"Why do you ever leave this house even for a moment?" I asked as I stood next to him, our shoulders almost brushing. "It's like a self-contained city unto itself."
"Well, there's the lake—"
"All right. I'll give you that." I smiled at him.
"And I have to earn a living." He sounded so endearingly earnest. Like he was just a normal guy with a nine-to-five job driving a truck or something.
I laughed. "No, all you really have to do for the rest of your life is count your money and watch it grow. Almost literally, you could spend the rest of your life counting your money. I've been trying to wrap my head around the concept of a billion. Of knowing a billionaire. Of you being a billionaire and having a billion dollars.
"I Googled it—it would take you almost thirty-two years just to count to a billion. That's just to one billion.
"According to the Rule of 72, if you invested at a modest interest rate of even just two percent, by the time you reached the end of your thirty-two years of counting, you'd have almost another billion. And have to keep counting. By the time you reached the end again, your money would have doubled again. You could keep counting your money literally forever."
He raised both eyebrows and pursed his lips. "I've never thought of that. Astonishing. But a waste of time. I pay accountants to do it for me."
I grinned. "I'm not done with my deep thinking. Even if you do nothing and earn a paltry one percent per year, no compounding, that's…"
I bit my lip as I did the math in my head. "Ten million dollars?" I nodded. "Yes, ten million dollars. And you have more than one billion, at least according to Forbes. And you certainly make more than one percent per year. Unless something catastrophic happens"—we both knew what that was—"you won't be able to spend your money in your lifetime."
"I do love a girl with a head for math," he said tenderly. "And an inquisitive mind, especially when I'm the subject."
"I need to know what I'm potentially getting into." I was dying to ask him about Lady Rose. And fighting constant jealousy when my thoughts came anywhere near him giving her this tour.
He'd taken her here. Before me. Had he impressed her with his wealth and sense of style? Tantalized her with the lifestyle she could lead, at least for a while, if she won his affection?
I looked at him again and said, sincerely, "Am I supposed to be impressed by all this? What do you want from me?"
"If you're not impressed by this, you're impossible to please." He grinned, clearly teasing, but watching me closely.
I shrugged. "Maybe I'm not a material girl. Maybe I'm only impressed with deeper, intangible things."
He stopped short. "Like what?"
"Love. Loyalty. Character. Honesty."
"Then I'll have to work hard."
"Don't work hard. Just be you," I said. "You're pretty astonishing all on your own." I leaned in and whispered in his ear. "I'd like you even if you weren't rich and titled. And I wasn't being forced to marry you, maybe. Unless we defeat the dastardly Dead Duke."
His smile deepened.
I rested my head on his shoulder, playfully. "Is this the date we'll remember fifty years from now on our golden anniversary? Figuratively speaking, of course."
He just smiled. "Maybe. Depends on how good your memory is."
I laughed and pulled my head away from his shoulder. "Here's the ten-million-dollar question, again, quite literally—how are the getting-out-of-a-wedding plans coming? Is there a potential golden anniversary? Or even a paper anniversary in our future? Should I be shopping for a dress?"
It was dumb, maybe, to ask. And to ruin the playful, flirty mood. But I had to know where things stood. I wasn't good at standing in limbo.
He ran his fingers through my hair, rubbing it in his fingers. "You're thinking of Lady Rose."
His touch sent shivers up my spine. I ached for him, I realized with a start. I would tumble into bed with him in an instant just to be with him, even if I was afraid my inexperience would show. But I didn't want to be just another billionaire groupie.
"She's the invisible wall here, isn't she?" I fought to keep my voice steady. "The elephant in the room. The fly in the ointment. The complication. The disease infecting a perfect plan."
We were all alone. No staff in sight. I felt I could ask without anyone else hearing.
"A disease!" He laughed at that and sighed. "Cruel. But not far off the mark. Yes, she is the complication."
He paused and became serious. "With her in the picture, and no way yet to thwart the Dead Duke's plans, I'll probably have to marry one of you. I'm sorry. I don't mean to string you along. I need to make sure I make the right decision."
