AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Nope. This isn’t like that.” I meet the eyes of a stewardess in all black and lift my chin to beckon her our way. Of course, she practically runs—my father had these people trained well—and skids to a stop just six feet away. “Can you take this bag?” I don’t know her name, but I show her my smile. Eye contact, anassurance, maybe, that I won’t have her throat slit while she’s working. “Place it in our suite, please. Put the contents in the fridge. In the middle of the middle shelf. Place everything else in the closet, please.”
“Yes, sir.” She accepts the bag and dips into a curtsy that has Minka’s brows shooting high. But then she turns and dashes, carrying the leather satchel the way a bomb squad member might carry an explosive.
“This must be one of those more exclusive cruises?” Minka speaks like she has a question, but I clamp my lips shut and lead her closer to the boat. “Not a five-thousand-person cruise. Maybe a few hundred?” She looks up in question. “That means you paid a lot for this.”
“Nah. Didn’t really cost much.” I extend my hand and stop in front of the man I know will be our captain.
How do I know?
Because he wears a hat that says so.
“Mr. Malone.” He claps my hand in his and folds his back in a type of bow. “My name is Captain Elijah Alexander.”
“Captain Alexander.” I wait for him to straighten out and find my eyes. “It’s nice to meet you. When will we set off?”
“Just as soon as you’re ready and on board. Everyone else is in place, sir.”
“Already on board.” Minka taps my hip. “See! We’re late.”
“You are most certainly not late,” Alexander assures her. “You are the guests of honor, Doctor Mayet. The guest of honor cannot be late to her own party.”
Eyes wide, she looks up at me. “Is it like, a wedding cruise? Fewer couples. Multiple guests of honor because the husbands want to show off for their brides and drop a packet on an exclusive cruise?”
“A packet?” Alexander starts. “Ma’am?”
“Yep.” I fasten my grip around her shoulders and tug her in impossibly tight. “Pretty much like that.” I meet Alexander’s eyes. “We’re stepping aboard now. How long until we’re moving?”
“Ten minutes, sir. At the most.”
“Make it eight.” But before I start walking again, I smile for the man. “Please.”
“You’re bossy.” Minka slaps my stomach and frowns as we move from the pier to the boat, stepping off expensive wood and onto, well, expensive steel, I guess. Fiberglass? I’m not actually sure what boats that aren’t wood are made of. “How many rooms does this thing have?”
“Uh… twelve? For guests. Plus more for staff.”
“So there’ll be twelve couples joining us?” She twists in my hold, swiveling and studying the deck that wraps around the entire ship. Round tables and sun loungers pepper from the back to the front, umbrellas awaiting someone to come along and open them. Sparkling silver railing, for holding on to and leaning over when the dolphins decide to swim alongside us. “It’s not that I’m not appreciative or anything?—”
Curious, I bring my gaze down to study her.
“Swear, I think this is the coolest idea ever.”
“You do?”
“I mean…” Her cheeks warm under the summer sun. “Yeah. A fricken cruise? I’ve never been on one of these before.”
“But?”
“Well…” Swallowing, she tucks her head back in and allows me to lead her through a doorway. From burning sunlight to an opulent room filled with dining tables and chairs to sprawl on. Chandeliers overhead, and silverware laid out for the lunch we’ve yet to eat. “I’m just surprised you’ve chosen to spend this time with other people. Twelve couples?” she repeats. “That means awkward friendships and sharing a breakfast buffet. It’llmean saying hello in the halls, and probably joining someone’s Christmas card list.”
“You’re into joining people’s Christmas card lists?” Snorting, I lead her through the dining room—one of three—and past a massive fireplace I have no intention of using in this filthy summer heat. “You’d actually exchange addresses and such?”
“No. I’d make one up. Which reminds me,” she comes to a stop and turns to look up into my eyes. “My name is now Sally. And you can be Fred. Or George. Or whoever the hell you want to be.”
“Sally?”
“Right, so when Berta or whoever asks me for my email address so we can keep in contact, I can tell her it’s Sally123-at-internet-dot-com, and it’ll be believable.”
“At-internet-dot-com? Not even seventy-eight-year-old, bingo-loving Berta would believe that.”
