628 P.M.
MERCY
Mercy knocked on the door to the bridge, despite it technically belonging to her. The captain, Benedetto, waved her in with a smile. “There she is. Signora Mercy, looking as beautiful as ever.”
He stood and gave her a kiss on each cheek, something Travis tolerated because Benedetto was a scrawny old Italian man. Had their captain been a strapping man in his forties, Travis would have found reason to fire him within the first week.
Mercy rested her hand on his upper arm and smiled. “Ben, I apologize for not saying hello earlier. How are you?”
“Good, good,” he answered. “I still have the eyesight and energy of a much younger man.”
That was his customary answer, as if he felt the need to justify his existence to her. “I’m sure you do. I’m a little concerned about the men. I expected them back a couple of hours ago.”
He held up one hand as if it could hold back the tide itself. “Not to worry, Signora. Oliver and I have been in contact the whole time. One of the men caught a seventy-pound amberjack. So Signore Travis wants to try to find something more impressive.”
She smiled even though inside Mercy was cringing. She knew exactly what Benedetto wasn’t saying—her husband was a giant baby who must win at everything. “I see.”
“Ah, us men, we like to compete.” Making a fist, he tapped his chest twice in a gesture of strength. “But they’ll have to come back soon, whether they catch one or not. It’s getting dark.”
“Are they fishing nearby?”
Screwing up his leathered face, he said, “Not so close, no. They’ve been following a school, which has gone farther out to sea.”
“So…an hour?” She took a guess, knowing that Ben didn’t want to tell her the truth because it would make her worry.
He tilted his head from side to side. “A little more.”
“Two?”
“Maybe, yes. But it depends on when they bring up the lines. I’ve changed course so we can meet them.”
She clenched her jaw, starting to feel slightly frustrated. “The reason I’m asking is because I need to decide what time to serve dinner.”
“How about nine o’clock? A nice late meal for everyone.”
“Oh. So, they’ve gone really far.”
Offering her a reassuring smile, he said, “You gotta follow the fish if you’re going to catch one.”
“Yep, right,” she answered, her mind already solving the problem of feeding everyone.
She smiled at him, even though inside she was seething—wasn’t it enough that she had three children already, including Grace with all her troubles to worry about twenty-four hours a day?
She had to cover for Travis’s awful behavior too. “I’ll go talk to Yuri.”
“I can see you’re worried. Don’t worry, okay? You’ll make little lines on your beautiful face.”
She smiled at him. “I won’t. Do you need anything?”
“No, Signora. Enzo is going to take over for me in a few minutes and I’ll go eat my supper. Thank you for asking.” He took her hand and gave it a little squeeze, reminding her very much of her grandfather. “Always so thoughtful. Signore Travis is so lucky to have you.”
She was about to say what she usually did. I’m the lucky one. But this time, she surprised herself by saying, “Yes, he certainly is.”
9:00 P.M.
MIGUEL
Miguel sat at the bistro table on their private balcony staring out into the night sky.
God it was dark. If it weren’t for the stars, it would be impossible to see where the water ended and the sky began.
Something about being enveloped in darkness made him feel as if they were up in space, about to be devoured by a black hole, yacht and all.
His stomach growled and he sighed, annoyed at himself for having told Mercy he would wait to eat with Winslow.
With all the delays, Mercy had canceled their formal dinner in favor of a relaxed, private meal, and told each of the guests just to call down to the kitchen when they were ready.
Miguel, who could have used the distraction of an evening with the women, told himself that he deserved the punishment of being alone to think about what he had done.
But now all he could focus on was how hungry he was and how much he was regretting eating all of the truffles the night before, instead of saving a couple for an emergency.
He looked through the welcome basket and came very close to opening the water crackers and jarred caviar, before deciding not to let himself indulge.
He would wait for the love of his life to return, as a sign of solidarity for what must feel like a horribly long day.
It had taken a bad turn with a call from the risk officer, Alec, who had given him some very bad news.
Winslow was still on the phone when Miguel returned to their room after Travis refused to open his heart and help him out.
He had held up a hand and shook his head when Miguel walked in.
“It was the only thing I could do, given the circumstances.” There was a pause, then Winslow let out a strangled laugh.
“Christ on the cross, Alec, I most certainly would never do such a thing. It was a mistake. A terrible mistake and I did what anyone would do to fix it. If you just give me another week, maybe two, I’ll have it sorted out, and we can carry on as usual. ”
There was another long pause, and when Winslow spoke again, he sounded defeated.
