Honey, hush now. Dr. Mira said the tests are only a precaution.”
“I bet Luca would agree with me if I told him—”
“Don’t you dare.”
That was loud enough to stop Theo in his tracks, silence ringing in the wake of Jude’s sharp words. After a long pause, Don spoke again. “I promised I wouldn’t, and I won’t. But, sweetheart, don’t you think he’s got a right to know? He’d want to help.”
“Know what? That I’m getting older? Because that’s all this is, Don.”
Don sighed, a long huff of breath. “I wish we were in Miami, already. I don’t want you to have to go through another winter here.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me that a little rest won’t fix, Don. You don’t need to worry...”
Jude went on but Theo lost the thread of the conversation because his mind was busy turning over those unexpected revelations: Jude had health issues, and money was tight enough to be a worry. His father would call this information leverage. Beyond the medium-term business need to sell the Majestic, it appeared Don and Jude had a more pressing short-term financial imperative. And Theo could use that. He should use that.
He didn’t want to use that.
With luck, he wouldn’t need to. If he convinced Jude he understood the legacy she wanted to protect, it would allow her to do what was already in her best interest. And then everyone would be happy. Pondering this, lost in thought, he was embarrassed when Jude emerged from the office. He turned clumsily toward the dining room, but he was too slow and she called after him.
“Theo! How was your day? I hear you’ve been to the beach. Luca brought your bodyboard back, by the way. It’s out on the porch.”
“Right.” He tensed, mortified by the thought of Moretti telling her he’d been drunk. “Thank you.”
“It was a pretty day for it.” Jude watched him with a look he couldn’t interpret. Did she expect him to say something more? To tell her what had happened with Moretti? When he didn’t speak, she said, “Well, anyway, I hope you’re not vegetarian.”
The non sequitur derailed him even further. “Um, no?”
“Wonderful! Because I’ve persuaded Luca to make his specialty. You’ll eat with us, of course?” She turned to smile at her husband, who stood in the doorway behind her. “Don’s going to take care of our other guests tonight, so we’ll have plenty of time to talk.”
Refusing was impossible, even though eating dinner with Moretti would be torturous—for them both, no doubt. But he could hear Miranda’s voice in the back of his mind, reminding him why he was there, so he gritted his teeth and said, “Thank you, I’d be honored.”
“This way, then. The dining room’s not busy, so we can eat in here.”
Jude led him into the room where they’d first talked, transformed by the evening into something magnificent. He wasn’t surprised she wanted him to see it. Twilight masked the fading carpet and wallpaper, made the aging chandelier gleam, the French doors stood wide open to catch the sea breeze which ruffled the gauzy drapes, sending them billowing, and candles flickered and danced on all the tables. But this was high season and only a couple of tables were filled, testament to the Majestic’s decline. Nevertheless, the quiet chatter only added to the fairy-tale magic of the room. “This is lovely,” Theo said, honestly.
Jude swelled with pride. “Yes, it is, isn’t it? I love this room on a summer evening.”
She led him to a table set with the kind of old-fashioned white linen that made him panic. If it were his hotel, he’d go for rustic scrubbed wooden tables instead and put some of them out on the porch. He’d lose the carpet in favor of hardwood floors, but keep the chandelier because the contrast would be charming. An awning outside would keep off any rain, a few lanterns and twinkle lights for atmosphere—
“Theo?”
He blinked and found Jude looking at him quizzically. He’d missed something.
“Please,” she said, clearly repeating herself. “Take a seat. Luca will be out to join us in a moment. Would you like wine or a beer?”
He fixed a smile on his face and sat down. “Neither, thank you, just water.” Not that he didn’t drink, but after this morning he didn’t want Moretti or Jude to consider him a drunk. Besides, when he did drink it made his coordination even worse and he didn’t want to risk sending a wineglass flying all over Jude’s white tablecloth.
“Do you serve nonresidents?” he asked, glancing around at the empty tables.
