Farewell Seas

by Lily Harper Hart

  “You don’t need an excuse.” He was matter-of-fact. “What happened today would put anyone back a few paces. You needed time to decompress. I understand that. You need to eat, though. You’re not going to do anyone any good if you make yourself sick.”

  “So ... let’s eat.” She pasted a bright smile on her face that didn’t touch the melancholy in her eyes. “I want to hear what you discovered. Although ... maybe I should stop by Michael’s office and explain I was sick or something. I completely dropped the ball today.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I already talked to Michael. You’re not in trouble. You get sick days like everybody else.”

  “Did you tell him what was really going on?”

  “Of course not. I simply said you had a bug that made you sick to your stomach. He didn’t even blink an eye.”

  “Okay, well ... that’s good.” She squared her shoulders. “I’m not going to let this beat me. I can’t go back in time and change anything. I can only move forward.”

  “Well, since we’re moving forward together, I like your resolve.” He moved closer to her, running his hands up and down her arms to offer comfort. “I am here for you. When you want to talk, I’m ready to listen. If you want to stay here so we have some privacy, I can make that happen.”

  “No.” She shook her head, fervent. “I’ve been locked up here all day. I want some fresh air ... and some dinner. I want to hear about what you’ve uncovered. When I need to talk about the other stuff, trust me, you’ll be the first one to know.”

  “Then I’ll take you at your word for it.”

  QUINN AND ROWAN LEFT THE serious discussions for when they were seated in the dining room, heaping plates full of food in front of them, and the other guests milling about and seemingly having a good time. They had a favorite table, and since it was set toward the back, they were rarely inundated with busybodies because they weren’t located close to the action.

  “So, you met with Toby Keane this morning, right?” Rowan started. “What’s he like?”

  Quinn’s eyes shifted toward the center of the room, to the table where Toby sat. He was surrounded by other authors — some bright-eyed females who looked at him adoringly as if he was the most handsome man in the world — and shrugged. “I kind of liked him.”

  “You liked him?” Rowan’s lips curved. “That’s actually rare for you. In general, you tend to be suspicious of all our guests. Am I to assume that you don’t believe he’s guilty?”

  “I haven’t ruled him out, if that’s what you’re asking. However, he was pretty open and honest about things. I think he loved Julia, at least at the start. He said she changed and he no longer recognized the woman she became.”

  “Did he end it with her, or did she end it with him?”

  “She ended it with him, but he was purposely distancing himself from her at the time because he hoped she would be the one to end the relationship.”

  “Why not just do it himself? Wouldn’t that be easier?”

  “You’re so cute.” He broke a breadstick in two pieces and offered her the bigger end. “That’s a male tactic for handling relationships. It’s never fun to be the bad guy, so if you’re a jerk to the point where the chick breaks up with you, that gets you off the hook.”

  Rowan narrowed her eyes. “Have you ever done that?”

  Quinn shrugged. “Perhaps in my misspent youth. I didn’t really date seriously enough to break up with anyone over the past few years.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It simply means that I didn’t see the need to have a girlfriend ... until you. That all went out the window once you rocked my world.”

  Despite herself, Rowan felt her cheeks warming with pleasure. “You’re kind of a charming guy, aren’t you?”

  “I try.”

  “You succeed.” She bit into the breadstick, chewed, and waited until she’d swallowed to continue speaking. “Did he give you any interesting information other than the fact that he’s a coward who wanted to force her to break up with him?”

  “I don’t know that ‘coward’ is the right word to describe him,” Quinn hedged. “I think he was genuinely broken-hearted when the relationship with Julia went south. He described her as a sweet woman who was thrilled to have lucked into success at the start.

  “She was bubbly, excited, and eager to make a name for herself,” he continued. “Two years later, though, she was harsh, judgmental, and apparently believed her own hype. She thought she was above everyone — including Keane — and turned into a caricature of what she apparently thought a romance author was supposed to be.”

  “That’s kind of sad when you think about it,” Rowan noted. “She worked hard to get where she was, probably achieved status that she only ever dreamed about, and then turned into the sort of person who couldn’t enjoy it.”

  “That’s fairly profound, sweetie.” Quinn smiled as he leaned back in his chair. “To me, it sounds like Julia was a profoundly arrogant woman. She wasn’t happy with anyone, and that includes her publisher, Keane, and her assistant. The one thing she was apparently focused on was being part of this Grand Dames group.”

  Rowan wrinkled her nose. “Grand Dames?”

  Quinn smiled at her confusion. “Yes. Apparently, it’s some secret society in the publishing world. Every year, the four top-selling romance authors get to form a secret club. All the publishers join together to give them special perks, and they’re considered as royalty in literary circles.”

  “Really?” Despite her unease and the trials of the day, Rowan mustered a legitimate giggle. “That is ... kind of weird.”

  “Kind of? It’s totally weird. I met the other three Grand Dames today, by the way. They’re all nutty.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Um ... Rosalind Painter, Roxanne Hamilton, and Jazzy Jessup. If you’re curious, I looked up Jazzy after the fact and her real name is ... .”

