Blame

"I want off of this fucking boat."

Spooned behind his boss, he tried his best to comfort her as she sobbed. With what had happened, Blake Moran didn't blame her for falling apart. Gently, he stroked his fingers through her hair.

"I know," he whispered.

In the past hour, he'd told her three times that they were on their way to a port, but it would be another two until they arrived. They hadn't been expected back at the marina in Sardinia until Sunday morning, so it took time to secure a slip— communicating with port officials was never easy. It also didn't help that the weather in the Mediterranean was unpredictable, bringing sudden gusts of wind. There were large swells right now, so the captain was cruising slowly, but Blake bet if he listened hard enough, he would be able to hear Jay vomiting in the next room over.

Squeezing her shoulder, he said, "We're on our way."

Luckily, James Carrington Jr. was banished to his room. He thanked God that the stateroom he was staying in was the furthest away from the Secretary's cabin, but it didn't make the situation much better. Honestly, he would have preferred Jim to be thrown overboard.

"I feel like I want to die."

"I'm here."

Arguably, he had to be. Other than Jay, he was the only person on this boat that she truly trusted. Well, there were also a handful of Diplomatic Security agents from her detail, but none of them ever saw this side of her. But as much as Blake cared for her, he didn't know the first thing about helping someone through something like this.

Rolling over, Elizabeth buried her face into his chest. When she fisted the front of his shirt, one of his hands fell to the middle of her back. Slowly, he began rubbing a pattern of soothing circles along her skin.

"I'm here," Blake repeated as he touched her arm.

Believe it or not, the start of their weekend had been quite pleasant. After the three days they'd spent in Rome for a series of bilateral meetings, they were supposed to fly home on Friday, but they'd changed their original plan. With his charm and good smile, Enzo Moretti, the Prime Minister of Italy, had convinced their boss to add another stop to their itinerary.

"I was invited to join Bill Wright on his yacht in Sardinia," he'd said. "You should join us."

At first, the Secretary had been reluctant.

"James Carrington will be on board. It's to my understanding that you two know each other from boarding school."

"Yes, we used to run in the same circles."

Ultimately, the Secretary had decided to go because the wife of her old friend from boarding school was Lucy Carrington, a senator who happened to be dead set on holding up the State Department's budget. According to one of Nadine's sources on the Hill, she had issues with the aid package for countries in South America. With their funding in mind, she'd agreed to the impromptu trip.

On Thursday, Blake had strolled the streets of Rome in search of a bathing suit for Elizabeth. It was the middle of February, so the water would be freezing, but he'd learned to always be prepared. Eventually, he'd found something conservative in Zimmermann.

"Everything hurts," she cried.

Earlier, in the bathroom, she'd told him the same thing. He'd pushed for her to see the medic on board, but she'd refused. She would need to see a doctor once they'd docked in Sardinia.

Letting out a breath, he pushed hair away from her eyes.

"Can I get you something?" Blake asked. The room was dim, but he could just make out one of the crew members hovering near the door. He wouldn't be surprised if the captain had asked her to check in with them. For a moment, he wondered how long she'd been standing there. "Maybe some tea?"

Proactive as ever, the young woman slipped out of the room to, presumably, put the kettle on before a cup of chamomile tea became a request.

"I just want Henry."

Wishing her husband was here too, Blake pressed his palm flat against her upper back. She was still in shapewear from the waist up, so his fingers brushed against bare skin. Right now, it felt wrong to touch her, but she'd begged him not to leave.

"We're going to get you home as soon as we can," he said.

Blinking away tears, he willed himself not to cry. For the past hour, he'd been the clear-headed one, the one comforting her as he simultaneously did his best to manage the situation. Halfway across the world, he needed to be what people in D.C. called a fixer. But more importantly, Blake needed to be her friend.

Elizabeth slurred her husband's name.

With it only being 3 a.m., she was unfortunately still intoxicated.

From experience, Blake had expected there to be a lot of drinking while on the boat. After all, this wasn't his first time on a megayacht in the Mediterranean. He'd spent at least a few weeks every summer until he'd graduated from Harvard cruising around Europe— Capri, Ibiza, and Monaco. Whether or not purposefully, people tended to overindulge in alcohol. Last night, such was the case with his boss. But he knew she'd felt pressured to keep up with the men.

"Another martini?"

After taking a sip of his own drink, Blake's eyes had nearly bugged— the stewardess was pouring with a heavy hand. Knowing his boss's tolerance levels, he should have encouraged her to switch to something lighter, but he hadn't. She deserved one night of overdoing it. Now, he wished that he would have requested something bubbly like those hard seltzers that Nadine's assistant ordered at the bar.

"The chef planned for surf and turf," Camilla, the chief stewardess explained. They stood together in the galley, putting together a list of provisions. "Will that be okay with your boss?"

"She's not picky when it comes to food."

Glancing up from her notepad, Camilla asked, "And alcohol?"

"Either gin or vodka, preferably Grey Goose."

"Great." The young woman had smiled. "We already have about twenty bottles on board. That's Mr. Wright's preference as well."

