Epilogue

Of course Brandon had to call right then, with both of my sisters, Matteo, and Vivi walking nearby. Because he couldn’t send a simple, noninvasive, quiet text. Apparently he had to consume the entirety of my attention. For a second, I’d even forgotten that I had Brandon Banks’s number—and that it meant he also had mine.

The truth was, my sisters didn’t know about Brandon simply because it would require far too long an explanation.

How could I tell them that one of the girls I worked with at the extreme sports summer camp in Colorado, Bristol, had shown up on the ship as a passenger? That she’d managed to get a group of other passengers together—all different ages—for paint balling and zip lining, but her father wouldn’t let her off the ship?

Which wasn’t a surprise. I’d heard about the guy from other counselors, and let’s just say . . . he was the quintessential workaholic dad in every way. Only Brandon Banks would invite his thirteen-year-old daughter on a cruise to spend time together and then ignore her completely. Just like he’d sent her off to summer camp to get rid of her last year.

Bristol’s little problem had consumed my thoughts during paint balling the other day and then again during zip lining yesterday. The train ride from Rome to Venice to catch our ship should have been spent bonding with my sisters, but I couldn’t help worrying about Bristol.

I knew exactly how it felt, living with a distant and distracted father, and she deserved better. Sure, she was one of many kids I’d worked with at that camp, but she also felt like a younger version of myself. I knew loneliness when I saw it.

So why was her father trying to call me? A mistake, surely. She’d once insisted on entering her dad’s number into my phone “for emergencies.” Which I figured meant emergencies like her phone dying. Low-stakes stuff. But what if an actual emergency happened?

Nope. I couldn’t think of a single reason why her father would call me, his daughter’s camp counselor from last year. In an emergency, he would call the police or ship security. Even the U.S. Consulate. For all I knew, a guy that rich had the president on speed dial. There was absolutely nothing I could do for him in pretty much every scenario.

Yep, definitely a butt dial.

I had just started to relax and enjoy Vivi’s little tour when my phone dinged with a text.

Where are you? Bristol is worried.

That was why he called? To hunt me down, a stranger he’d never even met? Clearly I had a point to make, and fast. I shot off a quick text.

Tell Bristol she owes me ten bucks for giving out my number.

His reply came almost immediately.

Blame the dad who wants to know who his daughter has been talking about nonstop for the past two days. She said you worked at the camp in Colorado?

Um, no. We weren’t doing this now. I had every intention of enjoying Venice today, and that didn’t involve chatting it up with a young friend’s emotionally abusive father.

But . . . he did have a point. I was an adult and his daughter was a teen, and that made this precarious. Any good parent would be making sure his child’s new ship friend wasn’t a threat.

With a sigh, I typed back a reply.

Yes, I was her camp leader last summer. For the record, I’m mostly normal and haven’t kidnapped any children in at least a year. Now let’s talk about you and the reason you brought your daughter to Italy and then refused to let her get off the ship to see it.

Boom, I wanted to say as I sent it. Let him stew on that.

And he did—for at least ten minutes. I’d almost forgotten about our text conversation when my phone vibrated again. I pulled my phone out carefully, relieved when Kennedy and Vivi were too distracted by a man pretending to be a statue to follow my movement.

Italy is just as beautiful from the shore as inland, and I don’t send my daughter with strangers. Which is why I would like to meet you, so you’re no longer a stranger.

I cocked my head, trying to decipher the meaning behind his words as another text appeared.

Bristol agrees that you’re a rational, level-headed individual and thinks I should invite you to spend the day with us tomorrow so I can see for myself.

Tomorrow was a sea day on the way to Greece, so we’d stay on the ship. Did he really think I wanted to spend that time following him around and proving myself? Who did this man think he was?

I typed a furious reply and hit Send before I could reconsider.

The question isn’t how normal I am. The question is why a stranger on the ship cares more about your daughter having a good vacation than her own father does. Vacation. It’s this time when you leave work behind and spend time with your family. Highly recommend it.

For a second, I wondered if it was too strong. I didn’t want to drive him away completely, after all. Wouldn’t my spending some time with them be good for Bristol? She’d have one day of freedom, at least, and maybe it would even rub off on a father who obviously didn’t know how to have fun.

I expected to be blocked then and there. But instead, I got a very short reply back.

We’ll eat breakfast in suite 7224 at 9, then head to the rock climbing wall. Come if you want.

Come if you want? This guy was a piece of work. How about “Thank you for caring about my daughter” or “I apologize for the inconvenience we’ve caused you on your vacation?” Or even something more gracious and polite, like, “We would love to have you join us?”

No, normal dudes said things like that. This guy expected the world to jump when he flicked a finger, and in the business world, maybe it did.

But not me. Not a chance.

If Brandon Banks wanted me at his suite for breakfast so he could analyze and lecture me, I intended to make sure I was as far from there as possible. Let him wonder about the woman who saw through him when nobody else did. I would have to find another way to help Bristol that didn’t involve obeying his every whim.

But what? Surely the girl, who reminded me of myself in at least ten different ways, deserved to have a fun vacation too. If she was working on her dad to form a connection with me, this could be her lifeline. Could I reject all her hard work for the sake of my pride?

An idea blossomed in my mind. A beyond brilliant, incredible, delicious idea. The man wouldn’t know what hit him before tomorrow ended. And if it worked, it would help Bristol, too.

I shot off a quick reply, chuckling to myself, and almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

I have a better idea. Meet me at the waterslide at 10.

His response came in seconds.

Fine.

Oh, the delight of watching a controlling man lose the slightest bit of his grip on that control. I could get used to this. If everything went as planned tomorrow, in fact, that would be exactly what happened.

I wanted to rub my hands together in wicked anticipation.

Okay, Brandon Banks. Let’s do this.