Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
A moment later, there’s silence again as the yacht continues smoothly once again on its path. I stare from Stefanos to outside through the rain-covered window and back to him again.
Stefanos instantly refocuses on the controls and screens. “Fuck!”
“What the fuck was that?” Gripping my seat, I look outside again, but all I see is open water and Paxos off in the distance.
“We hit a reef.”
“A reef?”
“A shallow reef.” Stefanos continues to swear under his breath in Greek. He stabs a finger at the chart. “Here.” He springs up.
“What should I do?” I ask in a rush.
“Stay right there.” Then Stefanos rushes to the lower deck.
“She’s taking on water,” he yells up to me a couple of minutes later.
“Fuck. That’s definitely not good. Now what?” Alarmed, I get to my feet and look around.
Stefanos hurries back. “We’ll send a distress call.
Don’t worry, we have life jackets and a lifeboat if we need it.
” He sets to work with his mayday. Soon, he’s talking with someone in rapid Greek on the radio.
Fleetingly, I think Miles wouldn’t like this one bit.
Good thing he’s back in Kerkyra. Doubtless he’d scold me for the whole Paxos docking thing, too, once people figure out it was the Greek royals’ yacht in the port.
It’s subtle at first. Like I’m imagining it, that the horizon is very slightly off-kilter. And then, it’s more pronounced and hard to deny. That, in fact, the yacht is starting to list at an angle.
“Stay right there,” Stefanos reminds me as he finishes with his call. Once more, he heads down the stairs before he starts in again with more Greek swearing. He rushes back up moments later. “The hull’s got to be breached more badly than I first thought.”
“Wait. What?” I’m not an anxious person by nature, but if there ever was a time to worry, it’s now.
“The yacht’s sinking.”
Stefanos looks around, flustered. He puts on his winter coat, and I follow suit. With a couple of efficient movements, he gets us life jackets out of a concealed compartment, and we put them on. It’s hard to draw in a deep breath. My hands aren’t as steady as usual.
“The more water she takes on, the faster she’ll sink,” Stefanos says grimly. “Let’s get to the deck.”
The horizon is definitely tilted now. Or we’re tilted. It all feels very wrong. And we make our way outside.
“Careful, the deck will be more slippery from the rain,” Stefanos warns.
The water is choppy with the wind, which isn’t reassuring as the wind gusts and rain falls sideways. It’s freezing outside as we make our way to the bow.
“Hang on to the rail,” Stefanos instructs me.
Not needing to be told twice, I hang.
“The coast guard is on their way. And hopefully someone closer.” He scans the horizon, squinting. His jaw is set.
“I feel kind of useless. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Unless you can magically repair the yacht, I don’t think so.” Stefanos presses his lips together.
“Unfortunately, I don’t have those sorts of powers.”
“Shame,” he says curtly.
“So… is this a good time to go to the lifeboat?” I try to keep my tone light. “I think we’ll need to catch a new ride soon.”
He frowns, glancing at the stern, which appears to be steadily dipping beneath the water as our yacht continues to increase its listing angle. “It’s underwater.”
“Oh.” My eyes widen. “Now what? Let’s not do the whole captain going down with the ship thing.”
“Let’s not.” He scans the horizon.
Shivering, I grip the ice-cold metal rail and do the same. At least I’m well braced here and mostly dry for the moment, except for my face and hands, which aren’t enjoying the winter Ionian wind.
“I’m sorry,” I offer tentatively. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have distracted you.”
“It’s not your fault. I’m the captain. It’s mine.”
It’s a very inopportune moment to fantasize about Stefanos in take-charge captain mode, which is definitely hot. Except he’s worried, and I’m worried too, and I did distract him with my royal confessional and the near-kiss—no matter what he says.
Even with the rough waters, the waters are clear enough to see the shadows of the reef beside us. It’s beautiful. I hope it’s not the last thing we see.
It takes approximately forever to spot a boat. In reality, it’s only minutes because we’re not that far offshore, but I’ve visibly aged in that time. The yacht’s nearly halfway submerged, and we’re both too nervous to say much at this point.
“What if there’s a diesel spill on a reef and I’ve caused an environmental catastrophe?” Stefanos looks ashen as he grips the rail as the yacht’s new angle increases in a way I can’t say I care for.
“They’ll send help.” My stomach twists. I try to sound as reassuring as I can under the circumstances. Circumstances that we could have avoided if I’d left Stefanos alone to do his captain duties. “Right?”
“Help’s on the way,” Stefanos confirms, watching the distant boat approach. His mouth tightens.
The boat arrives before too long, even if it feels like seventy-five years later.
A crew hand throws a line to Stefanos to pull us together as close as we can.
Stefanos helps me over to the other boat, where two men help bring me on board.
