A Million Different Ways To Lose You (The Horn Duet Book 2)

by P. Dangelico

  “Your father was a proud man…and a reluctant author. In ten years he came to see me once. To look me in the eye before he signed his first contract.” That seemed about right. My father believed you could tell everything about a man by looking him in the eye. He also said you could tell everything about a woman by looking into her heart. My thoughts drifted to the handsome man sitting next to me. I wondered what he thought of my heart––what he saw when he looked in it––because he was the only person I had ever revealed it to.

  “He never did a single personal appearance, or book signing. I fought him tooth and nail, but he made me put it in the contract,” he said wistfully, a smile on his face as if he were reliving the argument and enjoying it. “It amazed and embarrassed him that readers wanted to meet him.” Mr. Kreitz broke off his reverie and looked me squarely in the eyes. “I think he was embarrassed of this work––too low brow for an esteemed professor. Pity, really, he was gifted…and then, he suddenly stopped.”

  That got everyone’s attention.

  “Exactly when did he stop?” Sebastian interjected.

  His gaze unfocused, Mr. Kreitz pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and said, “2001…no, 2000. Yes, that’s it 2000.” Sebastian’s pointed gaze turned to meet mine. Words redundant. By now we had a language all our own; I knew what he was asking.

  “Mr. Whitehurst returned to England that year. I enrolled in university.”

  “Mr. Kreitz,” Sebastian started gingerly. “Ballpark…I mean, approximately. What were the royalties for Dr Sava’s books?”

  “Let’s see…I published approximately three books a year for him over ten year period…translated into five languages…international sales…” he kept murmuring to himself. Then he met the anticipation on Sebastian’s face. “Approximately?”

  “Yes, approximately,” Sebastian repeated with a slow smile.

  “A little under two million U.S. dollars.” His small blue eyes darted between Sebastian and me. I’d never seen Sebastian speechless. Never. Mr. Kreitz had accomplished the impossible.

  On the plane ride back home, I was a livewire, infused with the energy of a champion. I felt vindicated. Burning with the desire to scream from a mountaintop, dance on the ashes of my father’s accusers. My father had earned the money to pay for my education with what he believed to be a stain on his reputation.

  Sebastian was still speechless. At some point he got tired of watching me tap dance in my seat, pulled me onto his lap, and made love to my mouth––effectively shutting me up. When he got tired of that, he gave me a tour of the beautifully appointed bedroom in the back of the plane, where I effectively shut him up.

  The mile high high didn’t last though. As soon as we landed, my mood plummeted to basement level when we found agents Vasquez and Lewis waiting for us on the tarmac. And they weren’t alone. Looking like the grim reaper’s hotter, younger brother, Ben stood next to them dressed head to toe in black, legs locked and arms crossed over a bulging chest.

  The troubled look that appeared on Sebastian’s face as soon as he spotted them told me everything I needed to know.

  “What now?” he drawled.

  Ben’s cheek twitched. I’d never seen him look concerned before. He was always in neutral, irreverent in the face of danger. No doubt part of his training. “We got intel out of the driver.”

  Sebastian’s focused gaze moved to Agent Vasquez. Thumbs hooked into her belt, hers met Sebastian’s with just as much intensity. “Right before they picked him up he got the green light to take you out––no more warning shots. They’re coming after you.”

  Only hours ago I was soaring with joy. Now I was descending quickly into despair, my fear for him immeasurable. I tried best I could to put a brave face on, but it was hopeless. Fingers laced, I squeezed his hand, sandwiching it between both of mine.

  “We need to get you out of town,” Ben stated, because it was too late for suggestions. His pale, frosty gaze narrowed in deep thought. “Somewhere isolated, someplace you don’t have habits––somewhere easy to see them coming.”

  Sebastian and Ben exchanged knowing glances.

  “A boat,” Sebastian stated. Ben agreed with a simple nod.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next day we left for the French Riviera in a helicopter piloted by Ben. Not even Sebastian’s filthy jokes could dissuade me from feeling anxious. I spent the entire flight with my heart in my throat and my short nails digging into his skin, which I only noticed when we landed. As soon as I spotted the red, crescent shaped marks, I frowned and kissed his arm. Sweet man. He hadn’t said a word about it.