"Every man deserves that. Choosing a wife, even with a great selection of two women, is an important decision." I swallowed hard. "What about your promise to help Sid?"
He looked surprised. "I gave you my word. No matter what happens, I'll do everything I can to help Sid."
I smiled and nodded. "Okay, then, you've just impressed me. Best date ever, already. Just remember—I'll hold you to your promise."
He grinned. "Can we forget about Rose now and enjoy the day?"
"Absolutely! I'm all for it. What do you have planned?" I bumped him playfully, coming up against his rock-hard bicep.
"Come on. I'll show you. Bring your jacket." He pulled me by the hand out of the house through the glass doors toward the lake. Right to that big-ass Bond boat yacht thing.
"Up for a little boating?" He grinned.
"A little boating?" I laughed. "What's wrong? Is your ocean liner in the shop?"
He laughed. "I'm pulling out all the stops to impress you."
"A ride on your yacht is the price of my silence?" I walked with him to the dock, enjoying the feel of the mild day and being so near him.
The captain welcomed us aboard. Riggins led me to the main deck, where drinks and appetizers waited for us.
"Why do I feel like I'm in an episode of The Bachelor?"
"Is that what this is?" He laughed. "Did Jennifer make a deal for one of those shows I've been pitched behind my back?"
"What shows?"
He handed me a drink. "The Bachelor Duke, British and American version. I think that was one they were pitching."
"You're kidding?" I said.
"Sadly not." He sighed. "Twelve gorgeous Americans and twelve British aristocrats vie for the title of duchess. Who will I hand a tiara to?"
I shook my head. "I suppose one American baker and one British earl's daughter, and a plane full of British hopefuls, is enough for one guy to handle. Oh. Wait. That sounds an awful lot like—"
He laughed again. "Stop. Maybe the producers are right. Maybe I should have signed on. It's this damn time limit that's stopping me up." He passed me a plate of delicious-looking salmon puffs and sat down next to me, thigh to thigh as a gentle breeze ruffled his hair.
In the sunlight, with the wind playing with his hair, it was all I could do not to sigh and keep my hands off him. He was hot. But much more than that, I liked him. I was falling in love with him and had all the giddy, passionate emotions falling in love comes with.
The not being able to keep my eyes off him. The wanting to know everything about him and thinking every little thing was special and unique. I wanted to find out and marvel over all we had in common. And be thrilled at all the exciting things he did that were different from what I did. I wanted to impress him by trying to fit into his life and try the things he liked. I wanted to be able to sit in companionable silence with him and just be. I wanted to touch and touch and touch him and never part.
My heart sighed. My pulse raced. I had never felt anything before like this, absolute joy at just being with him.
And absolute terror at what that meant.
The yacht pulled away from the dock and began a slow cruise just out from the shore. I had cruised the lake before with friends and on a cruise once in college. The houses along the lake were fantasies, dream homes I could never aspire to. Well, until now. Maybe.
>
I tried to picture myself actually living in Riggins' mansion and almost laughed aloud. It was so ridiculous. Like a dream that would be snatched away when I woke.
Cruising with Riggins was an altogether different experience than my previous jaunts around the lake. There was no dry cruise director pointing out houses of the rich and famous and reciting canned details. No group of regular people oohing and aahing over the houses and speculating how much money you'd have to have to afford one.
To Riggins, the houses along the lake were the homes of his friends and acquaintances. He'd been to parties and social gatherings at too many of them to count. And he had anecdotes and stories to tell about them. Intimate stories that made me laugh. Salacious stories about mistresses and wives almost meeting up. Forbidden lovers. Love triangles. Ordinary stories, just details about his friends.
"That one"—he pointed to an Italianate mansion—"is my partner Justin's place."
I had been eyeing it, actually. "It's beautiful. I think it's my favorite. Next to yours, of course."
