Roshaan
At the elevator bank she avoids glancing at the security camera.
There’s CCTV everywhere on the ship—decks, corridors, restaurants, elevators.
Theo instructed her to be careful even when she thinks she’s unobserved.
His words curl through her brain like dark smoke as she presses the elevator button.
Do nothing to attract attention, Rosh. Act completely normal. Remember, babe, guests expect cams to be watching everywhere, so what difference will a few more make?
Except the tiny spy cameras Theo persuaded her to hide in several of her elite suites are in intimate spaces. It won’t be ship security watching, but Theo.
Theo’s darkly seductive, deep voice crawls back into her brain.
Those cams are so incredibly tiny, Rosh, no one will see them. They’re battery powered, motion sensing, sound activated, Wi-Fi connected as opposed to Bluetooth. Footage stored on the cloud . . .
“Roshaan!”
She flinches at the sound of Maxine Morello’s voice in her earpiece.
“Your guests Lillith McGregor and her assistant, Poppy Buchanan, are embarking. And the Gideon Marsh party are on their way,” says the director of VIPs.
The elevator pings. Doors slide open. Roshaan steps inside, presses the dolphin-shaped button. “On my way. Any ETA on the Fairfax party yet?”
“Negative. They haven’t checked in. Terminal staff tried calling—no answer yet.”
When the doors open, Roshaan hurries over to Maxine, who’s already greeting the next arrivals.
One is a frumpy woman in her mid-fifties wearing a travel-wrinkled blazer, square-toed sandals, owlish glasses.
Her T-shirt sticks to her belly with sweat, and her face is blotchy red.
Behind her she drags two carry-ons, and she has a heavy-looking bag slung over her shoulder.
She’s exactly the kind of woman Roshaan is terrified of becoming.
Beside her is an older, frail woman bent over her cane.
Roshaan recognizes the older woman instantly. Her black eye patch is iconic. She’s Lillith Ravenscroft McGregor, straight from the recent Vanity Fair cover.
“Ah, here’s Roshaan now,” Maxine says brightly in her Italian-accented English. “Roshaan, this is Lillith McGregor and her assistant, Poppy Buchanan. Roshaan is your dedicated concierge. Anything you need—day or night—on board or ashore, she’ll be there for you.”
Roshaan forces a smile as guilt deepens in her gut. “Welcome aboard, Ms. McGregor. Ms. Buchanan.”
“Please call me Lillith.”
“Of course. You’ll be in our Elysium Sky Villa, with the adjacent suite for your assistant. I can escort you both there now, if you like, so you can settle in before checking in to your designated muster station.” She signals a porter as she speaks.
The porter steps forward to take the luggage, but Poppy tightens her grip on the cases.
“No, thanks,” she mutters to the porter. “I can manage.”
Lillith shoots Poppy an inquiring glance.
“Really, I can manage. I’m quite capable.”
The women both fall in line behind Roshaan as she leads them to the elevators. Lillith moves slowly, cane tapping, leg dragging. Poppy lumbers with the suitcases behind her.
At the elevator Roshaan presses the call button. “If at any time you’d like a mobility aid—a scooter or a wheelchair—I can—”
“I might look old and tired, dear,” Lillith cuts in. “But one must keep the joints moving.”
“Of course,” Roshaan replies smoothly. “I mention it only because your intake form noted that mobility assistance be made available if needed.”
Roshaan already knows a great deal about her guests, including what they like to eat and drink, plus their wellness and entertainment preferences, along with any other little idiosyncrasies. She’s passed it all on to Theo.
They step into the glass elevator. Roshaan presses the button for Deck 13. As the glass cylinder begins to ascend, she says, “Deck 13 houses most of our select suites. Above, on Deck 14, you’ll find the elite-exclusive pools, spa, and dining areas. Launch cocktails will be served there tonight.”
As the cylindrical elevator climbs, the glass walls offer an increasingly dramatic bird’s-eye view of the atrium unfolding below. A promenade spirals around the atrium and is filled with a lively swirl of guests and crew.