“In thirty-six years, I have never once done anything even remotely untoward. Not one time. It was a slip of the mind, yes, but going public with this is the nuclear option. If you wait until I’m back, we can sit down and talk this out, and I know you will see it my way. ”
Miguel stood silently watching as Winslow rubbed his face with his free hand. Finally, he sighed. “No, of course not. I would never do that to you.”
A moment later, Winslow said goodbye, then tossed his phone onto the bed and dropped onto the armchair. Miguel opened the mini-bar and took out two bottles of water. Walking over, he handed one to Winslow. “That sounded bad.”
“It is,” Winslow said, avoiding eye-contact.
“Wanna tell me about it?”
Standing, Winslow straightened his back. “No. It would bore you to death. Besides, I have to leave for a fishing trip I don’t want to go on.”
And now, as Miguel sat staring out into the darkness, he realized he had never seen Winslow so upset.
He was distraught. Defeated. Whatever was going on, he was needed back in London, not out here on the sea.
And by the time he returned this evening, Winslow would also be furious. Exhausted. And starving.
Hmmm…maybe tonight was the wrong night to tell him the truth. Only, he really couldn’t wait, could he?
9:07 P.M.
ANTONIA
Antonia stood under the spray of the shower, squinting as she tried to shave her nether regions.
It would be a nice little surprise for Ted, and if there was one thing they always preached to couples, it was the importance of nice little surprises.
Change things up. Put in the extra effort.
After all, if your marriage isn’t worth going the extra mile for, what on earth is?
9:09 P.M.
CHARLOTTE
Charlotte lay on top of the covers waiting for Ted to come knocking. It would be at least two more hours. The men weren’t back yet, and when they did return, they’d need to eat and shower. And he’d have to wait for Antonia’s sleeping pill to kick in.
She scrolled Pinterest for wedding dresses, pinning her favorites into a secret board called Bridal. She knew it was probably a stupid thing to do—getting her hopes up like this, when it would be years before she and Ted could tie the knot. If ever. But it couldn’t hurt to dream, right?
Or maybe that’s all it could do.
10:36 P.M.
MIGUEL
“Thank God you didn’t sign with that psycho,” Winslow said as soon as the door to their suite closed behind him.
Miguel felt his skin heat up. “What?! No, he’s…driven maybe, but—”
“Driven?! The man is a menace.” Winslow hurried to the bathroom and turned on the shower to heat up the water (a habit from living in a massive old home). “Eight hours. Eight bloody hours on that rickety boat—”
“It was a very nice speed boat. If you want to see a rickety boat, you should’ve seen what my parents crossed the ocean in when they left Cuba.” He dialed up his accent to remind Winslow of the story.
Winslow stuck his head out of the en suite and gave him a dirty look. “Could we possibly set aside the oppression of your people for a minute? I’ve had a dreadful day.”
“Of course. I’m sorry. Go ahead. Tell me every terrible detail.”
Winslow glanced at the wet bar. “I could use a shower scotch.”
“Coming right up.” He poured two thick fingers of scotch, downed them, then poured it again. By the time he got to the bathroom, Winslow was already in the shower. “Here you go.”
His slender hand shot up above the frosted glass door and Miguel relinquished the drink, even though he wanted one last sip.
“Ahh, that’s better. I didn’t want to have anything for fear of having to go down to the bowels of that awful vessel to use the facilities, but by God, I have never needed alcohol so badly in my life. It was worse than a murder mystery night with your friends.”
“That bad?” Miguel asked, wandering over to the mirror to check out his own reflection. He had definitely gotten some sun.
“Worse. So much worse,” Winslow answered. “Ted made the catastrophic mistake of catching a sixty-eight-pound amberjack.”
“What’s that?”
“A big, ugly fish,” he answered.
Miguel heard the squeeze of Winslow’s shampoo bottle and watched through the slightly opaque glass as he held both arms up to wash his hair. “Hmm, sounds crazy,” he said, even though he had no idea why it was such a big deal.
“I could tell. The moment that thing slapped onto the deck, I knew it was going to be a problem,” Winslow said. “It was written all over Oliver’s gorgeous face.”
“What was?”
“We’re fucked. That’s what. We’re well and truly fucked. He knew Travis was never going to let us leave until he caught a bigger one. And you know how rare they are at that size?”
“Extremely rare?” Miguel asked.