  By the time we landed, I was ready to fall to my knees and kiss the solid ground beneath me. However, there was no time. Immediately, we were escorted into a car and driven at warp speed into Cap Ferrat by Ben.

  Standing on a concrete pier that stretched for miles, my eyes climbed higher and higher until I was gazing up at what seemed to be a ship.

  “We’re going on a cruise?” I asked, in a delighted voice, my naiveté on full display. Sebastian’s brow wrinkled––and then it dawned on him. His chest rattled with the deep sound of laughter that exploded out of his mouth. “No, babe. This is our boat.”

  “Just for us?” This couldn’t be right. It was a cruise ship. I wrinkled my nose, the heat of the sun turning it fifty shades of red. I lowered my sunglasses to get a better look at it.

  “Hmm.”

  “But….have you invited more people?” I looked around for a moment. Then glanced again at the ‘cruise ship’.

  “No––unless you mean those guys,” he said, smiling, a mix of love and amusement flashing in his whisky colored eyes. I glanced around him and watched twenty armed men loading weapons onto our boat. No, we were definitely not taking a cruise.

  Some people believe that with time you can become accustomed to just about anything. Time had done nothing to make me at all comfortable with this level of opulence. If anything, every day brought more evidence that I was a figurative and literal foreigner in a foreign land, an imposter. Alice wasn’t meant to live in Wonderland after all. At some point she had to return to reality…didn’t she?

  On our way to Sardinia, we stopped in Corsica, dropping anchor just outside the Bay of Calvi. We were not alone in this; a number of megayachts were parked outside the bay because they were so large they would’ve run aground.

  The vista was a feast for the senses. The red and gold craggy Corsican landscape jutted out and embraced the bay, the crystalline water a patchwork of blues and greens resembling spilled jewels glistening in the sunlight.

  I whiled away the morning on the deck of the yacht, seeking refuge from the blistering sun under the shade of the enormous canopy of a lounge chair. The sirocco kicked up, a blast of dry, hot air carrying with it the sweet scent of North Africa. For the first time since we’d left Geneva, I let myself relax, closed my eyes and surrendered to the serenade of the wind.

  The Mediterranean sun was not a friend to my pale skin, which hadn’t seen a bathing suit in more than a decade. As I finished slathering every square inch of my body with zinc sunscreen, Sebastian emerged from below deck with his red swim trunks hanging dangerously low on his hips. He stretched his arms overhead and bent his head left and right, the motion causing his trunks to drop low enough that I could see…well, you get the picture.

  “See anything you like?” he drawled, wiggling his eyebrows. His sense of humor was returning in small increments, more and more of it the farther we traveled from Geneva. That alone made the trip worthwhile. I see the bite marks I left on your hipbone, I thought, though I kept that to myself.

  “Yes––and so will the captain and the crew if you don’t pull up your trunks.”

  The remark only earned me another mischievous smirk. He was about to dive in when I said, “Let me put some sunscreen on you.” Beneath the constellation of freckles that had sprouted up on his shoulders practically overnight, the skin was turning a little pink. When I held u
p a bottle of waterproof fifty, he wrinkled his nose at it, and shook his head.

  “I’m not a delicate china doll like you,” he replied in a low, sexy voice and dropped a quick kiss on my pursed lips. Delicate…hmmm. I dug a finger right into the newly pink skin at the top of his shoulder blade and he winced, shying away from the pressure.

  “Right, my pretty pink rose. Guess who’s going to be looking for the bottle of aloe tonight.” I finally got some on him––even though I had to suffer through more complaints and assurances of his manliness.