Around mouthfuls of lobster and steak, the conversation made at dinner had been friendly. World leaders and businessmen seemed to mix well with red wine and brandy. However, at the time, shoptalk had still been at a minimum.

Later, around the fireplace in the main saloon, discussion had turned tense. In typical fashion, the Secretary had made a snide comment, alluding to Lucy Carrington's reluctance to support the president's proposed budget. Lucy's husband, Jim, had been served just enough alcohol to make a cutting comment right back.

"Unlike you, my wife doesn't get off on wasting taxpayer dollars on aid packages that will ultimately end in a corrupt leader using the funds to finance his flamboyant lifestyle."

"Jim, you know very well that's not how I get off."

Apparently, the Secretary had been served just enough alcohol to begin making coy remarks.

A moment of silence had passed before Jim chuckled. Taking a swig from his glass, he'd reached out, touching Elizabeth's arm. Then, he'd turned to the other men in the room and proceeded to tell them about the six months that they'd dated while attending Houghton.

"This isn't Elizabeth and I's first time on a yacht together." Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, he'd asked, "Remember when we tagged along to St. Tropez with Joey?"

"Thank you," Blake muttered.

After one of the crew members set a steaming mug of tea on the table beside the bed, he tried to flash a small smile. Blake was grateful that they were being so considerate. He knew that she wouldn't touch it, but it made him feel better having something to offer her.

"I feel so stupid."

"Why?"

"Because…" Sitting up in bed, Elizabeth wiped at her eyes. "Because this is my fault," she whispered.

Finding himself head-to-head with Prime Minister Moretti in poker, Blake had purposefully lost the hand. His cards were killer, but he would prefer not to be deported from the country, thank you very much. After losing all of his chips (and the cash he'd tossed into the pile), he'd politely excused himself from the table.

"Can I make you another drink?" Camilla had asked.

Passing the bar, he'd waved her off. Other than the red wine Blake had tasted during dinner, he'd allowed himself one cocktail. Technically, he was still working tonight, so one was plenty.

With a smile, he'd walked over to the other end of the room where another game of poker was being played. By the looks of it, Jim had roped two deckhands into playing with him and Elizabeth. And by the sound of it, there was more banter happening than cards being laid down.

"Look me in the eye and tell me what kind of bra you're wearing."

"How will my choice of lingerie help your card game?" Elizabeth had asked, hiding her smirk behind the three cards held between her thumb and pointer finger.

"Lingerie, huh?" Once Jim had thrown in two green chips, he'd said, "Because it'll help me decide if you're bluffing."

"If I tell you it's lacy, will you convince your wife to approve our budget?"

Arms crossed, Blake had arched his left eyebrow, wondering whether he needed to step in— he'd never seen her so loose. What had happened the last time he'd cut her off? Oh yeah, she'd threatened to fire him. After weighing his options, he'd ultimately decided that she was a grown woman who knew her own limits.

"If you show me it's lacy, I'll make a phone call right now."

Throwing her head back, Elizabeth had laughed.

From there, the events of the night had unfolded quickly.

Around 1 a.m., he'd left the main saloon to check on Jay who'd been holed up in the room they were sharing. He was seasick and helpless. Even with the anti-nausea wristbands, he'd had his head in the toilet practically since they'd left the marina.

"Our boss is drunk." With a huff, Blake had sunk down onto the edge of his bed. "And she's had sex with James Carrington."

"When?"

"Boarding school."

When he'd returned to the living area, Elizabeth was gone. And so was Jim. Only Bill Wright and one of his close friends had remained in the room.

"Did the Secretary head to bed?"

They'd both nodded.

Normally, Blake would have checked on her right away, but a stewardess had appeared, carrying a ginger ale. Twenty minutes ago, the boat had started to roll a bit. The Dramamine in Jay's system hadn't stood a chance. Wanting to be a good friend, Blake had taken it upon himself to hand deliver the glass of soda.

"Elizabeth, this wasn't your fault."

"Was I too flirty?" Looking into his eyes, she decided for herself. "I was too flirty. I… I get like that sometimes when I drink too much." Leaning forward on the bed, she wrapped her arms around herself. "I was leading him on, wasn't I?"

"It wasn't your fault," he said again.

Just after 2 a.m., after Blake had heard a scream, he'd stormed into the Secretary's stateroom. For the rest of his life, he would never forget the moment he had to physically remove a man from his boss. Before Blake had jumped into action, James Carrington had been on top of her, hand tangled into her hair as he'd pressed her face into a pillow.

"What am I supposed to tell Henry?"

Hearing her breathing, Blake knew she was a minute away from a panic attack. He needed to do something to calm her down. Slowly, he placed his hand, palm up, on the bed by her knee.

"Elizabeth," he called her name. When she met his eyes, he instructed her to take his hand. "What happened to you was not your fault."

"But I—"

"You have the right to flirt and not be hurt." Blake was careful, making sure not to use any triggering words. "And you have the right to drink and not be taken advantage of either."

Although Elizabeth nodded, she started to cry again. This time the tears fell silently. Leaning into him, she rested her head on his shoulder.

"Don't blame yourself."

He wouldn't either.