Page 19 of A Perfect Disaster

“And the aisle on the left?”

“We’re reserving this as a fast lane. For officers, crew members who need to cross, and the repeat visitors who skip the photos and are just in a hurry to snag a lounge chair.”

This time she really does smile. It’s a quick flash, barely a blink, but it happens. And I, who should be paying attention to the microphone frequencies and the crew members pretending to be party-loving tourists, am completely transfixed, staring at that slightest curve of her lips. As if someone had turned on the gala lighting just for me.

“What a mess of a woman I am.”

“It makes sense,” Helen admits.

Just two words. But they warm my skin more than all the tropical sea breeze.

“Sorry, I think I’m getting radio interference. Can you repeat that?” I tease, narrowing my eyes mischievously.

The regulation stiffness returns to her face immediately.

“Don’t push your luck, Maika.”

“No, seriously. I should record this and play it over the PA system. ‘It makes sense,’ from the one and only, infallible Helen Müller. This is going straight into the ship’s log.”

“I remind you that I can revoke your access clearance to this deck if I choose to,” she threatens, but her eyes crinkle with amusement.

“That sounds much more like you,” I admit, bursting out laughing.

We hold each other’s gaze for a few seconds that stretch on longer than they should. The tension hangs between us, thick, alive, and dangerously magnetic.

Helen breaks the magnetism by turning her eyes back to the screen.

“Do you have the start under control? The first ten minutes of the deck show are critical for the safety of the outer corridor.”

“I’m certain no one is going to sit down in the first ten minutes, Helen. People need to get their bearings, find their place, decide if the atmosphere appeals to them. We’ll start with some percussion, lighting transitions, and a visual welcome that invites them to move. The captain’s formal speech will come later, once they’re settled.”

“Good. Then the message needs to be repeated over the PA system before the main choreography ends.”

“Exactly.”

I chuckle to myself, enjoying this back-and-forth. She isn’t laughing, but her eyes shine with an intensity I hadn’t seen in her before. Suddenly, an echo from the past hits me in the chest. It’s that same complicity from years ago. As if, beneath the reproaches, the armor, and the stripes, there were still a hidden frequency on which we understand and complement each other perfectly.

“Maika!” Lara calls to me from the stage, snapping me out of my trance. “Shall we run through the entrance with the lighting?”

I turn toward the stage, clearing my throat to find my voice.

“Yes! I’m coming down!”

Nico gives me a thumbs-up from the mixing console. Helen watches the proceedings with that feline attention to detail that’s her trademark.

“I’ll stay here to oversee everything,” she tells me. “I’m on radio channel three if any problems come up.”

“Copy that, channel three.”

I slip the earpiece into my ear and head down the stairs toward the stage with a strange flutter in my stomach.

The music from the dress rehearsal begins to thunder through the main speakers, and the lights sweep across the deck—a sea of violet and gold hues bouncing off the railings and fading into the dark sea.

“Welcome to the Marine IV!” Lara exclaims into the microphone with overwhelming energy. “Tonight marks the beginning…”

“Take a breath, Lara,” I tell her over the intercom. “Imagine you’re talking to someone you’re genuinely happy to have home.”

Lara nods, takes a deep breath, and repeats the opening.