Riggins nodded and pointed to a second-floor window. "His wife has been decorating the nursery. They're expecting their first baby in March. The pregnancy has been good for Flash. Jus' wife Kayla has complained about finding unique, boutique baby clothes, accessories, and furniture. Because of her experiences, we've expanded into baby products and business is booming.
"I'll have to introduce you to Jus and Kayla. You'd love them."
When you're falling in love, little things are thrilling. You find meaning in everything. He wants me to meet his friends! He's planning a long-term future together.
"If I pass the duchess test and you can't find a way to wriggle out of marriage?" I whispered to him.
He laughed and pointed to another house without answering my question. "That one belongs to Old Lady Diamond. She's a retired software exec and the lake's original lonely cat lady. She was one of the original programmers at one of Seattle's earliest software giants. People say she was a brilliant programmer. But she's a little odd." He made a circle motion around his head.
"If you ever have the misfortune to be asked to dine at her home—don't eat anything. She's notoriously cheap. Half the food is day-old and stale and the cats are all over the table and everything.
"She's filthy rich, but she saves all of her scraps of bar soap. She's a classic hoarder. The house, however, is worth seeing. It's an ode to 1988. I don't think she's bought a new piece of furniture since then. If you like oak furniture, score."
As we cruised leisurely around the lake, Riggins opened a bottle of champagne that had been chilling in a bucket. He used a fancy gas-powered cork remover. The cork came out just fine. But the champagne bubbled out onto the deck of the boat and all over Riggins' lap. He jumped up and held the bottle over the edge, spilling champagne into the lake.
He turned to me. "That was smooth."
I started laughing. On impulse, I grabbed the glasses, stood, and held them out for him to fill. "This wouldn't happen if you just drank beer like regular people."
"What?"
"Yeah. When you cruise the lake, beer is the traditional drink of choice. Screw-top is fine."
"I like beer. I'm trying to impress you with this three-hundred-dollar bottle of champagne I just fed to the fish."
"There you go again, throwing figures around." I leaned up against the rail next to him and stared into the dark water. "Impress me with a good-quality IPA. I'd be fine with that."
I took a sip of champagne. "But this is heavenly. Just I feel like I should be at a wedding or special occasion."
"Being out with you is a special occasion," he said.
"You say the sweetest things." I swallowed a lump in my throat. "Where are we going?"
"To a place I can get to know you better."
"Ah. Mysterious." I pointed. "It looks like we're headed for the Montlake Cut. Which could mean Seattle. Or the arboretum. The lakeside rec center. Or possibly even the University of Washington."
He shrugged. "My lips are sealed. You'll find out soon enough."
I looked back at the dark water and shivered as a gust of wind rippled the lake.
"Cold?" He put his jacket around my shoulders.
"I'd love to see the rest of the yacht."
"Sure."
The yacht was as fabulous as his house. I told him so. "Now it's a tossup. I can't decide whether you should live on the yacht or in the house. Maybe divide your time."
He laughed. Soon we were mooring next to the rec center.
I turned a curious gaze on him. "You're taking me to our alma mater?"
"Common ground. I want to know everything about you. I figured this was a good way to start the conversation."
We walked around the University of Washington, stopping for a cup of coffee in a trendy little coffee shop just off campus.
On our first real date, we'd made small talk and felt comfortable with each other. Now we talked and talked and talked. About our majors, our hopes, and dreams.
Riggins had gone to the U and graduated in business. He'd been in a frat, mostly to have a community at the large, often overwhelming and impersonal school. Nearly forty-five thousand students attended class at the U's campus in the heart of the city. A large percent of them commuters. I'd been one of them. Finding your tribe was essential.
I pointed out the buildings where I'd had class. And my favorite spots to study and dream. We walked through Red Square, peeked into the library, which reminded me of an old British library or a cathedral, the kind of library you'd imagine a wizard attending. I showed him my favorite spot to study. He showed me his.
