Chapter 117
Nora's POV
He turned, and there was no humor on his face. "You're talking about spending an entire interview discussing how wonderful another man is. How thoughtful, how romantic. Yes, Nora, I'm jealous."
"It's my job —"
"I know." He pushed a hand through his hair, frustration and something more vulnerable crossing his features. "I know it's your job. I know I'm being ridiculous. But when you look at someone else's romantic gesture with that much admiration in your eyes, I can't help it."
The confession was so honest, so unguarded, that all desire to tease him drained away completely. Instead, I closed the distance between us and reached up to cup his face.
"Then I suppose," I said quietly, "you'll have to make sure your own romantic gestures are even more impressive."
His jaw tightened under my palms. "Nora —"
"I mean it." I rose onto my toes and pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Next time I write about romance, I want it to be about you."
The tension left him all at once. His hands came to my waist, steadying me as I settled back on my heels.
"Is that a promise?" His voice dropped to that low rumble that always did something to my stomach.
"That's a challenge."
He smiled then — slow and devastating. "Challenge accepted."
---
The yacht was larger than I'd expected — sleek and modern, but understated.
The yacht's deck was spacious and pristine, white railings gleaming in the afternoon sun. I stood near the bow with my camera, adjusting settings to capture the perfect shot of the coastline, when Julian's phone rang.
His posture changed instantly. The relaxed line of his shoulders went rigid, and he turned away from me slightly, phone pressed to his ear.
"Don't panic," he said quietly, his voice carrying that edge of command I recognized. "I'll have my assistant bring the lawyers over."
He glanced back at me—just once, brief but deliberate—before adding into the phone: "I'll be in Silverton tonight."
My stomach dropped. I lowered the camera, watching him end the call with sharp, efficient movements.
He turned around, his expression carefully neutral, but I'd learned to read the tension in his jaw.
I crossed the deck quickly. "What happened?"
"Just a small situation." His hand found the small of my back, warm and steady. "I need to go coordinate the response."
"Then I'm coming with you." The words came out before I'd fully processed them.
"Your interview with Zachary is important," Julian said gently. "This is a rare opportunity."
I wanted to argue, but the look in his eyes told me he needed to know I was safe here.
"Okay," I said finally. "But you have to promise you'll be careful."
Relief flickered across his face before he pulled me against his chest, his chin resting on top of my head. The embrace was firm, grounding, like he was trying to memorize the feeling.
"I promise," he murmured into my hair. "You focus on your work. I'll be back soon."
Footsteps approached from behind us, accompanied by a cheerful voice.
"Julian! Leaving already? You barely made it through the ceremony before duty calls?"
I pulled back from Julian's arms to see Zachary striding toward us, his new wife Emily on his arm. He'd changed out of his wedding suit into a resort shirt—bright orange-red with bold white tulips—the open collar revealing a fit physique. Emily wore a caramel-colored maxi dress that flattered her slender figure, her fingers laced through her husband's.
"The timing's unfortunate," Julian said evenly, though his hand remained on my waist. "But I need to handle this personally."
Zachary's gaze shifted between us, understanding dawning in his expression. "Well, we can't have your girl stranded on our honeymoon trip. We're heading to the island anyway—she's more than welcome to join us."
"Not just bringing her along—help her complete the interview too," Julian said, fixing his gaze on Zachary.
"Of course, I'd be happy to," Zachary replied with a smile.
"And I can help!" Emily added brightly, her eyes lighting up. "If Zachary doesn't cooperate, just come find me. I know plenty of his little secrets."
"Emily," Zachary groaned, but he was smiling. "Are you trying to sabotage me?"
"I'm helping her get good material," Emily shot back, then turned to me with a conspiratorial grin.
"Then I'll have to trouble you, Miss Ross."
"You can call me Emily. No need for formalities."
Her warmth was genuine, not the performative friendliness I sometimes encountered in professional settings.
Julian's fingers tightened slightly at my waist before he looked at Zachary and Emily. "I'm trusting you to take care of her."
"We'll treat your little reporter like gold," Emily promised, the teasing emphasis on "little reporter" making heat creep up my neck.
I swatted Julian's arm lightly. "Go. Don't let me keep you."
He held my gaze for a long moment, something unspoken passing between us—reluctance, concern, and underneath it all, that steady certainty I was beginning to rely on. Then he turned and walked toward the gangway.
I watched until he disappeared from view, then forced myself to turn back to Emily and Zachary.
"Come on," Emily said, looping her arm through mine with easy familiarity. "Let me show you to the lounge. I have a few friends I'd like you to meet."
The yacht's interior was elegant but comfortable—soft lighting, pale wood panels, and floor-to-ceiling windows that let in the afternoon sun. Emily led me into a spacious lounge where several other guests were already settled on cream-colored sofas, drinks in hand.
"So this is the famous reporter Julian's been hiding," a woman said, looking up from her phone with frank curiosity. She had striking features and dark hair swept into a high ponytail. "I'm Freya, by the way. Emily's best friend."
"Nora Grey," I said, shaking her extended hand. "And I wouldn't say famous."
"But you work for NPR, right?" Freya leaned forward eagerly. "You must have interviewed tons of celebrities. Any good behind-the-scenes gossip you can share?"
"Freya," Emily cut in with a laugh. "Nora's a journalist, not a tabloid reporter. Don't put her on the spot."
Freya deflated dramatically against the sofa cushions. "Fine, fine. But we've got an hour until we reach the island, and I'm already bored."
"Then maybe you should've brought a book," Zachary said dryly, appearing with a tray of drinks. He handed me a glass of sparkling water without asking. "Nora, feel free to ignore Freya's fishing expedition. She's been trying to get dirt on me since freshman year."
The group laughed, and I felt myself relaxing slightly. This wasn't a formal interview setting or a networking event—just people genuinely enjoying each other's company.