When I turn around, it’s a terrifying sight to see the half-sunken yacht and Stefanos still standing there to make sure I’m over the rail safely.
Then, he efficiently climbs over too, and the next moment, he stands beside me.
He talks quickly in Greek as I watch the yacht continue to sink with increasing speed as Stefanos predicted.
They release the line, and we start to pull away to watch and wait for the coast guard to arrive.
Before long, they join us, and we’re helped on board as I shiver in the cool driving rain.
Someone talks at me in rapid-fire Greek. My eyes widen.
“I’m sorry, I don’t speak Greek.” I glance from her over to Stefanos, who stands a short distance away.
“Are you injured?” the woman asks me in English with a heavy accent, which brings me back to her.
“No, no. I’m fine. Just cold.”
“Come inside with me.”
I follow her into the cabin, and Stefanos joins us a few moments later, looking decidedly unhappy.
The animated conversation between him and the crew continues as I look out the window.
The only thing I recognize is my name sandwiched in Greek.
By this point, the bow is the only part of the sleek yacht remaining above water.
A few more boats come in response to the distress call, and now to watch the grand finale of the sinking of the yacht.
Which is probably being live-streamed on Instagram by someone.
Better not think about that at the minute.
I glance again at Stefanos, and he’s totally unraveling now that we’re safe.
He’s tugging at his hair and chewing his lip, a wild look in his eyes.
He keeps glancing at his phone, shoving it away, and pulling it out again a moment later, over and over again.
Fuck, I wish I knew what to do to calm him down, to assure him we’ll be fine. The worst is behind us.
I reach over as he stands near me and grip his elbow. Rather than the warmth of his kiss I daydreamed about an eternity ago, the first touch other than landing on him in the club is holding on to a cold, wet waterproof. “Hey. It’s gonna be okay.”
Stefanos stops his conversation to glance at me, taking in unsteady breaths. He’s flushed and agitated. Then he ignores me like I’m not even there, and he’s off deep in conversation again with the crew. There’s a lot of hand gesturing and impassioned conversation.
I’m wrapped in a blanket and made to sit down. My face is warm from windburn. Before long, I have a hot tea between my frozen fingers.
He’s given tea as well and sits beside me as the crew talk in Greek. Someone is on the phone, and they keep glancing over at us. Meanwhile, I keep glancing between Stefanos and the yacht.
Stefanos looks glum. He won’t meet my gaze, which isn’t a good sign, instead fixed on the yacht. My stomach lurches. He must blame me on some level, whether he wants to admit it or not. And he seems to be firmly in the or not stage right now.
Our coast guard boat stays until the yacht’s fully underwater. Then after a little bit longer, we’re underway towards Paxos again.
Stefanos sighs, raking a hand through his wet hair. “I’m so fucked,” he says quietly in English.
“I told you, it’s my fault,” I tell him urgently, leaning in. “Please. You did everything you needed to do—and we’re safe. That’s the most important thing, right?”
He still won’t meet my gaze. “They’ll need to do an investigation.”
“An investigation?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I can talk to them,” I begin with authority, not letting the fact that I don’t speak Greek slow me down.
“Please, Theodor.” Stefanos shakes his head, finally looking at me, his face lined. Part of me wants to reach out and smooth the stress away. He chews his bottom lip. “No.”
“No?” I ask softly, leaning in.
Stefanos shakes his head, looking resigned. His shoulders slump. “Also, I should tell you that they know we’re both princes.”
“That’s probably not going to help the situation, is it?
” Once this hits social media and the press, our small private incident will become tabloid fodder and create international headlines, and we’ll disgrace both our monarchies, our countries, and upset our families all in one epic event.
In record time. And it’ll be another one for the history books.
“No,” he confirms. “It’s not.”
We’re quiet for a long moment.
“Well, shit.” I rub my face and give Stefanos a sidelong glance. He’s staring morosely into his tea like it’s to blame for this situation. Or at least accessory to the crime.
“And… I need to call my father and tell him I sank his yacht. Before he sees it on the news.” He swallows, shaking his head with a certain finality. “It was his dream yacht, replacing our old one. He just bought it last year. New.”
“Fuck.” I sigh and sit back in my seat. I work on the remains of my tea, contemplating how fucked we are.
Which is to say, supremely fucked. On a fucked rating, I’d say we’re at eleven out of ten, at least. This probably isn’t a good time to ask if the yacht was insured or how much it’s worth.
And no matter how fucked I am, Stefanos is definitely, definitely more fucked, and I can’t stop blaming myself.
Because if I hadn’t been about to kiss him and been all distracting, he would have seen the chart, and we would have avoided the reef.
And I can only wonder how long it will take for news of the sinking to hit the tabloids—and make the news back home.