“It’s beautiful,” Lillith murmurs. “More like an exotic hotel, or a mall in Dubai, than a ship.”
“It is,” Roshaan says with another practiced smile. “These elevators were conceived as undersea columns to ferry guests up and down like divers being lowered into the ocean. That’s why there are tiny bubbles embedded in the glass walls.”
Through the bubbled glass Roshaan suddenly spots Theo below, moving through the crowd directly toward Maxine at the entrance. Her pulse quickens.
Theo Pappas is hard to miss. He’s on the tall side of average and moves with a muscular and balletic grace.
His thick black hair is slicked back, his skin olive toned, and his dark eyes are magnetic.
Roshaan’s lover is not conventionally handsome, but his aura is all-consuming.
He crackles with an intensely powerful kinetic energy.
She frowns as her boyfriend comes up behind her boss. Riveted, she watches Theo place his hand on Maxine’s hip. Maxine startles, spins around. Then laughs. Theo’s hand slides along her waist, the gesture proprietary, jarringly intimate. It stuns Roshaan.
He leans in and says something in Maxine’s ear. Their body language is conspiratorial, and his lips so close they might be brushing her dewy Italian skin. Roshaan is unable to breathe.
Is this why he’s been so distant?
Emotion stings her eyes.
Theo laughs again, taps his watch, murmurs something. Maxine nods. Then he vanishes back into the crowd.
The elevator pings. Roshaan jerks to the present. She realizes Poppy is watching her. Intently. She saw. Everything. The assistant’s gaze drops to Roshaan’s bare hand, as though checking for a ring.
There’s no ring, of course.
Theo has not proposed despite all his hints. Roshaan suddenly feels raw and exposed under the flat gaze of this strangely discomfiting woman.
The elevator halts and the doors open.
Roshaan inhales, trying to gather herself. “Head straight toward the Zeus mural, then turn left,” she says, holding the doors for her guests to exit. “The Elysium Sky Villa is at the end of the corridor.”
Poppy hauls the cases out of the elevator and pauses. She faces Roshaan.
“Your accent,” she says. “I’m guessing South African? Afrikaans background, possibly from the Cape. But you’ve been away from the area for a while?”
A chill slips down Roshaan’s spine. Poppy is dead-on.
But Roshaan says nothing, unwilling to give this woman the satisfaction of being exactly right.
She’s a little ashamed of her humble fishing village origins, and she senses Poppy detects this, too.
The woman has profiled Roshaan within the space of minutes.
She possesses the same uncanny gift as Theo—an ability to read people in an instant.
And to use the information to their advantage.
Roshaan clears her throat and says, “Good guess.”
“It’s not a guess.” Poppy hitches her bag of books higher up onto her shoulder.
“I take some pride in my ability to pinpoint specifics about people.” She begins lumbering after Lillith and says over her shoulder, “It was part of my training for when I was posted abroad with the British Foreign Office.”
Who the fuck is this woman? An old spy?
Roshaan’s mind shoots to the tiny espionage cam she just hid under the top bar shelf in Poppy’s room, and she feels sick. She can’t do this. She has to remove the cams. Now. Before someone like Poppy detects them.
They reach the Elysium. Roshaan swipes her master key card, opens the door.
“The PA suite is adjacent, with a connecting door. I can—”
“I’ll find it,” Poppy interrupts. “First I’ll help Lillith settle. Thank you, Roshaan. We know where to find you.”
It sounds like a threat. But Roshaan nearly sags with relief—it gives her a few extra minutes to hurry back and remove the cams from the suites of her latecomers. She’s made up her mind, Theo be damned. She’s not going to lose her job and everything else because of him.
“Great—I’ll check in with you both later,” she says quickly, turning to leave.
She almost runs down the corridor toward the Calliope Sky Villa first. She knows it’s still empty. The Fairfax party has not yet checked in.