  Already having given up all pretense of reading a novel, I slipped on the Victoria Beckham sunglasses which Sebastian had purchased on the sly––the sunglasses which I had refused to let him buy after almost swallowing my tongue when I saw the price––and watched him do laps up and down the length of the boat.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off of him…my very own merman. His skin gilded, sunlight glistening off the curved planes of his slick muscles, the graceful motion of his arms as they arced and sliced through ultramarine waves. I used to roll my eyes at the silly romantic novels the other girls at school would read. Now I was writing odes in my mind to the man’s gluteus. Oh how low the mighty had fallen.

  “Come in,” he yelled, motioning with his arm.

  “That’s alright. I like the view from here.” The merman’s smile was wide and bright, lighting up his whole face.

  In the distance three tenders approached at a high rate of speed. The seemingly invisible armed guards aboard our yacht manifested out of nowhere. Their automatic weapons pointed at the intruder, it was an ugly reminder that although the scenery had changed, the danger had not lessened. Sebastian stopped swimming and bobbed up and down in the water, watching with narrowed eyes. When a smile broke across his face, I knew there was no threat.

  “Hani, what’s up, man?” Sebastian called out, amusement and surprise in his voice. After which, he lifted himself into the tender and a lot of hugging and back slapping began. The tender pulled along the side of our boat and Sebastian and the man he called Hani, along with his team of heavily armed guards, boarded the yacht.

  Hani was average height and slim. He wore a short, neat beard and a smile that I got the impression was perpetual. He also had the most striking, rather unforgettably large, aquamarine colored eyes.

  Over an assortment of grilled fish, from fresh branzino, a wild caught Mediterranean sea bass, to langoustines, the two men spent the entire lunch reminiscing. I soaked up every word. This was a glimpse into the life of the man I loved that I was too much of a coward to ask about. Because if I could pretend he didn’t have a past, then I didn’t have to face mine.

  “Praise to Allah, he saw me go under the water.” Hani had explained that he and Sebastian had met when they both attended Stanford. Pouring himself another glass of Pellegrino, he continued, addressing me directly, “It was stupid of me. Maverick’s is one of the most dangerous places in the world to surf. I’m one lucky bastard that a world-class swimmer was there that day to pull me out and drag me to safety.”

  I glanced at Sebastian and found a soft smile on his face as he watched his friend tell the story. Boy scout, I thought––the nickname given to him as a child. As much as he hated it, it fit.

  His expression suddenly sober, Sebastian said, “I have a favor to ask.”

  “Anything,” replied his friend.

  “I need you to find out as much as you can about a charity called The Crescent Foundation they work with other agencies to assist displaced Muslims.” Hani looked at the name of the organization on the screen of Sebastian’s cell phone.

  “Is this personal?”

  “A good friend is involved and I want to make sure there’s nothing shady going on.”

  All night long, Sebastian had tossed and turned, restless, sleeping in short intervals until dawn filtered into the porthole. After that, he stopped pretending and went for a swim. I knew it had to do with Charles and the case, though I didn’t pry. When he was ready, I hoped he would explain what was going on in his head.

  Nodding briefly, Hani said, “I’m happy to help. Come tonight. I’m having a small get together on my boat.” Turning, he pointed to a megayacht that could have swallowed up the one hundred foot one that Sebastian had chartered. “I’ll have the information for you.” And with that, he placed a brief kiss on my knuckles, slapped Sebastian on the back, and boarded his tender.

  “See you around eleven,” he shouted over the loud roar of the engine. His high powered tender kicked up a froth of white. Waving, he sped away, his security team following closely behind.

  Chapter Fourteen

  A small get together...right. The party was well underway when we arrived around eleven. Nearly three hundred people crowded the open decks. Music courtesy of a celebrity DJ pumped obnoxiously loud. I’m not ashamed to say I was completely star struck. Models and actresses rubbed elbows with Arabian princes and world-class soccer players, a Pulitzer prize-winning writer talked animatedly with a Russian oligarch. Everywhere I looked there was a face I recognized from television or magazines.

  Totally unfazed, Sebastian took in the scene. He looked rather bored actually. But instinct told me it went deeper than that, that the boredom was hiding a darker sentiment.

