Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
ROSE
“Who is ready for a girls’ day?!” Amelie chirped, clapping her hands together. “Dr. Maxwell gave us full access to the spa staff. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”
My eyes darted to the exit after the man who had just stormed out.
“I’ll call the spa and tell them to send over a team,” she added.
I thought no one was allowed on this floor.
It turned out men weren’t allowed on this floor. I peeked into the hallway and saw two female security guards monitoring it.
Who were they keeping out?
There was no way these guards were here for my benefit, right? The boat probably had limited security measures. Siccing two guards on me because I might be on the run from a lunatic seemed unlikely.
Amelie ushered in a small army of beauty professionals—a petite nail technician, a stylist with purple hair, and an aesthetician.
The aesthetician directed me to the tub to wrap me in seaweed, and Amelie insisted on helping because of my bad ankle. The stylist followed us to the bathroom as she’d rather shampoo and wash my hair while I was in the tub. The nail technician used a similar logic.
Amelie settled into the chair beside the tub. “This will be so much fun,” she quipped.
I awkwardly tugged at the strings when the aesthetician asked me to shed the hospital gown. “Sure.” I managed a weak smile, my eyes darting nervously because I knew what came next.
Cornered, I had no choice but to shed the gown. I saw the flicker of shock in everyone’s eyes as they caught sight of the angry scars crisscrossing around my midriff. I should have saved them from being exposed to this horror.
“Oh,” the aesthetician breathed, quickly averting her gaze. Revulsion hit her hard when she saw the scars up close, but one stern glance from Amelie had her acting like they were invisible.
“How about some cucumber water to go with our spa day?” Amelie said brightly, trying to dispel the tension.
I felt my cheeks burn with shame, and I wanted to sink beneath the bubbles and disappear. But I had to be extremely careful not to get the dressings on my arms, neck, and chest to touch the water. Luckily, Amelie removed the bandages on my legs to soak my ankle.
Everyone else busied themselves with their preassigned tasks.
“Such beautiful hair,” the hairstylist cooed, fluffing my strands.
Her thick accent sounded vaguely familiar, though I couldn’t place it.
As she washed my hair, I sank deeper into the tub, relishing the hot water.
The rich had no idea how good they had it. A bath was a luxury.
Amelie returned with cucumber water and a stack of glossy magazines. She reclaimed her seat, and somehow, it was normal for three people to watch a grown woman bathe.
I didn’t know much about my former self, but I had an inkling that I was a reserved person. Yet, I was the center of attention today and found myself enjoying the whole shebang. They spoiled me, and the lonely homeless girl in me was starved for the coddling.
The beauty team—Maria, Ying, and Lisa—spent the better part of the day polishing my body while Amelie molded my mind into a twenty-first-century woman.
She introduced me to all sorts of technology, gave me the lowdown on pop culture references, and played Korean dramas and music videos on the bathroom television.
Girls’ day also consisted of gossiping about your coworkers and friends.
The girls discussed the blossoming romances between crew members, fielded rumors about the current couples, and made predictions for future breakups and hookups.
They talked about the other passengers, too.
There was a big group on the boat celebrating a bachelorette party.
A few of the women were single, and at this morning’s boozy brunch, they daringly admitted to having their eyes on the prize—Dr. Maxwell.
It seemed too many women wanted him. The competition was fierce, and I had no chance whatsoever. There was little solace in the other women being just as insecure about their odds. According to the beauticians, the rules of his boundaries were abstract, and initiating physical contact was a no-go.
Amelie chided the beauticians for gossiping about the boss and redirected the conversation to a new territory—sex. The other three seemed initially reluctant to share but eventually started swapping stories of their wildest sexual encounters.
I tried to recall my sexual escapades when I couldn’t decode some of their references.
They talked about where they did it while leaving out the sordid details of it .
The basic lingo about body part references was clear, but the act itself eluded me.
I needed a sex education—a demonstration or a play-by-play.
