by Leylah Attar
I trudged back upstairs, looking for Hannah, and found her folding napkins into starched, white rosebuds on the dinner table.
“Sorry to bug you, Hannah. There’s been a change in the sleeping arrangements. My aunt and uncle have had a falling out and my aunt’s moved into the cabin with my mom, which leaves me without a bed.”
“I see.” I could feel the ticker tape running in her head. And then it stopped, as if she’d run out of options. “I’m afraid all the staterooms are occupied. I can’t set you up in any of the common areas. I think it’s best if we handle this discreetly. I’m guessing it’s not the kind of thing your uncle and aunt want everyone to know about. We’ll have to consult Captain Bailey about this.”
“Do you think I could freshen up before I meet the captain?”
“Of course.” Hannah looked relieved that being covered in motor oil and grime wasn’t part of my onboard fashion statement. “We have a washroom you can use, and I’ll get you a change of clothes. Is there anything particular you’d like?”
“Just my jeans. And a white top. They’re both in my hand luggage.”
“Great. The washroom is just around the corner here…”
The space transitioned seamlessly from indoors to outdoors as we approached one of the decks. It was at this point that I noticed we were heading straight for Thomas and Nikos. I ducked under one of the arches and lost Hannah.
“Moti?” I heard her calling. “Moti?”
I kept my back to the wall and crept around the other side until I was flush against the railing.
There. No chance of them seeing me now.
That was when I happened to glance down into the dark water below.
Argh. My fingers tightened instinctively around the railing and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to keep the panic at bay.
“Don’t do it.” It was a male voice—unwelcome and authoritative.
“Do what?” I turned toward it, but the sun was in my eyes, so I couldn’t see his face—just a dark silhouette. With a strange looking mini-hat on his head.
“Whatever you’re planning to do, it’s not worth it.” He moved then, and I made out tanned arms, a white shirt, and black pants. And it wasn’t a hat. It was a half-ponytail, half man-bun.
My anxiety latched on to it like it was the last life raft on the Titanic. Focusing on something outside of myself always helped. I allowed myself a moment to contemplate this controversial beast.
As far as I was concerned, the only guys who looked good in a man-bun were so insanely masculine, the long hair added a warrior-like vibe. Good, thick hair was vital or it risked looking like an olive. On the other hand, too much texture and it could be mistaken for a small, furry, nesting mammal. A sexy beard or stubble completed the look. Needless to say, man-bunners were always surfing on thin ice with me. But when it worked, it freaking worked. Cue the lusty gazes.
“If you really want to do it, you should go up on one of the higher decks,” Mr. Man-bun was saying. “And even then, it’s best to wait until we’re at sea, not while we’re anchored at a marina.”
What the hell is he going on about? And then it dawned on me. He thinks I’m planning to jump off the boat and plunge to my death. Half-ponytailed dingbat. “It doesn’t matter where I jump from. I can’t swim.”
His body tensed for a moment, the wind ruffling his sun-drenched hair. “In that case, I highly recommend the swimming pool on the sun deck. It’s much cleaner than whatever goop is floating down there. Temperature-controlled too. Plus, there’s no one up there right now so no chance of anyone diving in to save you.”
I gritted my teeth. I didn’t know what peeved me off more—his wise-ass comments or the fact that he’d just plagiarized my Beyonce-on-stage, wind-blown look. Outdone by a man who, I bet, had not even bothered looking up the wind forecast.
“Look, Miss, if you don’t make a decision soon, I’ll have to escort you off the boat myself.” Something glinted in his hand as he came closer. A big, sharp butcher knife.
“What the hell? Don’t come any closer! I am not trying to kill myself and I am not a stowaway. I’m a passenger on this yacht, so stop waving that knife at me.”
“What kn—” He stopped and looked at it. “Oh, this. I was just getting ready to…” he trailed off and then chuckled. “You’re one of our guests?” His brown eyes creased softly at the corners. He looked like he’d spent a lot of time squinting at distant horizons.
“Yes.” I sniffed, although I couldn’t blame him for assuming otherwise. I looked like I had just crawled out of a well. “Some idiot drove through a puddle and splashed me.”