  “Mildred Wickersham,” Rowan volunteered, grinning when Quinn made an incredulous face. “Don’t give me that look. I like romance books. Jazzy’s are pretty good. She’s never made a secret about her real name, though. Apparently she hates it. She made people start calling her Jazzy when she was in middle school.”

  “Why change her last name if she only hated the first one?”

  “Because of the alliteration.”

  “Good to know.” Quinn sawed into his prime rib, noticing for the first time that Rowan’s plate was filled with bland foods. “Why are you eating rice and vegetables? You’re not really sick, are you?”

  “No, but Michael thinks I’m sick. I can’t be seen eating decadent food if I’m supposed to be under the weather. You’re terrible at playing hooky if you think that’s allowed.”

  Quinn cocked a challenging eyebrow. “I’ll have you know that I’m the king of hooky, Little Miss I Can’t Be Late for My Shift. As for Michael, he’s dining with several of the authors this evening. He spent a good twenty minutes bragging about it. He doesn’t care that you’re sick. In fact, he doesn’t care if you were faking sick.”

  “Really?” Rowan looked hopeful. “Does that mean I can get regular food?”

  “Yes.”

  “Great.” Rowan grabbed her plates to clear them from the table. “Don’t forget where you were in your story. I really am interested in hearing about these Grand Dames. They sound crazy enough to be funny.”

  “They definitely are. Get your crab legs, though. I saw they have lobster tails up there, too. Don’t hold back. You’re fine.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Quinn took advantage of her absence to make a huge dent in his prime rib. While chewing, he took a long scan of the dining room. He almost fell off his chair when he recognized Paul. He was sitting at the same table as Roxanne and Rosalind — Jazzy was holding court at a table with younger writers — and he seemed to be engaged in a rather energetic conversation with the other assembled authors.

  “I may have gone a little bit overboard,” Row
an said ruefully as she returned. “You have no idea how hungry I am, though. My stomach is growling so loud I’m surprised people aren’t worried that a bear broke loose and is taking over the ship.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Picking up on his distraction, Rowan followed his gaze. When her eyes landed on her father, she didn’t as much as blink.

  “He seems to know them,” Quinn noted. “He doesn’t seem overly comfortable, but he’s putting on a good act. They don’t sense that he’s got other things on his mind. He engages when necessary and then hangs back. He doesn’t want to be the center of attention.”

  “Do you know the others at the table?” Rowan asked. “I’m not familiar with all the authors.”

  “Those two women to his right, that’s Rosalind and Roxanne.”

  “Ah, the Grand Dames.” Rowan perked up. “Do you think he’s tight with them?”

  Quinn watched the interaction for a long time. “No. I think he’s tolerating them for a very specific reason.”

  “And what reason is that?”

  “Because he’s learned how to blend,” he replied simply. “Roxanne and Rosalind fancy themselves the most important people in the room. They think everyone is watching them. They didn’t deny having a problem with Julia joining the group. They kept saying that she only sold so many books because it was a gimmick and they thought the publisher might be lying about the number of units sold.

  “In truth, it was easy to read them,” he continued. “They were jealous that she came out of nowhere and claimed the top spot. To them, she didn’t work for it. She didn’t put the years into the effort like they did. They earned the spot and she fell into it. They didn’t like that.”

  “Jazzy isn’t sitting with them,” Rowan noted, craning her neck. “She’s at a different table, although her crowd looks younger … and giddier. They must not like her either.”

  “Definitely not. They don’t like each other either. There’s a competition between them. There’s also a grudging respect. While they hate each other, they agree the other deserves to be there. They look at Jazzy as a temporary interloper — someone they can tolerate because they don’t believe she’ll hang around over the long haul — and they pretty much boss her around because she lets them get away with it.”

  “How did they view Julia?”

  “As a pretender to the throne.”

  “Do you think that means they’re capable of killing her?”

  “I don’t know. I think anything is possible.” Quinn slowly tracked his eyes back to Paul. “Your father is sitting with them because he knows he’ll blend into the background. Rosalind and Roxanne are the queens of that table, and he’s fine letting them reign. He knows he has to be part of the show, but he’s doing his best to disappear into the background. I find that very interesting.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s hiding in plain sight … and doing it well. He’s clearly learned a lot since starting his new life.”

  “Yeah, he’s learned that he doesn’t need me to succeed.”

  Quinn’s gaze was sharp when it snagged with hers. “I need you. I want you. The other stuff ... it’s not important. You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to.”

  “That’s not true and you know it. I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t hear him out, learn everything I can possibly learn. If he’s right and there’s potential danger lurking, I need all the information he can give. You know it as well as I.”

  “Then I’ll talk to him.”

  “No. He’s my father. I’m not ready to wash my hands of him completely. At least not yet.”

  “Fair enough. I don’t want you taking this all on yourself, though. We’re a unit. We need to do this together.”

  “I think that sounds fair.”

  “Good. Now ... eat your dinner. After that, I thought we could get a drink at the tiki bar so you can take a shot at relaxing. You’re still a little coiled. I don’t like it.”

  “A drink sounds like a fine idea.”

  “I’m glad you agree.”

