Chapter 19
JESSE
This isn’t a ferry. Not as advertised on the pre-wedding schedule.
Not at all.
There’s nothing “little” about the little river shuttle described on the itinerary. Our boat is in fact a yacht. A luxury one.
And it shows.
Sweeping hardwood floors. Three levels of decadence and flawlessly white décor. An open upper deck and a peek inside at two floors of mahogany and marble as far as the eye can see.
Oh, and one other thing? The words “The Sparrow” emblazoned on the side of the behemoth structure, Marilyn and Heath’s last name the taunting reminder I don’t need.
Six hours after that disaster of a brunch at the Plaza, an early April breeze blows across my skin, a slight chill settling in as the sun sets on the city horizon.
Heath still hasn’t returned my phone calls.
