“Sorry,” I say, genuinely contrite. “I just want it to be a surprise. And I really do appreciate you helping out.”
“I’m glad to. The picture taking and the rest of it, too.”
We’ve arranged that Syl will take several shots of me, which I’ll download to my laptop from the memory disk while I’m on the plane to the resort. It’s not a working trip, but I think it’s a safe bet that Damien will have at least one or two business things to take care of. And when he does, I’ll do a bit of work, too.
My plan is to manipulate the photo to the way I want it, add a caption, and then email the whole thing back to Sylvia. For her part, she’s promised to have it printed, framed, wrapped, and delivered to the Malibu house. When we get back on Valentine’s Day, it’ll be right there for Damien to open.
Just thinking about it makes me grin. There’s something about having to jump through all these hoops that makes the gift feel even more special. Hopefully Damien will enjoy the photo as much as I’m enjoying creating it.
Right now, though, I need to get on that whole “creating it” thing.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s do it.”
She nods and adjusts the focus. We’ve already checked the lights and filters, because I’m trying to minimize reflections and glare. The image I want is me in front of the window, the city spread out behind me. I’m wearing my most form-fitting dress, and one hand is flat against the glass as I stand at an angle so as to accentuate all my curves.
If the picture turns out like it is in my mind, it will be stunning. Unfortunately, things don’t always work out that way.
I stay still as Sylvia clicks and adjusts, then has me move to various similar poses so that I will have others to choose from if I hate the original idea.
About the time that I think my arm is going to fall off from being extended so long, she calls it a wrap.
“Well?” I ask, and her answering grin is all I need to know.
“You’re going to have a hell of a time choosing the best one,” she says. “And Damien is going to love it.”
I think about what she says as I pack a small suitcase. I hope she’s right. Considering the game that Damien put together for me, I feel a little bit like a slacker. Then again, there’s no reason I can’t step up to the plate next year. Or even for his birthday. After all, surely I could come up with some sort of personalized iPhone app.
The possibility amuses me, and I’m so lost in thinking about apps for lovers and scavenger hunts that I don’t hear Damien come in. I am sitting on the bed, my laptop bag beside me and my suitcase propped up in front of me like a desk, and I’m busily scribbling notes when he knocks lightly on the door frame.
I look up, confused for a second, then leap off the bed and rush into his arms. He kisses me with equal enthusiasm, then nods at the notebook that has fallen to the floor. “What did I interrupt?”
“I’ll tell you when I work out the details. Right now, I’ll just say that you have inspired another app.” I grin mischievously. “I’m certain it will be a best seller.”
He looks at me, amused. “How could it not, with you designing it? Are you ready?”
I am, and we gather our things, then take the elevator to the roof. The helicopter takes us to the airport where the now familiar jet waits for us, along with Grayson, the pilot, and Katie, the Stark fleet’s senior flight attendant.
We get settled in, and Katie brings us both champagne before she returns to the crew area and leaves us alone.
“I didn’t have the chance to thank you yesterday,” I say after we’re airborne. “First, you distracted me—”
“I believe you started the distracting, Mrs. Stark.”
“Maybe.” I am unrepentant. “But after that we were distracted by less enjoyable things. At any rate, a spa getaway sounds like the perfect Valentine’s Day present.”
“I’m very glad you think so.”
I lean over to kiss him. “So tell me about the Serafina Spa.”
“Remember when I told you that I’d been looking at islands to acquire in the Bahamas with the goal of opening a resort?”
“Sure. Did you decide to just buy this one?”
He laughs. “No. It’s an excellent resort with a fine reputation, but it caters to everyone. We’re staying in the private section, which has its own spa, bungalows, and the like. But the main areas are available to anyone. Singles, spring breakers, couples, families.”
“Sounds to me like my husband is trying to sneak in some business during our romantic getaway,” I tease.
He chuckles. “I assure you that wasn’t part of the plan. I’ve done enough research on Serafina already to know that not only is there plenty of room for a competitive couples-only resort to move in and still have both resorts flourish, but that Serafina is an exceptional spa and resort. And until I’ve built a Stark couples’ resort in the area, Serafina is the one resort to which I will take my wife.”
“Very nice save, Mr. Stark.”
He shoots me a stern look, but it’s clear that he’s amused.
“You gave yourself away, though.”
He frowns. “What do you mean?”
“You said it wasn’t part of the plan. Does that mean business is part of the plan now?”
“You, Mrs. Stark, are too smart for your own good.”
I smirk.
“Something unexpected came up. Would you mind? Just one short meeting if I can arrange it?”
I take his hand and squeeze. “Are you kidding? Of course I don’t mind.” I don’t tell him that I pretty much expected it. “What came up?”
“I’ll show you.” He turns on his iPad and pulls up an image of a skyscraper. “The Winn Building in New York,” he says, then taps the screen and pulls up another image, this one of a lovely building still partially under construction. “The Amsterdam Art and Science Museum.”
“They’re amazing.”
“They are,” he says. “The architect is Jackson Steele.” Another tap and I see a still photo from what looks to be a television interview outside at a construction site.
I have to admit the man is exceptional. It’s hard to tell from the grainy image, but I’m guessing that he’s in his thirties. He stands straight, looking as if he owns the world, with a strong jawline and wind-tossed hair that appears to be as thick and dark as Damien’s. But it’s his eyes that are the most striking—a vivid blue that seems to burst off the screen, even despite the very poor quality of the image.