We walked to Drumheller Fountain with its spectacular view of Mt. Rainier. The fountain and the green behind it were designed to point right at the mountain for the 1909 Alaska-Yukon-Pacific Exposition.
We took a selfie with Mt. Rainier in the background. He pulled me into a delicious kiss.
"I wish I'd had a boyfriend like you when I was in college." I laughed at myself.
"Is that what I am?"
"A fake one, anyway," I said.
"That's no kind of boyfriend to have." He tipped my chin up and kissed the end of my nose. "I wish I'd had a girlfriend like you in college—a cute one."
"Cute?" I laughed.
"Stunning. Fun. You're beautiful."
"I wasn't fishing—"
He kissed me again and took my hand. We walked hand in hand back to the yacht.
"That was beautiful. Just like being in college again. How is that we've avoided the paparazzi?" I asked.
"We didn't." He pointed toward a man at a distance on shore as he helped me aboard. "They were following us at a distance. Ten to one that kiss is already sold to a tabloid somewhere."
I followed where he pointed. "Is that why you made it so delicious?"
He grinned.
"At least they're keeping their distance. That's an improvement."
"Yeah." He kissed me again.
The yacht was staffed with a steward as well as the captain. The steward greeted us. "Which deck would you like to have dinner on this evening, sir?"
"The lower deck," Riggins said.
I laughed. "Well, isn't that pretentious? Which deck?"
Riggins grinned. "Not pretentious. With three decks, practical. Come on. We still have to cruise Lake Union before sunset."
He led me to the lower deck, where we sat side by side as we cruised Lake Union with its fabulous view of Seattle.
"Should we try to find the houseboat they used in Sleepless in Seattle?" Riggins asked. "It's one of the lake's claims to fame."
"You know that movie was made the year I was born?" I said.
He nodded. "Was it?"
I shook my head. "You knew!"
"Why do you think I picked it?" He laughed and signaled the captain. "You have seen it?"
"Once. Part of it, anyway. On TV. I'm not even sure what that houseboat looks like."
Riggins brought up a picture on his pho
ne. "This look familiar?"
"Not at all. But I'm up for a game of where's the houseboat."
After much debate about which one it was, exactly, we found it. I had the feeling the captain had known where it was all along.
Riggins signaled the captain to head back. The shadows were long and the air became crisp, ruffling my hair as we cruised. But wrapped in Riggins' arms beneath the heaters on the deck, I was warm and happy.
The afternoon had been like a dream. As we cruised through the Montlake Cut back into Lake Washington, the sun slanted over the water, getting ready to set.
"All right. So maybe this is a date we'll always remember," I said. "I'll always remember, anyway. Maybe it's standard operating procedure for you to take women out on the boat."
He nuzzled my neck. "Only the special ones."
"You mean duchess material."
"Yeah, and not even all of those."
Why did that admission make my heart sing? He hadn't taken Lady Rose on the yacht. For the last twenty-four hours I'd suffered through the media fawning over her and speculating about her date with Riggins. But he hadn't taken her on the yacht, which was clearly special to him, his baby. So maybe she wasn't so special after all.
We were alone on the deck. As the sun set, he pulled me onto his lap.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed my forehead to his. "Duke, this has been an amazing day."
The tip of my nose touched the tip of his as we stared into each other's eyes. He put his hand behind my neck. I lowered my lips to his. It was just a light brush of a kiss, lips barely meeting. A tease. But it took my breath away.
One tiny kiss. And then another. I tilted my head and parted my lips. He gently sucked my lower lip as I ran my fingers through his hair. Another kiss. A little deeper this time. A tantalizing flicker of tongue. My heart raced. My breath became shallow. I felt the power of his soft, romantic kisses all the way to my core.
I slid around until I was straddling him and looking down at him. I could look at him all day long, all my life long. If he'd only been just a regular guy. And we'd had time to take our time and fall in love at a natural pace. Not that I seemed to need much time. My heart was already racing toward his. It wanted him. I wanted him. I kissed him, letting go. Showing him how much.