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My hand comes up, slapping him so hard my palm stings. The crack echoes through the ship. I'm breathing heavily through my nose. I've never hit anyone, not even the customers who managed to pinch my ass as I walked by with the drink cart.
Derek has gone too far. His words are more offensive than a stranger's off-hand touch because his words are fucking personal, a targetted attack, meant to hurt me.
Derek laughs, covering his cheek. It's glowing red, my handprint prominent. "Marco likes the fiery type, noted."
"I'm not some toy," I spit, glaring daggers at him.
Derek leans down, eyes locked on mine. His hand cups my jaw, thumb dragging across my cheek. I flinch, so he smirks. "Not yet. But you could be."
My lips press together, my jaw trembles. I'm tempted to slap him again, but I don't have the guts. I feel someone move up behind me, and I think it’s Marco, filled with rage and intent on killing his brother.
But it's not Marco. It’s Heratio.
"Back the hell off, Derek!"
Hands grip me; Marco this time, who hugs me to his belly. "You're testing me," he says to his older brother. "I don't want to break your teeth but you're really tempting me."
"Okay, okay!" Laughing loudly, Derek throws up his hands. "I can tell when I've gone too far. Sorry, everyone. Drinks on me. Or on us, I guess, since this is our ship. And we're rich as gods." He gives me a seething side-look that turns my blood cold. "When you boys are ready, come up top. It's time for some prep work before the real deal."
He jogs up the stairs in his shiny loafers as fast as I could do it in running shoes.
"What's his problem?" I ask Marco. I'm shaking from the encounter, so I sit down on the steps. Nathan and Heratio shuffle uneasily. Whatever they're thinking about they don't say it.
"I'm going up," Nathan sighs.
Heratio nods and follows his older brother. They vanish out of view. It's just Marco and me now. He sits beside me, cradling my hand. "I'm sorry. Derek is always awful but this is worst than usual."
"Is it me? Am I causing this?"
He looks out of the massive windows. On the dock are headlights. Cars and trucks are arriving one by one. The staff, I guess, like he'd mentioned. "It's not you, Filia. It's the pressure of this situation."
"The shareholder meeting?" I squint thoughtfully. "Tell me what the big deal is. You guys are wealthy because of this cruise line, you all own it, why would a single meeting cause such stress? It's not like you're going to lose your company." I laugh.
He doesn't. "It's possible."
My pulse jumps erratically. "How could that be?"
"It's what Mom put in her will. Once she passes away, if the company isn't assigned to one of us a hundred percent, solely, it gets passed to our late father's wife." He pulls a grim ghost of a smile. "Our step mom."
"That's insane! Why would your mother put that in her will?"
He shakes his head quickly. "There was some clause in the divorce paperwork. I don't know all the details. That's Derek's realm. What I know is it's the truth. We come back from this cruise with a signed contract naming one of us as the sole shareholder..." He closes his eyes and squeezes my hand. "Or we lose everything.”
Chapter Eleven
Before he went off to talk to the others Marco showed me to the room I’d be sharing with him. It’s not as big as the one at the hotel but it’s more modern. Strewn across the king size bed, I stare at the white ceiling.Four of them have to agree to give up their share, or all of them lose everything.What a terrible position to be in. I can’t even imagine. Now I get why Derek is so prickly. He’s aware of what’s at stake, and he thinks Marco is fucking around instead of focusing on what to do.I bet he thinks Marco doesn’t deserve to be chosen to inherit everything. How will they ever decide?
If the brothers were able to trust each other, the solution would be simple; one of them becomes a figurehead to stop the divorce clause. Then the others, though on paper they have no power, continue to advise, be involved, and draw the money owed to them.
But after only a bit of time around the group, it’s obvious; there’s too much bad blood to trust they won’t get screwed over.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to clear my mind. This is not my problem. It’s not my business, and I need to focus on my own life. But it’s hard when I’m surrounded by the tension so thick I can almost touch it.
I take a quick shower in the bathroom. I don't know how many premier suites the ship has, but this one is insanely nice. Everything is emerald-washed, with pops of clean white to add accents.
Once I'm dressed again, my hair wound up in a quick messy bun, I decide to explore. Mostly I'm hungry. We didn't eat after the car ride, it's been too long since breakfast.
Wandering around, I make my way through the ship. It's not empty anymore. Staff in crisp black polo shirts and matching shorts or skirts rush around on opal colored sneakers. I dodge, press against the wall to keep out of their way. They work efficiently; there are flower arrangements on every flat surface. Five people are setting up endless trays of champagne glasses. How many guests are going to board?