  ROWAN’S SPIRITS WERE HIGHER when they hit the tiki bar, and she even laughed a few times. Quinn was happy to see her smile, and although it was clear things were weighing on her, she was making a true effort.

  He kept his arm around her waist as he dragged her toward a table, signaled Demarcus for two drinks, and then proceeded to make dirty suggestions to her in an effort to hear her world-famous giggle. He was not disappointed.

  “You two look happy,” Demarcus noted as he delivered rum runners. “You get the signature drink of the ship tonight because I don’t have time to dilly-dally. If you don’t like it, take it up with management.”

  “It’s fine.” Quinn slung an arm around Rowan’s shoulders and smiled at his friend. “Are the writers keeping you on your toes?”

  “You have no idea how much they can drink. I think it has something to do with being creative spirits, but it’s altogether freaky.”

  “Well, you’ll survive.”

  “I will,” Demarcus agreed, looking resigned when one of the people at the bar called out for him. “They tip really well, which is a good thing. I’ll be around later if you want another drink. Don’t leave without saying goodbye. I may need to use you guys as excuses to escape.”

  “You can count on us,” Quinn called out, laughing when Demarcus dropped into a theatrical bow in front of the author who yelled for him. “He likes complaining, but he’s having a good time.”

  “He is,” Rowan agreed. “I ... .” She trailed off when a new figure stepped in front of their table. Her father, a hopeful expression on his face, offered a bright smile as he gestured toward the open booth seat across from them. “May I join you?”

  Rowan looked around, uncertain. “Do you think that’s smart?”

  “I’m a writer on a cruise at a tiki bar. It’s fine.”

  Rowan looked to Quinn for confirmation and he nodded.

  “There’s nothing to worry about, Ro,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Everyone out here is apparently bombed and people are having a myriad of conversations around us. It’s fine.”

  “Then sit down.” Rowan gestured for her father to join them, her shoulders suddenly stiffer than they had been only moments before. “Are you enjoying your time on The Bounding Storm?”

  Paul studied her for a long beat, his eyes speculative. “It’s a beautiful ship,” he said finally. “It has a lot of amenities ... and the sun is always shining.”

  “Not always,” Quinn countered. “We’ve been out here during a few storms that would make you lose your dinner they were so rough. They’re the exception rather than the rule, though. In general, the weather is beautiful and the ship is a small community.”

  “That sounds nice.”

  “It is,” Rowan said. “What about you? You seem to enjoy the company of your fellow authors.”

  “Some of them,” Paul agreed. “Others are ... well, others are a necessary evil.”

  Quinn felt vindicated when Paul uttered the words. “You don’t like Rosalind and Roxanne, do you?”

  “They’re insipid morons. They just happen to be insipid morons who suck up all the oxygen in the room, which means they garner all the attention. I’m simply window dressing in their company and people will forget I was even there.”

  “That’s what I figured.” Quinn sipped his drink and glanced between faces. “Did you have something specific you wanted to say this evening?”

  Paul nodded. “I’m sorry, Rowan.” His voice was soft, his expression earnest as he held his daughter’s gaze. “I didn’t mean to upset you earlier. I was as nervous as you. I don’t think I did a very good job explaining myself.

  “The thing is, though, no matter what excuse I offer, it’s not going to be enough,” he continued. “I didn’t do right by you. I was trying to protect you the only way I knew how, but I mucked everything up and crushed your spirit. You’ll never know how sorry I am for that.”

  Rowan
blinked several times in rapid succession. “I know why you did what you did. You’ve been pretty forthcoming with your answers. It’s still hard for me. It hurts to think what it was like sitting by that window and hoping against hope to see the reflection of your headlights when you finally returned home. You never came home, though, and I waited for a really long time.”

  Paul swallowed the lump in his throat. “Baby ... .”

  “You can’t make it right no matter how much you apologize,” Quinn offered. “You have to move forward, not look back.”

  “I know. She still wants information about the past. You can’t say otherwise.”

  “And you owe her those answers.” Quinn was firm. “Maybe not tonight, though. Tonight, maybe you should hear about how she’s been living her life. It might do both of you some good.”

  Paul looked so grateful at the suggestion Rowan had to swallow hard to hold back the tears. “I would love to hear about your life, Rowan. Tell me absolutely everything.”

  Rowan spared Quinn a small smile as he reclined in the booth and wrapped his arm tightly around her shoulders. “Okay, but it’s not all that interesting.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that. I want to hear every second of it. Don’t leave anything out.”

  It wasn’t much, but it was a start. Rowan jumped in with both feet. If she was going to do this, she was going to do it right. She didn’t want further regrets haunting her five days from now. That wouldn’t do anyone any good.

  11

  Eleven

  Paul gave all appearances of being relaxed, although Quinn could read the hidden interest in his eyes whenever he shifted to look around the tiki bar. He was hyper-vigilant, and that wasn’t something easily faked. Paul didn’t want Rowan to notice him constantly looking over his shoulder, but it was something Quinn couldn’t ignore.

  “What are you worried about?” Quinn asked. The tiki bar was almost completely empty now, but he kept his voice low. “If you’re worried someone is on this ship, you need to tell me so I can protect Rowan.”