Page 75 of Ardently Yours

My Charlotte. And I am hers.

Beautiful

Charlotte

February 13, 1999

Astunning view ofthe Gulf of Mexico takes up the entire wall in this room on Arden’s yacht,The Legacy. Dripping chandeliers and carpets made from raw silk complete what he lovingly calls his “home away from home.”

When I snuck onto his yacht dressed as a crew member, I’d packed clothing assuming it would be warm, but they keep the air conditioning higher than I expected, and I haven’tleftthe yacht since I arrived.

I smooth my black cotton maxi dress over my thighs as Arden assists me into the ivory-silk-upholstered dining room chair, then pushes my seat in for me.

Do rich ladies not push in their own seats? He’s done it for me every single meal we’ve shared. Rose definitely didn’t like the way I sit.

The silverware—actual silver, not the stainless steel I’m used to—gleams in a dizzying array on a pristine white tablecloth. I don’t have a single clue why anyone would need so many forks or different styles of spoons. I also have no idea which I’m supposed to use.

At lunch, Arden wouldn’t take a bite until I did, which meant I couldn’t watch him to see which fork he used and copy him. I tried to do the “outside in” method, but it didn’t always work, especially when I grabbed a fork when it was meant to be a spoon.

“Is everything okay with Bronnie and your parents?” he asks.

I shake out my napkin and lay it across my lap. “She’s having fun. Thanks for letting me use your satellite phone to call home and check on her.”

His smile looks confused. “Of course. It’s not a problem.”

A waiter, or rather, “steward,” approaches with another fancy glass tube of artisanal water from Switzerland. I’ve been here since this morning, and this is probably the sixth time I’ve been served Swiss water. Florida water, apparently, is not “palatable.”

My lips twitch in reluctant amusement as I sip from my crystal water glass. I wish I'd been in the bathroom with Arden and seen his expression the first time he used the well water from my faucets. The scent of sulfur and iron had to have wigged him out. I’m so used to it, I didn’t even think to warn him.

When the steward places a flute of champagne before me, Arden takes a sip from his own, then nods his approval.

When we’re alone again, Arden glances at my clothing, then back into my eyes. “You didn’t like the dress I bought you?”

I keep my eyes on the bubbles in my champagne. Old Navy clearance rack is clearly not cutting it onThe Legacy.“Loud and tacky”is what Rose called me.

When I got here, Arden gave me an entire trunk’s worth of designer clothing, shoes, and accessories.

He’d laid tonight’s dress on the bed. I left the outfit he gave me exactly where he put it.

The only reason I can think of for him to have given it to me in the first place is because he wanted to make sure I looked like someone he would date. This is his private space, not a public restaurant, but we still changed our clothing for dinner. “At my trailer, after we got up for the day, I asked you if my clothes bothered you. You told me you didn’t care what I wore. But the first time we have dinner together, you set out a designer cocktail dress, diamonds, and red-soled high heels. You gave me shoes the night of the masquerade, even though I brought my own.”

“Okay, that sounds—” He grimaces. “You mentioned that you’d never owned haute couture or designer clothing, but you and Rochelle liked to look at the magazines. I thought you might enjoy them. That’s all there was to it. I swear. No hidden agenda.”

My shoulders and spine relax by a fraction, and I give him a tentative smile. “They’re really pretty.”

The steward returns and starts another murmuring conversation with Arden.

Vaguely, I hear Arden and the steward speaking quietly to each other. “Certainly, sir . . . wine pairing . . . dinner is served . . .” My mind is on the gift I ignored in an unnecessary act of defensiveness. Yesterday, I was giddy at the idea of a weekend spent on a superyacht with the man I love, but insecurities I didn’t even know I had are bubbling their way to the surface. Even my most audacious dreams didn’t look like this.

With a flourish, the steward, whose name I still don’t remember, places a square white plate in front of me, in the center of which rests a morsel of food approximately the size of a fifty-cent piece. The majority of the surface of the plate is decorated in a swirl of green sauce.

“Pear, goat cheese, and caramelized fig with a playful sprig of sprout. Enjoy.”

“Dinner is served.”I heard him say those words, didn’t I?

I peer around him for the cart the stewardess used when she served lunch. The one that had normal portions and varieties of food on it. But there is no cart.

He then passes the same thing to Arden, who sits there, smiling politely at the man and looking perfectly composed, as though we weren’t served a literal single bite of food for dinner.

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