Page 24 of A Perfect Disaster

“I think that if you keep analyzing this section, you’re going to end up finding a structural flaw in the hull’s rivets.”

“Don’t tempt fate.”

“At least we managed to wrap up the plan without incident,” she says, closing the distance between us.

The sentence is simple. We’ve gone back to being the team that worked without needing orders from superiors who, for whatever reason, have chosen to let us keep working together.

“Yes,” I simply reply.

We stand in silence for a moment in the night breeze, which is beginning to cool the deck.

Maika is the first to break the silence, taking a step toward the deck’s exit.

“I’m going to gather the team for the pre-opening briefing.”

“All right. I’ll stop by the bridge to confirm the final orders.”

“I expected nothing less from you, Müller.”

Although she uses her usual teasing tone, it doesn’t bother me as much anymore. And that’s not good—not good at all.

Maika walks away toward the crew access, and I linger a few more seconds by the railing, staring at the trail of white foam the ship leaves on the water. I try to apply logic to sort out the internal chaos the afternoon has left me with, but the scientific method doesn’t work. Because the bitterness of the past is no longer a thick enough insulation; right now, the only thing occupying my mind is the residual heat of her body against mine and the intolerable fact that I was on the verge of closing the distance to kiss her.

“I’m screwed…”

8

Maika

The welcome party always involves a dose of meticulously choreographed madness, and I enjoy both aspects equally.

The main deck glows under the light display of the outdoor stage. All around us, the Mediterranean stretches out like a dark canvas dotted with silver sparkles, while the night breeze carries that unmistakable buzz of a new beginning. We’re sailing straight toward our first stop, and the deck is already buzzing with the excitement of those starting their vacations.

All around me, the usual opening-night scene unfolds: laughter competing with the speakers, the click-clack of heels, shirts unbuttoned too far, kids defying gravity by the pool, and couples posing against the horizon. Pure, unadulterated movement. And our job is to make all this machinery look spontaneous and effortless.

My team takes up their strategic positions. I watch them from the technical booth as they adjust their earpieces. Lara takes a deep breath before grabbing the mic; Nico runs through his lines, silently moving his lips, and Iván pretends to be calm as he reviews the script for the fifth time. I look at them with a pang of tenderness; they remind me of my own beginnings, of that adrenaline rush that grips your stomach just before the spotlights come on.

“Come on, let’s do this,” I tell myself.

I press the PTT button on the radio.

“Final positions, team. Let the show begin.”

Confirmations come flooding in, crisp and professional:

“Port side active.”

“Forward section covered.”

“Technical aisle clear.”

“Aft station operational.”

The deck is filling up at breakneck speed, exceeding the estimates from the onboard app. Perfect and alarming in equal measure.

“Keep an eye on the kids in the pool area, please,” I say over the internal channel. “Don’t let them take over the center of the pool yet.”

“Copy that, boss,” Lara replies.