Page 135 of The Fiancée Farce
All her things were at Tansy’s.
“Because.”
Brooks scratched the side of his nose and sighed. “Oh, I see.Because.Why didn’t you say so sooner?”
Gemma frowned. “There’s no need to get all—allpissywith me.” That! “Speaking of, I ampissed.”
“Yes, I believe you are.”
She tipped her head back, staring up at the lightening sky. It had gone from a deep navy, the color of Brooks’s bathrobe, to indigo, and now to a dreamy shade of violet, the same color Tansy had been wearing the night they’d met. Tansy’s favorite color. She lifted the bottle, trying to chase the thoughts of Tansy away with scotch the same way the booze had chased away her seasickness.Thatwas why she was pissed. Angry.“How dare you not tell me the secret to getting my sea legs was booze?”
Brooks laughed. “Yo, ho, ho, a pirate’s life for you.”
“They drink rum, you dum-dum.”
“My most sincere apologies.”
She sniffed. “Accepted.”
“Gemma.” Brooks stopped beside her, gripping the railing with both hands, staring out at the horizon. “You need to go home.”
There was that word again.
She jutted out her lower lip. “But I’ve just now gotten my sea legs.” The boat swayed and her stomach went topsy-turvy. She wrapped an arm around her middle and pinched her eyes shut.Fuck.“Or not.”
“You, my dear”—he plucked the bottle from her hand—“are drunk.”
“And in the morning I’ll still want to marry Tansy,” she murmured.
“It’s going on six. Itisthe morning.”
It took a moment for the rocking to subside and for her stomach to settle. When she opened her eyes, Brooks was staring at her funny.
“What are you doing here, Gemma?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Everyone already thinks I’m a—a reprob—reprobsomething.”
He arched a brow. “A reprobate?”
“That.” She pointed at him. “Yes.A—a good-for-nothingdegenerate.” She poked herself in the chest. “That’s me. Why fight it? I’m just going to roll with it.” The boat rocked and her stomach lurched.Oh, fuck.She stared hard at the fuzzy horizon, willing her stomach to calm.
“I see.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Brooks nod. “So, what? You’re going to live on my boat?”
“It’s good enough for you,” she argued. “Maybe I’ll call up DiCaprio and we’ll hit up”—where was somewhere far away?—“St.Tropez. Or—or Ibiza!”
He looked like he was trying not to laugh. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I think you’re too old for Leo, dear.”
Too old for—“Gross.” She wrinkled her nose. “Not for that. I meant general debauchery and—and shenanigans.”
The thought of touching anyone, anyone touching her, who wasn’t Tansy was almost enough to make her retch.
The corners of his mouth twitched. “As opposed to specific debauchery and shenanigans. I see.”
He was making fun of her. “Shut up.”
Brooks smiled. “If you need a place to stay, you should know you’re always welcome here. But you have a perfectly good apartment across town, an apartment that won’t make you green around the gills. Why are you here instead of there?”
Her chesthurt. It felt like someone was trying to carve her heart out using a rusty X-Acto knife. “I don’t live there anymore. All my things are at Tansy’s.”