“We used to,” Jude said. “But it’s too much for us to manage alone.”
Theo knew a thing or two about hotel management, and running a place this large without help was crazy. “You don’t take on any seasonal staff?”
“Not this year, unfortunately.” Jude grimaced. “It’s a hand-to-mouth existence these days for an independent hotel.”
True enough, but it was a shame that old places like this struggled to compete. Theo felt the loss even if he couldn’t see an alternative.
They sat in silence for a while, Don bustling out of the kitchen a couple times to serve the guests at the other two tables. Theo was immensely grateful for the lack of small talk and surprised it didn’t feel awkward, but Jude seemed content to gaze out through the open doors, occupied by her own thoughts, and Theo began to hope the evening would go well.
Then Moretti showed up, looking as gorgeous as ever. For a moment, Theo was distracted by the flex of his tanned forearms under the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt, but then he noticed what was on the plates Moretti carried and his heart sank. Spaghetti bolognaise, white table linen: it was a nightmare in waiting. Panic uncoiled along the length of his spine, making his hands clammy. This morning had been bad enough, he couldn’t endure any more humiliation.
“Wishart.” Moretti set the plate before him with a nod, leaning over from behind, so close Theo could feel the warmth of his chest against his shoulder, a masculine heat which set his pulse skipping. He had to work to hide his reaction, afraid it was written all over his face. Bloody annoying to find the man so attractive.
Moretti sat down opposite him and tucked in, twirling spaghetti onto his fork with effortless ease. Theo just picked at some of the meat sauce and prodded the pasta around his plate. He tried an experimental twirl, but almost dropped the fork and gave up. Unlike with bodyboarding, he knew better than to try. He’d only end up making a horrible mess all over the tablecloth and looking like the bloody spaghetti monster. Again, he imagined Grant Daly sitting here, dazzling them with his charm and twirling his fork like a pro, and felt a grasping sense of failure tug at his ankles.
“You don’t like it?”
Theo looked up, found Moretti’s eyes fixed on him. Gray as steel in this light. Sharp. Theo looked away. “It’s—Um.” You could explain, a small voice suggested. But the thought of it was exhausting; he was sick of explaining himself, and why should he have to? “I guess I’m not that hungry.”
Moretti held his gaze for a long, uncomfortable moment and Theo silently prayed he wouldn’t press the point. “Shame,” Moretti said eventually, looking away. “It’s pretty good. Right, Mom?”
Jude tutted, and Theo couldn’t tell from her expression who had irritated her more—himself or Moretti.
“I’m sure it’s very nice,” Theo ventured into the silence. Embarrassed and frustrated, he felt a hot, panicky sensation tighten his chest. Everything was suddenly too much and all at once. Lungs cramping, skin crawling. Shit, not this. Not now. He put his fork down and it clattered loudly against the plate, falling off and splashing spaghetti sauce onto the pristine white linen. Fuck.
Moretti looked up, startled by the noise. “You okay?” In another man, his frown might have indicated concern, but in Moretti it was probably impatience.
“Yes.” But Theo’s breathing was catching in his throat. “No.”
“You need some water?” Moretti reached for Theo’s glass.
He shook his head, scrambling to his feet, the chair snagging on the carpet as he pushed it back. He only just caught it before it fell. “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well. I need...” Air. Quiet. Solitude. He didn’t look at Moretti but could feel his judging gaze on him, a prickly heat against the side of his face. “I need to get to bed.”
Jude frowned. She must think him rude, or strange—both, probably—but it couldn’t be helped. He had to get out. “Well, goodnight,” she said. “I hope you’ll feel better in the morning.”
“Sure, he will,” Moretti said quietly. “He’ll sleep it off.”
What did that mean? Theo stared at him. Did Moretti still think he was drunk? But Moretti didn’t look up, his attention fixed on his plate as he twisted spaghetti onto his fork, brow drawn down into a disapproving line. Fantastic.
The perfect end to the perfect bloody day.