With Every Breath (Sea Swept #2) (23 page)

“I think that we’re not making it down to breakfast,” I say seriously, “because it’s going to take all morning to show you how much I love you. It might even take longer.”

A smile breaks out over Yasmin’s face. It’s as beautiful as even my best photographs of the dawn lighting up the ocean. More beautiful. Infinitely more.

“I like the sound of that,” Yasmin says, and raises her lips to mine.

~ ~ ~

Two weeks later, Yasmin and I stroll around the gallery that is hosting the hospital benefit auction. She’s dressed in a strapless beaded gown that highlights her tan and, in my opinion at least, the fact that she’s the most gorgeous girl in the room.
 

I’m wearing my one suit, and I eye the crowd with a frown.

“Maybe I should have sprung for a tux,” I say. “This is sort of a bigger event than I’d thought it would be.”

Yasmin shakes her head. “You look way too good already in that suit. If you were in a tux I’d have to drag you to the nearest bell tower and have my way with you.”

“In that case, I’m definitely buying a tux,” I declare, making her laugh.

“Want to go see if anyone’s bid on our piece?” Yasmin asks, and we head to the room where our collaboration hangs. It takes up nearly an entire wall. The collage was printed onto a giant canvas, and the individual photographs form a mosaic look. From up close, you can see each photo in miniature—I note the picture I took of Yasmin in the bell tower and smile. From far away, the mosaic turns into a beautiful, laughing young woman with dark eyes just like Yasmin’s.
 

It’s titled, simply,
Sofia
. Several people are gathered in front of it, murmuring words like
stunning
. I’m biased, obviously, but I totally agree. I almost can’t believe Yasmin and I created it. It feels odd to have my name listed as one of the contributing artists, because some of the other works in the auction are by what Yasmin’s art-obsessed friend Georgia calls up-and-coming players in the art world.

To one side is a framed 8x10 photo of Sofia, the one the mosaic was based on, along with an explanation of who Sofia was and what the pictures mean. Yasmin’s sister is also listed as a contributing artist, since she took over half the photos. Yasmin teared up earlier when she saw her sister’s name on the wall. I think she was glad that Sofia got to fulfill at least part of her dream of being a professional artist.

Yasmin and I slip over to the table in the corner of the room, which holds the bid sheets for the artworks. I find our slip, which has several bids already.
 

“Score,” I mutter in satisfaction, and Yasmin threads her fingers into mine.
 

“Sweet Jesus,” she breathes. “Look at the top bid!”
 

We’d set the minimum low, at $100; after all, the print wasn’t unique, but one of a limited edition set. Yasmin’s parents have a slightly smaller one in their dining room now, and Yasmin has another carefully rolled up to be framed when she gets her own place. Her grad school program is letting her start in the spring instead of delaying until next fall, so she’s moving in a month or two.

That makes my stomach flip a little, because I’m not sure what I’ll be doing then. Right now I’m staying in the guest room at Yasmin’s parents’ house, but I don’t want to be a mooch, so next week I need to find somewhere I can afford. I have some savings, but I’m not sure how far they’ll go, and Yasmin and I haven’t really talked about how we’re handling the next year. Should I look for a job here? Wait until she’s settled at school? What am I even qualified for? The uncertainty weighs on me, but I haven’t wanted to push her about it, and tonight isn’t about me; it’s about Sofia, and her memory. I won’t disrupt that.
 

I peer at the bid sheet, and my eyes open wide at the bottom line.

There’s no name, only a bidder number, meaning the bidder wants to remain anonymous. It’s the other number that stuns: $5000

I let out a low whistle, because the next lowest bid was only $1300, so whoever bid overtop really must want to win. Yasmin excitedly tells me she’s got to go tell Georgia, and darts off.

I hit the head—even in the bathroom, there’s art hung on the walls, though it’s not part of the charity auction—and am making my way into the main gallery room again when a familiar voice says my name. I glance over and do a double take.

“Owen! What are you doing here?” I ask, clapping him on the back. He grins, and straightens his tux.

“Just wanted to take in some art. Besides, I’d never been to this part of Louisiana.”

“But aren’t you in the middle of a contract?”

