Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58353 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58353 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
"Marco is letting me help. And Derek seemed to think I was mixed up in it by default." I make a face at the memory. "He seems to think I'm Marco's scarlet letter."
Heratio can't meet my eyes suddenly. I'm wondering why that is, but before I can prod, he turns fully away. "I need some breakfast. I ran twenty miles on the treadmill and it's hitting me."
"Wait, I'm hungry, too. We can go together."
The muscles on the back of his neck coil tight. "Fine."
Well, I made him mad somehow. Was it talking about Derek? Or saying Marco is allowing me to help?
I trail Heratio through the busy ship. Some guests nod to him, smiling wide, offering compliments. Yup, it's like Trey was saying last night––the people here are a certain type.
As we reach the main dining area, the aroma of freshly baked pastries and sizzling bacon fills our noses. My stomach grumbles again, and I can't wait to dig in.
We grab a couple of plates and start filling them up with all sorts of breakfast treats. Heratio has a full stack of pancakes, an egg white omelet, and some oatmeal with fruit.
All the tables are full, except for one, with a view of the ocean meant for a postcard. As we sit down, I look out at the water, watching the waves crash against the side of the ship. I take a sip of my coffee and let out a deep sigh. "This is amazing," I say, feeling content.
Ignoring me, he starts digging into his pancakes. I'd loaded my plate up, but his looks fit for an eating competition. Makes sense if he did as many miles as he mentioned. "So you do a lot of running?"
He swallows loudly, then gulps his glass of something too neon green for my liking. "It wakes me up, and it helps me focus. What about you?"
"You'd never catch me in the gym," I giggle. He gives me a flat stare. "I like to travel."
He squints closely, studying me with doubt. "You've done a lot of that?"
Not liking his dubious attitude, I shove a muffin in my mouth, talking as I chew. Heratio crinkles his nose but I don't care if he doesn't approve. "I've been to over thirty of the states in the US, Australia once, Germany, Prague, Spain and now Italy."
"Hm," he muses. "How did you manage that? Were you a flight attendant?"
My mouth pops open. A piece of muffin topples out; I quickly cover it with my napkin as I blush. "How did you guess?"
"I didn't," he says, looking at me perceptively. "It just seems like the kind of thing people who can't afford to travel would do."
I bristle at his assumption. "Excuse me?"
"You don't strike me as someone who's had a lot of money growing up," he says, as if it's fact. "Isn't that why you're with Marco?"
I'm taken aback by his bluntness. "I'm not with him for his money."
He nods, as if he's heard enough. "But it doesn't hurt, right? Money makes everything easier."
"Well, I don't want an easy life. I want a fulfilling one."
"Very admirable," he says, but his smirk says he's mocking me.
I’m growing angrier by the minute. Who does he think he is to judge me like that? I don’t care how much money Marco has, or doesn’t have. I’m with him because I love him, and he loves me.
I push my plate away, suddenly not hungry anymore. "You know what? I think I’m gonna go find Marco. See if he’s done killing himself at the gym yet."
"I told you to give him space."
"I know what you said, but I don't care. He's my boyfriend and I'm worried about him."
Heratio gives me a severe squint. "You and him are that serious?"
"Yeah, we are." I glare at Heratio. "You're surprised?"
"Marco doesn't like labels."
"Or maybe you know him as little as you know me," I cut back.
He sets his fork down loudly on his plate. The two of us stare each other down. Finally, he raises his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. Please finish eating and don't go hunting for my brother. Can you do that?"
I take a deep breath and nod, trying to push the anger down. "Yeah, I can do that."
"Good," he says, picking up his fork again. "I didn't mean to upset you. I'm just not used to people like you."
"People like me?" I raise an eyebrow.
"Yeah, people who aren't in it for the money. It's a rare thing on this ship."
"These people," I say, scanning the dining area, "they're all customers of yours. How can you dislike them so much when they fund your whole existence?"
He wags his fork at me with a smirk. "Hypocrite. That's what I was saying before. Money is everything, we all want it, we should all be thankful for it."