Page 73 of Claiming Genevieve

He smirks, some of that confidence returning to his gaze. “I’m sure, lass. Are you coming?”

There’s a bit of a challenge there, and I’ve never been one to back down. I stiffen my shoulders, tilting my chin up as I shrug. “Of course.”

As soon as I step foot into the boat, I regret everything. It tilts and wobbles, and I let out an undignified yelp as Rowan reaches out to steady me. He looks completely at ease, which does nothing but irritate me, and I glare at him as I try to settle into my spot across from him.

“You’ve never been in a boat before?” he asks, and my glare sharpens.

“No, I’ve never been in aboat,” I bite out, mostly to cover how nervous I am. The water seems darker now that we’re out on it, and the island seems uncomfortably far away. But Rowan doesn’t seem the least bit anxious as we start out, his copper hair ruffled in the wind that feels as if it’s rapidly picking up. I glance up at the sky, but it’s still mostly blue, except for a few gray clouds scattered here and there. The sun isn’t doing as much to warm me now, though, and I’m glad I brought the cardigan once again.

Halfway to the island, the waves grow choppier, and Rowan glances over at me. “Are you alright, lass?” he asks with genuine concern, and I give him a tight nod.

“I’m fine,” I bite out, although I’m not sure that’s true. The boat feels a little unsteady, and while I haven’t been nauseous thus far since I found out I was pregnant, this little excursion feels as if it might change all of that, though.

I have no intention of throwing up in front of Rowan, though. My humiliation would feel complete, then.

Rowan’s arms flex under his shirt, distracting me, and I focus on that instead, ignoring my own rule about not checking out my husband in the interest of not losing my composure on this little boat trip. He looks remarkably handsome, as if he belongs here, and I can’t help but think that he’s looked more at home in every single situation we’ve been in here than he ever has in New York.

He shouldn’t be there. He should be here. It’s clear that this is his home, and I find myself hoping that when this is all over, he’ll find some way to make it so that he can be here more often.

He deserves that, after everything. He deserves to be happy.

The thought startles me.Have I forgiven him completely?But the truth is, it’s been a while since I’ve thought with any sincerity that the accident, or anything surrounding it—was really his fault. I needed someone to blame, and it was easy to divide that blame between him and Chris, to say that I was distracted and that was the cause of all of it.

But the truth is—I let myself get distracted. I made mistakes. I was careless.

Maybe it would have happened anyway. There’s no way to really know. And I can’t keep blaming Rowan for something that he played only the smallest part in—if at all.

The boat bumps up against the shore, and Rowan hops out, tugging it in before holding out a hand to me. “I’ll help you, lass,” he says calmly, and for a moment, something about how he says it freezes me in place.

I reach out, taking his hand, and I feel that jolt of awareness again as his warm, long-fingered hand closes around mine, and he helps me out of the boat.

I feel wobbly for a moment as I step onto the beach, and Rowan waits for me to get my bearings. “It’s a bit of a hike up to the hill,” he says, looking up the grassy expanse that leads away from the beach. “If you’re up for it.”

“I’m fine,” I assure him, and we set off.

The island itself is gorgeous. There’s nothing but nature all around us that I can see—greenery, rocky outcroppings, and a site of old ruins that I catch sight of as we head up the hill. It feels as if the temperature is dropping a few degrees, and when I glance up, it seems as if the sky has gotten a bit cloudier. But Rowan doesn’t seem concerned, so I don’t worry either.

When we reach the top of the hill, Rowan pulls a backpack that he brought along earlier off his shoulder and sets it down. “I had Mrs. Brady pack a picnic for us,” he says, and I stare at him.

“That sounds like a date, Rowan,” I say as calmly as I can manage, my heart suddenly beating rabbit-fast against my ribs. I feel almost trapped, panicked, as if the day is spiraling out of control. This is too romantic, too perfect for what we are to each other. The gorgeous day, the beach, this place, a picnic…

“It sounds like lunch, lass,” Rowan says calmly, spreading out a blanket and sitting down. “I don’t know about you,taibhseach, but I’m starving.”

I drop onto the blanket next to him, trying to calm my racing pulse. “Alright. I mean—I’m hungry too.” I bite my lip, looking at the sandwiches and fruit that he unpacks, along with bottles of sparkling water. My stomach rumbles, and Rowan looks over at me with a smirk.

I snatch a sandwich out of his hand, and as I take a bite—turkey with ground mustard, pickled onion, and tomato—I have to admit that it’s somehow more delicious like this…eaten outside after a hike in this wide-open, beautiful place. Rowan passes me a handful of grapes, and we sit and eat in companionable silence, looking out over the most beautiful view that I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

“Maybe the second most beautiful,” Rowan murmurs, and I realize that I must have spoken that last part out loud. I look at him, feeling my cheeks heat, and his expression is utterly serious for a moment before his lips quirk upward, as if he couldn’t hold the smirk in much longer.

I throw a grape at him, and he catches it, laughing as he pops it into his mouth. “I’ve had plenty of meals out here, sitting on this hill,” he says, looking back at me as his expression turns serious again. “But the view has never been as beautiful as it is today.”

My chest tightens. “Rowan?—”

I’m interrupted by a sudden deep rumble of thunder that seems to echo all around us. Rowan looks up in alarm, his brow creasing, and he stands up suddenly.

“Shit,” he swears under his breath, reaching for the food to start packing up. “I checked the weather just before we left.”

The thunder rumbles again, and I get up, dusting my hands off on my jeans. The clouds seem to be darkening rapidly, and I feel a small spark of alarm as I look out to the water and see the distance we have to cross to get back. “Are we going to be alright?”

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