Owen rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but Star Heart management sent me to get you to sign an agreement. It basically promises you won’t sue or disparage Star Heart about your ‘unorthodox termination.’”

“We could sue?”

Owen shrugs. “You could try. I doubt it would work; US laws don’t really hold in Mexico, or in international waters. We crew don’t actually have a whole lot of rights, other than what the company gives us.” He pauses, then adds deliberately, “What they really don’t want you to do is go to the press.”

“The press?”

“Cruise lines aren’t so popular lately, thanks to the accidents and sickness incidents and all of that. If you and Yasmin made a stink about how you were fired, the company’s image would take a nosedive, and Star Heart is on shaky financial ground as it is.”

I study him. “How do you know all that?”

“It’s in the quarterly report,” he says breezily.

“
You
read the quarterly report?”

“I have a lot of down time in the publication room,” Owen says. I only stare at him, not buying it.
 

“Why would Star Heart send you in particular?”

 
He shrugs again.

“I asked to go. Pointed out that as your friend, I’d have the best chance of getting you to sign the agreement.”

“And that’s also how you explain having a secret card that makes the fanciest hotel in Portales do your bidding?” I ask dryly. Then I hold up my hands. “Look, man, if you don’t want to say, I won’t pry.”

Owen hesitates, then shakes his head.
 

“It’s not that I don’t want to say, it’s that I can’t. There’s sort of … a lot of money riding on it.”

“Alright.” I shake my head, laughing. “Forget it. Thanks for helping us out in Mexico.”

“I might not give a shit about much,” Owen says, “but I take care of my friends. So here’s my advice: don’t sign the papers until Star Heart agrees to give you and Yasmin severance. It won’t be a ton, but it’ll be enough to get you through a few semesters of undergrad.”

I consider that, but finally shake my head. “I don’t want to get into a legal battle. I don’t want anything from them. They’ve already given me enough.” I nod across the room. “They gave me Yasmin.” Besides, I want to earn my way, not win a lawsuit.

Owen rolls his eyes again and slaps me on the back. “I’m telling them you want severance. We’ll talk more about it tomorrow. Right now I want to meet that sexy brunette over there. Do you know her?”

I look across the room, where Yasmin’s talking to a girl in a coral dress. I hide my smile. “Sure, I’ll introduce you,” I say, and we head over. When we reach the girls, Yasmin’s face lights up.

“Owen, what are you doing here?” she asks, giving him a hug.
 

“I’ll explain later,” I say, then turn to the other girl. “Owen, meet Georgia Cantwell,” I say grandly. Just as Owen’s about to say something flirtatious, I add, “And here’s her boyfriend, Jace.”

Jace joins the circle, handing Yasmin and Georgia glasses of champagne. Owen mutters something uncomplimentary to me under his breath, making me smirk. But he shakes Jace’s hand, and Georgia’s.

“What were you two talking about?” I ask Yasmin after I nod at Jace. I met him and Georgia earlier today, at Yasmin’s parents’ house before we all came to the hospital for the auction. They’d driven several hours this morning from where Jace is going to grad school. They make a great couple, their stories full of their summer adventures in Europe and their eyes full of each other.
 

“I was asking Georgia how the job search is going,” Yasmin says.
 

Georgia makes a face.

“Not a whole lot out there for an art history major right now, unfortunately. But I’m looking. I’ve got my salesgirl job at J. Crew in the meantime.”

“You’re looking to get into the art world?” Owen asks.

“Yeah, but I don’t have much gallery experience. Plus, I had some … difficulties the last year or so of college.” She, Yasmin and Jace exchange glances, and Jace puts a hand on Georgia’s shoulder. She smiles up at him. “I’m okay now, at least. I did manage to get a decent GPA at the end, but it’s not stellar enough to impress anyone.”

There’s a glint in Owen’s eye. “Have you ever considered being an art auctioneer on a cruise ship?” he asks her.

“You mean like for the gallery on the
Radiant Star
?” Georgia looks momentarily hopeful, but then her face falls. “It sounds awesome, but I have approximately zero experience, so …”

“Actually, they prefer it that way,” Owen says. “People with experience in the art world wind up needing to be retrained, so they usually go after new grads. You’d be perfect.”

“Really?”

