he slanted a glance her way, his brows raised as if her comment surprised him. “It doesn’t appeal to everyone. Some people find it boring.”
It was her turn to be surprised at that. “I can’t imagine,” she said sincerely. “It seems liberating to me. Maybe it’s because, being…who I am—” she could never bring herself to say “being a princess” “—when I was home as a child, I always felt hemmed in. But when my parents and I went sailing—even on one of the lakes—it was like we suddenly could be ourselves.”
“Getting away from it all.” He nodded.
“Yes. Exactly.”
“I didn’t think of it that way until I’d been ‘famous’—” his mouth twisted on that word the way hers would have if she’d said “princess” “—for a while. But I know what you mean. I thought getting out and sailing was a way of getting back to who I was…” His voice rose slightly at the end of the statement as if he were going to say more. But he didn’t. He just lifted his shoulders and looked away again.
“Did you have time to sail much?”
He shook his head. “Not often. Once.” Something closed up in his expression. His jaw tightened. Then he fixed her with his green gaze. “Did you get everything sorted out below? Unpacked? Settled in? It’s not a palace.”
The change of subject was abrupt, as was the sudden rough edge to his tone. Anny wondered what caused it, and knew better than to ask.
“It’s better than a palace,” she told him sincerely. “I love it.”
He grunted, not looking completely convinced.
“I took the back cabin—the aft cabin,” she corrected herself. “It’s a bit bigger, though, so if you want it, I’ll be happy to switch. I just thought the forward cabin seemed more like it should be the captain’s. Is that okay?”
“Fine. Whichever.” He gave her a look that Anny couldn’t interpret at all. Then he stared back at the horizon again, seeming lost in thoughts that had nothing to do with the situation at hand. Was he regretting having insisted she come along?
“I’ll just go below for a while,” she said. “If you need me again, shout.”
Demetrios gave her a quick vague smile, but his mind still seemed far away. So she headed back down the companionway steps.
She had put her suitcase and laptop backpack in the aft cabin, but she hadn’t unpacked them yet. Now she did, taking her time, settling in, discovering all the nooks and crannies that made living on board a boat so intriguing.
It was a gorgeous boat. Nothing like as opulent and huge as either the royal yacht of her country or of Gerard’s, but it had a clean, compact elegance that made it appealing—and manageable. A good boat for a couple—or a young family like that of Demetrios’s brother, Theo.
She felt a pang of envy not just for Theo’s boat, but for his family. Some of her fondest early childhood memories were the afternoons spent sailing on the alpine lakes of Mont Chamion with her parents.
Now she found herself hoping that someday she and her own husband and children would do the same. Her mind, perversely but not unexpectedly, immediately cast Demetrios in the husband role. And there was wishful thinking for you, she thought.
She tried to ignore it, but her imagination was vivid and determined and would not be denied. So finally, she let it play on while she put things away.
Since she’d packed hastily in the middle of the night and had planned to escape Cannes by rail, she hadn’t brought any of the right clothes. She’d assumed she would be losing herself in a big city like Paris or Barcelona or Madrid. So most of the things she’d brought were casual but sophisticated and dressy—linen and silk trousers, shell tops, jackets and skirts. Not your average everyday sailing attire.
The jeans and T-shirt she was wearing had been chosen so she could leave town looking like a student and not draw attention to herself. Unfortunately they were the only halfway suitable things she’d brought along, and in the heat of the Mediterranean summer she was nearly sweltering in them. She would need to go shopping soon.
She just hoped no one would recognize her when she did.
In the meantime she would cope. But somehow, for a woman who had spent her life learning what to do in every conceivable social situation, she had no very clear idea how to go on in this one.
Madame Lavoisier, one of her Swiss finishing school instructors, tapping her toe impatiently and repeating what she always called “Madame’s rules of engagement.”
“You are a guest,” Madame would say. “So you must be all that is charming and polite. You may be helpful, but not intrusive. You must know how to put yourself forward when it is time to entertain, but step back—fade into the woodwork, if you will—when your hosts have other obligations. And you must never presume.”
Those were the basics, anyway. You applied them to whatever situation presented itself.
And Anny could see the wisdom of it. But still it felt lacking now—because she didn’t want to be a guest. She wanted to belong.
And how foolish was that?
Demetrios had told her clearly and emphatically that he wasn’t interested in a relationship. He could not have made it plainer.
If she let herself get involved with him now, it would not be some fairy-tale night with a silver-screen hero. Nor would it be the adolescent fantasy of an idealistic teenager. It wouldn’t have anything to do with duty and responsibility.
It would be a lifetime commitment of love to a real live flesh-and-blood man—a man who didn’t want anything of the sort.
“So just have a nice two-week holiday and get on with your life,” she told herself firmly.
She vowed she would. All she had to do was convince her heart.
About noon Anny brought him a sandwich and a beer.
“I figured you’d be getting hungry.” She set the plate on the bench seat near where Demetrios stood, then went back down to return moments later with a sandwich of her own.
“I’ve been through the provisions,” she told him. “Made a list of possible menus, and another of some things we should probably get when we go ashore.”
He stared at her.
She finished chewing a bite of sandwich, then noticed the way he was looking at her, and said, “What? Did I overstep my bounds?”
He shook his head. “I’m just…surprised.”
Anny didn’t see why. “Maybe it was presumptuous,” she went on after she’d swallowed, “but I’m a better cook than a sailor. And if I’m going to be here two weeks, I need to do my share. So I thought I’d do the meals.”
“You cook?” That seemed to surprise him, too.
She flashed him a grin. “Cordon Bleu,” she told him, causing his brows to hike clear into the fringe of hair that had