  “Stay here, I need to hit the bathroom,” he instructed. I nodded, though a little uneasy about being left alone. “I’ll be right back,” he said and pressed a quick kiss on my lips when he noticed the dubious look on my face.

  I walked around aimlessly, overwhelmed by the music, the din of women laughing and squealing, the cacophony of conversation. Pushing past scantily clad bodies, I cut through the drift of expensive perfume hanging in the air, and found a small corner at the back of the boat to hide––to get away from the critical stares of these people I had absolutely nothing in common with. It dawned upon me then, why Sebastian shied away from this, why he was so closed off and guarded––what growing up in an environment such as this could do to a person who was sensitive and thoughtful. Skin to sweaty skin, pressed between all those beautiful bodies, I had never felt so alone, so lost…forever a stranger in a strange land.

  Eventually I got tired of waiting. After what felt like an eternity, I went in search of him. As I walked through one of the cabins, I heard his distinct voice drawling, “Someone’s waiting for me. What do you want, Delphine?” The impatience in his voice was pronounced.

  “You won’t return any of my phone calls. I just want to know how you are. I’m worried about you,” I woman replied, her accent American.

  “No need to worry about me. I’m good––great actually.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that…you look good.”

  There was a heavy pause, and then he said, “I’m getting married.”

  I reached out to hold onto the wall, my muscles shaking, my knees giving out, too many thoughts and feelings hitting me at once.

  “What?” she exclaimed. “Is this your idea of a fucking joke?” Her tone instantly sounded alarm bells. Clearly Delphine was not happy about the news, regardless of whether it was true or false. “Boy, you moved on fast. Did she mean anything to you? Did you ever really love her?”

  “How dare you ask me that,” he growled in a low voice.

  Reacting without thought, I plastered a smile on my face and stepped into the room. “There you are.”

  He wrapped his arm around my waist and crushed me to his side. I had to loosen his grip just to be able to breathe. She was beautiful, there was no debating that, tall and reed thin, long, black hair cascading down her suntanned back. Impulsively, I reached up and ran a hand through my short hair. Her intense, dark eyes traveled from my Blahnik high heeled sandals, to my Tom Ford dress in a thorough inspection. Something about her looked familiar. As a matter of fact the shape of her features reminded me a lot of…

  “Vera, this is Delphine––India’s sister. Delphine this is my fiancée.”

  My stomach sank and goose bumps swept over me from head to
toe. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said, stretching a hand out.

  Her eyes shot straight to my bare ring finger. Then she took my hand in a weak grasp, and shook it briefly.

  “Congratulations,” she said in a flat, dry tone. It was pretty clear she didn’t believe congratulations were in order. Immediately, her eyes, filled with resentment, returned to Sebastian. “It’s good to see you.” The longing in her voice fanned the flames of my possessiveness.

  “Darling, we should go find Hani,” I said, laying it on thick and knowing it really was beneath me. Sebastian laced his fingers through mine. “Be well, Delphine,” he said and dragged me out of the cabin. The weight of Delphine’s stare caused me to glance over my shoulder. She stood perfectly still, her eyes glued to his back. Something about it made me crowd closer to him.

  On deck, he parted the wall of bodies with ease, pulling me along. “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he said.

  Just then, Hani’s voice rose above the noise. “Sebastian!” We both looked up and Hani waved, motioning for us to join him on the top floor of the yacht.

  We climbed the steps to the third deck. Meanwhile, Sebastian’s jaw held a tightness I recognized as discomfort. It worried me that he was pushing himself too hard. Hani waved us over to the table. Seated next to him were three, young women, by the look of them, models. Snapping his fingers, he said something in a low voice and, without a word, the girls stood and left the table. Hani picked up the bottle of Crystal.

  “Champagne?”

  “Not for us,” Sebastian answered without a glance my way. The fact that he hadn’t bothered to ask me rankled but I pretended otherwise. The tension surrounding him was palpable, his encounter with Delphine still looming over him like a black cloud. I made a mental note to ask him about it later. Hani shrugged and placed the bottle down.

  “Did you find anything out?”