“Well…” He gave me a quick appraisal. “It’s not exactly a red-carpet look, but it’s not so bad.” If his smile wasn’t so genuine, I would’ve resented the dimple that formed on his cheek. When I was little, I prayed for dimples. And now I had them. On my ass. Naturally, people with properly-placed dimples irritated me.
“I’m Alex,” he said, tossing the knife in the air. He caught it as it curved around his shoulder, then proceeded to slice and dice an army of invisible ninjas before giving me a slick bow. “Your onboard Executive Chef.”
Show-offs irritated me, but half-bunned, half-dimpled guy was giving me major warrior vibes. What I’d initially thought was a white shirt was actually a chef’s overcoat. Chefs aren’t meant to be all Lean, Mean Cuisine, are they? When I thought of a chef, I pictured someone soft and homely. I hated it when people made me question my beloved stereotypes.
“I’m Moti,” I said.
“Ah. No fish heads, snails, tentacles, or anything that looks remotely like it lived or breathed or was capable of having babies. Fillets, boneless cuts, boiled eggs, rice cakes, steamed veggies. No butter, potatoes, pasta, bread, or pastries.”
“Impressive.” I blinked. He repeated the preference sheet I’d filled out, word for word.
He tilted his head and looked at me. “So, what are you doing out here, Moti?”
“Waiting.” My skin flushed under his scrutiny, so I focused on his man-bun and pictured a blue robin’s egg hiding in it.
“Waiting for…?”
I tensed as Nikos and Thomas laughed at something.
“Ah.” Alex backtracked and peered around the corner. “Which one? The blond or brunette? Wait. Don’t tell me. The dark-haired one is the groom. So, it must be the other guy.”
“For your information, I’m waiting to see the Captain. And would you please put that knife down?”
“Sorry. Force of habit.” Alex grinned. Yep. Just one dimple. “Would you please step away from the railing? I know you said you’re not planning to jump, but I just met you and you could be a total nut job, you know?”
“Are you allowed to talk to your passengers like that?”
“Where safety is a concern, yes.”
“Said the man wielding a butcher knife.”
“A man with a knife is your best bet on the high seas. He can slice open coconuts, scale a fish, fend off aggressive sea gulls and carve your initials on a tree.”
“Thanks, but I have a pocketknife.”
Alex laughed. “But can a pocketknife hook you up with the Captain?” He winked and made a move, indicating that I should follow. He seemed to sense my hesitation because he paused and looked to me for confirmation. “You said you were waiting to see the Captain?”
“Yes, but not like this.”
“Who cares?” He gave a wide-shouldered shrug. “You’re a guest on a luxury yacht. It’s not your job to impress the Captain or the staff. It’s our job to cater to you.”
Huh. I hadn’t thought of it like that. Probably because I wasn’t paying big money for the privilege of being on the boat. But mostly because I was used to walking on eggshells around everyone. I was also tired enough to not care at this point. Not about Nikos. Or the Captain. Or poor Hannah, who was probably still looking for me. It had been go, go, go since I stepped off the plane. The sooner I got my accommodations figured out, the better.
“Please. Le
ad the way,” I said.
We circumvented the elevator and took the stairs to the Bridge deck. Plush chairs surrounded a jacuzzi. As we passed an outdoor dining area, my eyes swept over a lookout house with stunning 360-degree views. Flower arrangements and bowls filled with fruits and nuts punctuated the entire deck.
“Captain Bailey, one of the passengers is here to see you.” Alex ushered me into the wheelhouse. It was an impressive command center, decked out with a sleek dashboard, beeping screens, and gadgets galore—the kind of place you’d want to sneak into, just so you could slide into one of the leather chairs and issue commands about traveling at warp speed.
Captain Bailey turned out to be a sandy-haired Canadian in her late fifties—far from the pipe-smoking, salty mariner I was expecting. My stereotypes were being blown to smithereens—left, right, and center.
Alex excused himself once he made introductions, impressing me with the correct pronunciation of my name. Apparently, he listened closely.
