Kelsey
He looks shockingly handsome in his tuxedo, and the candlelight makes his whisker stubble shine,
and I want so badly for him to hear me, to get what I’m saying, I think I might burst. I don’t need his
secret. I don’t need him to come clean with his brothers. I don’t know what I need. Something more.
He watches my eyes. “It’s impossible to say if I’d prefer ignorant bliss, considering that I can’t
un-know what I know.”
I say, “You don’t seem like the type to want ignorant bliss.” “I suppose I’ll take that as a
compliment.” He spears another asparagus tip a little bit harder than he needs to.
A waiter refills our waters, then recedes. “It’s just that, today on the boat, when we were talking about
watches, you gave me the same answer you gave that magazine.”
He looks up. Bruno can be scowly, but now his gaze is stony. “You want to know why I love watches,
now? A better answer? Is that it?”
“You know that’s not what I want. You told me a hard, true thing about my family. You knew I
deserved to know it. I’m asking for one true thing about you. Not the secret. Just—anything real. You’re
great at being interested in me and asking questions and listening. And that’s wonderful. But I feel like
you use all of that to not reveal anything about yourself. I mean, everybody likes to have attention on
them, but I feel like sometimes you d eploy that to ke ep attention off of you.”
The lighthouse swe eps again. Does he know what I mean? Am I explaining myself well enough?
“When I asked about military school, you told me it was like being raised by wolves. When I asked why
you live on a yacht, you acted like it’s because you enjoy the mobility to get away from annoying
neighbors. You live on a yacht, Bruno. In the middle of the ocean. A man doesn’t do that for mobility. I
feel like you’re deciding what I get to know about you and what conversations we have, just like you are
doing with your brothers.”
“It’s different.” “Not to me. My family decided something about me and cut me out of all further
conversation. They shut the door and managed what I knew in terms of the wedding. I just need you to
understand that I’m pretty sensitive right now about all that. I need you to tell me true things and to just let
the chips fall where they may. Even a little bit.”
“That’s not who I am.” “I don’t buy that.” The look he gives me now—it’s hard. And not in a fun
way. He knows the worst things about me. The tiara. The wedding. The thing I said on the deck about not
being worth anything. I handed those over because I trusted him with them. I let him in like I’ve never let
in anybody. Certainly no man.
“I don’t need your entire secret world. I need to know you want me close.”
“I do want you close, Kelsey. Obviously, I do.” But not enough, I think. There’s a hard limit with him,
and it breaks my heart a little bit.
THE TENDER RIDE back to the yacht is quiet and a little awkward.
Fernando is up front by himself, and I’m riding in the dim back compartment with Bruno. The black
of his jacket makes him look like he belongs to the night outside. He seems so far away from me now, full
of secret compartments.
Am I being stupid? We click in a way I’ve never experienced.
I look back at the lighthouse, which is a perfect metaphor for Bruno, the way its flashing light can
illuminate everything far and wide, but you can’t see in. It’s a one-way relationship. And I think that’s it.
That’s what I’ve been feeling. The one-way-ness. I won’t do it. I can’t do it.
Fernando eases the throttle. The yacht fills the forward window. “I really should get back to my life,”
I say, trying to sound cool and easy.
Bruno doesn’t answer right away. His eyes find my face in the dark, bright and inscrutable.
“I don’t want you to go.” “I don’t want to go,” I say. “But maybe I have to.” Tell me anything, I think.
Give me anything. I don’t require much. “Okay,” he says, looking away. The engine hums. The yacht’s
lights slide across his face and away. Two syllables containing everything.
“Okay?” I look down at my shoes. I shouldn’t be upset. The man lives alone on a yacht. I’ve asked
him to be a little more forthcoming, and he won’t. Or can’t.
“Okay,” I say. Bruno is already reaching for his phone. He makes the call in a flat, controlled
voice—pr epare the helicopter, file a flight plan to Manhattan, she’ll be ready within the hour.