“That’s like eight months at a time at sea, right?” Jace asks, frowning. He and Georgia exchange glances. I know what they’re thinking; it’s not like he can leave his graduate program to be with her.

“Sure, but the art auctioneer gets more regular breaks than the lower-ranked crew. And you’d get to have a guest cruise with us for free from time to time.” Owen shrugs. “It might be a good way to get your foot in the art world door and learn a skill for a few years. Up to you, but I could make sure your application gets to the right people.”

“Thanks,” Georgia says. “I’ll definitely consider it.”

We chat a while longer, and then Yasmin leads me away from the group, saying she wants to tell me something. We head through the crowd, out of the gallery rooms, and around a corner. A door has a “Stairs” sign on it, and Yasmin pushes through. I follow, noting with concern the serious expression she’s wearing.
 

Yasmin steps carefully up two steps, then turns and sits down, facing me.

“So I have to confess something,” she says, twisting her hands in her lap. “I did something I’m not sure you’ll like.”

“What is it?”

She looks up at me, her dark eyes worried, and my stomach flips. Shit. Is this the talk I haven’t been wanting to have, when she tells me she’s realized she’ll be too busy in grad school for a relationship, or she feels differently now that we’re off the boat, or some other decision that is about to shatter us apart? I grit my teeth.

“I got some of your photos framed and asked all the local art galleries if they’d accept them for sale,” Yasmin says. “A couple of them said yes.”

Her words almost don’t make sense, because she looks so grim, and I was expecting something so much worse. When the meaning sinks in, I frown.

“Don’t you need my signature for that?”

Yasmin bites her lip.

“I forged it and pretended I was your agent.” She gazes at me, but I have no idea what to say or how I feel. My photos are personal, but I know Yasmin’s heart was in the right place, and I don’t want to shoot my mouth off and hurt her like I’ve done in the past. Before I can come up with a response, Yasmin shakes her head. “Look, I know I totally overstepped, and you have every right to be mad. But I didn’t want to tell you about it unless the photos sold. I wanted to surprise you.”

“Yasmin, I can’t say I … wait.” I pause. “Does that mean something sold?”

She gives me a tiny smile.
 

“About a third of them. And one of the galleries already wants more.” She gets up and steps forward, down to the bottom of the stairs. “West, I know you don’t think art could be a career, but it’s something that would let us be together. At the very least the money the gallery owes you should cover a couple months’ rent, more if we split an apartment, and I was hoping that—”

“Yasmin,” I interrupt, and take her shoulders. She stares up at me, lips trembling.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” I say, and kiss her. She melts into my arms, and the world around us feels
right
. Maybe, I think, maybe I
can
strike out on my own and start a photography business. Aside from gallery sales, I have the experience to do events, and she’s right, it’s something that would let me move with her. I might not have the business experience yet, but hell, I can learn. I can give it a shot. It’s scary, but Yasmin believes in me so much it touches me to my core, and I’ll try anything if she thinks it’s right.
 

When we come up for air, Yasmin spreads her hands over the white cloth of my suit shirt. “So you’re not mad?” she says. I shake my head.

“Which pieces sold?” I ask.

“The biggest was of dawn breaking out over the open sea, and the sky is pink with clouds.”

“My mom loved the dawn,” I say softly. “I photograph it for her.”

Yasmin’s dark eyes search mine, and she smiles.

“Your mom would be proud of you.”

“She’d have liked you,” I tell Yasmin, because it’s true. My mom won’t ever get to meet Yasmin, and that hurts, because I want the mother I adored to know the woman I love, and vice versa. It won’t ever happen. Life’s never perfect, and some things when lost can’t ever be recovered. But I know my mother would take one look at Yasmin and see her fiery spirit and hidden depths right along with her ridiculously impractical shoes, and she’d tell me to hold tight to this island nymph and never let her go.

 
As Yasmin laces her fingers with mine and we head back to the gala, I know I never will.

Chapter 24

Yasmin

“You okay?” West asks me. The sun is shining down on us, a bright mid-morning smile. It’s the day after the auction, and we are standing in my church’s cemetery. It’s a place I used to have trouble visiting, but today I’m alright.

I smile up at West and squeeze his hand. “Yeah. You want to go set up the picnic with the others? I’ll be over in a minute.”