“So?” Captain Bailey took off her sunglasses and tucked them in her shirt pocket. They had left permanent grooves on the sides of her nose. If she had any thoughts about my bedraggled state, she kept them to herself. Luckily, my clothes had dried off, so I wasn’t sitting in a puddle of humiliation. “What can I do for you, Moti?”
“I’m out of a room.” I explained the situation as delicately as I could. “Hannah said there are no extra beds, so I’m hoping we can figure something out.”
“Hmmm.” Captain Bailey drummed her fingers. She had four gold stripes on her epaulets, indicating some kind of rank, or maybe how many fingers she could drum with. She pulled out a logbook and ran her finger down a page. “We’re missing a crew member. He had a family emergency. It leaves us short-handed, but we have a spare bunk in the crew quarters. Until the situation between your uncle and aunt gets resolved, I’ll sleep there. You can have the Captain’s suite.” She smiled and shut the ledger.
“That’s very nice of you, but I wouldn’t dream of taking your cabin. I’ll bunk in the crew quarters.”
“I can’t assign a passenger to a crew cabin. It’s nothing like the stateroom you checked into. Crew accommodations are shared, space is restricted and if you’re prone to seasickness, that’s where you’ll feel it the most—on the lowest deck. Even if you’re okay with that, I have to run it by the Principal.”
“The Principal?”
“Mr. Papadakis. The groom’s father. He’s the one who chartered the yacht. It’s my responsibility to keep him updated on any changes.”
“I was hoping we could keep this between us.” If Principal Papadakis finds out about the feud, Isabelle will have my head. Then I’ll be headless and room-less. “No point in involving everyone in needless drama. Besides, Rachel Auntie and Joseph Uncle could be talking by dinner. They never stay mad at each other for too long.”
“You have a point.” But Captain Bailey did not look happy about it. “I still think you should take my room. You’ll be sharing the crew cabin with a member of the opposite sex.”
“How about I try it out for a night? I probably wouldn’t be seeing much of my roommate anyway. I’ll just be using it to shower and sleep. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll take you up on the Captain’s suite.”
For a moment, it seemed like she wasn’t going to budge. Then her shoulders relaxed, and she gave me a nod. “Fine. One night. I’ll keep it between us, but I want a status report in the morning.”
Aye, Aye, Captain.
I signed some consent forms and handed them back with a bright “Thank you!!” (with two exclamation marks, because that’s how relieved I was to have the matter resolved).
Captain Bailey escorted me to the crew quarters and showed me to my assigned cabin. In stark contrast to the grandeur of the upper decks, the lower level was a maze of paper-thin walls and fluorescent lighting.
“I’ll have someone transfer your bag,” Captain Bailey said. “You’ll be bunking with Chef Alexandros. I believe you’ve already met.”
I opened my mouth and shut it again. Chef Alexandros. Alex?
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Yes. Yes, everything’s fine.”
It was only after Captain Bailey left that I walked into the tiny en suite, locked the door, and banged my head against it.
Thud thud thud (but softly because I didn’t want to attract any attention).
I lied to Captain Bailey. I had no idea if Rachel Auntie and Joseph Uncle were going to make up any time soon. I had no idea how long I was going to be stuck in the bowels of the ship with a half-bunned, half-dimpled ninja chef. Worse, I was estranged from my future husband-to-be, my plans of midnight trysts in the hallway (for which I’d spent hours picking out the perfect sexy-but-oh-so-effortless pajamas) put indefinitely on hold.
But that’s the way it is with star-crossed lovers. No love story worth its weight in sea salt is ever easy, right?
Right. I straightened and stared at my reflection in the utility mirror. It was lit from above, casting deep shadows. The hollows under my eyes made me look more like something out of a horror story than a romance. The important thing to remember was that the stage was finally set for the most important journey of my life: to seduce the one man Dolly couldn’t stop me from being with, the one man she’d have no choice but to accept.
I stepped out of my dirty clothes and got in the shower. I had to tuck in my elbows to fit, but nothing could dampen my resolve. I grinned as I lathered my hair.
It’s show time, Moti.
I made my way to the salon—freshly showered and un-zombified.
“There you are,” Hannah said. “Captain Bailey told me you’re bunking in the crew quarters with us. Find everything you need?”
“Yes, thank you.” I appreciated her hushed tones even though none of the Papadakis clan was around. “Are we leaving? I heard the engines come on.”
“Yes. The last of your wedding party arrived a little while ago. You’ll be dining al fresco tonight. One level up. I’ve set up some appetizers and drinks if you want to grab a spot and watch the sun set before dinner.”
“That would be great. Thanks, Hannah.” I made my way up and spotted Thomas’s parents on the U-shaped seating area. It had been three months since we’d met, so I figured a re-introduction was necessary.
“Hello, I’m Moti.”
“Yes, Isabelle’s cousin, right?” Thomas’s mother held out her hand. “Kassia. And you remember my husband, George.”
Principal Papadakis was one of the few men who could carry off a Tom Selleck mustache. He gave me a nod and indicated a spot for me to sit.
“So Moti, what do you do?”
So Fatty, what do you do?
“I work for Isabelle’s father. I’m a chartered accountant.”
“Ah, not everyone can be a lawyer or doctor or politician. It’s not your qualifications that matter. It’s how much money you make.”
I decided not to be offended. Isabelle mentioned how rattled she’d been the first time she’d met her in-laws. I laughed, but Mama and Papa Papadakis continued to stare at me.
They really expect me to share how much money I make.
Papa Papadakis leaned closer. “Tell me. Why does your family have these names? Isabelle, Rachel, Joseph, Dolly. Only you have a different name. Moti. You’re all Indian. Why don’t the others have Indian names?”
A stretch of silence followed, during which I mentally retreated to the bowels of the ship, assumed the fetal position, and rocked back and forth while chanting, Please, make it go away.
“We’re Catholic, so we have Christian names.” I fidgeted with the row of bracelets I was wearing. “I was named by a Hindu lady who—”
“George, you’re making her uncomfortable.” Kassia held out a platter of appetizers for me. “I hope you don’t mind all the questions, dear. We’re just curious people. Strong opinions, no filters, but the best of intentions.”
Papa Papadakis lit a cigarette and took a long, slow in
hale, disappointed at having his line of interrogation cut off. The smoke swirled around him—thick and gray like his mustache. Mama Papadakis’ expression tightened when his phone went off.
“Sorry, darling. I have to take this.” He offered her a reconciliatory kiss on the cheek, but she waved him off.
I popped one of the colorful appetizers into my mouth and sat back. The sun turned everything golden—the roofs of small houses, the foamy crests of waves crashing along the coastline, the underbellies of sea gulls soaring above. It was all picture-perfect, but something else competed for my attention: the flavors bursting in my mouth. I picked up the card on the platter and read: Roasted Balsamic Cranberries on Brie Crostini.
Technically, just fruit and cheese on bread. But I’d been off bread the last few months, maybe that’s why it tasted so good.
I closed my eyes and popped another morsel into my mouth. “Mmm.”
“You sound positively orgasmic.”
My eyes flew open, mid-chew. Nikos stood before me in golden, Grecian glory. His cuff links picked up the light from the sunset as he held up his glass in greeting.
Yes! Still with the three thumbs.
“Mind if I sit here?” He didn’t wait for an answer as he took the seat next to me, which caused me to swallow the rest of my appetizer whole.
Cranberries? No problem.
Brie? No problem.
Little cube of crostini? Problem.
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
I forced a smile and stood, holding up my index finger.
Stay, Nikos. Stay. I’ll be right back.
As soon as I turned the corner, I whipped around the bar area, clutched my throat and proceeded to cough my lungs out. Music piped softly over the speakers as I hacked and wheezed for oxygen. Through sheer willpower, I managed to dislodge the food from my windpipe. I was not having it. Not again. No crumb, no crust, no wretched piece of crostini was going to come between Nikos and me.
“Are you all right?” That deep, annoying voice again.
Alex.
Why couldn’t the man let me hide out in peace? Why couldn’t someone lock him up in the kitchen? Isn’t that where he was supposed to be?