The conversation stilled once they exchanged stories of how they lost their virginities, and Lisa declared it was my turn to share. It seemed only Amelie was informed of my memory loss.
I didn’t know whether I was a virgin. Scratch that, I didn’t even know what a virgin was. I thought about asking them before realizing I was in too deep. I’d look like a fool who had been nodding along with their tales.
Luckily, Amelie came to the rescue and said I couldn’t stay in the hot tub any longer. Doctor’s orders.
The aesthetician dressed me in a fluffy white spa robe and guided me back to the room.
A cleaning crew finished making the bed and wordlessly swapped places with us to tidy up the bathroom.
They were so quiet in their efforts that I had no idea they were scrubbing the room clean while the aesthetician did the same with me.
She tugged on a handle and pulled out a table tucked into the wall for space management.
It was one of those examination tables found in doctors’ offices.
It doubled as an aesthetician’s bed. She had me hop onto it to wax my underarms and legs.
The beauty session ended with something called a Brazilian bikini wax.
By the time I realized what she intended to do, it was too late to chicken out.
Who knew beauty was so intrusive and painful?
Amelie flipped through her latest magazine as the hairstylist put the finishing touches on my hair. “Oh, look!” she exclaimed, holding up a page. “Dr. Maxwell was featured in Time magazine again.”
I peeked at the image, my breath catching in my throat. Underneath, it said, Dr. Caledon Maxwell, NewTech University .
The photo was similar to the others he had shown me, though this one lacked any women clamoring for him.
Of the articles he had shown me, each one featured him with a different breathtaking woman.
I felt something inside me deflate at the thought.
It was barely reassuring that his recent pictures were solo shots.
I couldn’t focus on what it meant, feeling faint from the fumes coming from my hair. When I sat at the vanity, I suddenly recognized the strong odor.
“I have highlights.” I stared at the mirror. My dark strands had lighter, shimmering strands. The strong smell turned out to be the chemicals from the hair dye.
“You don’t like it?” The hairstylist asked, face ridden with anxiety.
It had been clear from the beginning that English wasn’t her first language.
She’d struggled with it while sharing her stories.
The highlights transpired somewhere between the entertaining stories and our lost-in-translation communication.
It was hardly her fault, as I wasn’t paying attention, either.
Plus, I didn’t entirely hate it. I looked better than I had yesterday.
Unrecognizable. The vitamin C peeling mask had wiped away the dirt and brightened my face.
My nails were pretty, with a fresh coat of light blue polish.
The seaweed wrap had left my skin soft like a baby’s butt.
I shook my head, wanting to put the poor woman out of her misery. “No, no. I like it,” I said perkily.
Despite my reassurance, she hung her head.
“I’ll take it from here.” Amelie grabbed the brush from her unsure hands and steered the beauticians out of the room.
She arranged and rearranged my hair, enhancing my face with face moisturizer, under-eye cream, and lip balm.
There was a sense of déjà vu in the way Amelie fussed over me, like we had done this many times, though I had met her less than twenty-four hours ago.
It settled me enough to get used to the hair, even though I looked like an entirely different person.
Once more, I reveled in the spotlight. I knew the old me hated attention, it was an instinctive realization I had upon waking up without my memory.
But the new me? I loved being pampered like a princess, having friends, and being included in conversations.
I vowed never to give up this part of myself.
I wanted to be a part of the group rather than watch others live their lives as an outsider.
Like Dr. Maxwell, who happened to be the center of everyone’s world.
“Why is Dr. Maxwell photographed so often?” I asked Amelie. Granted that he was devastatingly handsome in tailored suits, but shouldn’t the paparazzi photograph boy bands instead of doctors?
Her eyes lit up, delighted at the opportunity to boast about her boss.
She held him in high regard, but it didn’t feel romantic.
Rather, she took pride in his accomplishments.
“Why wouldn’t he be photographed? He’s a brilliant doctor and one of the most accomplished scientists of our time.
” She picked up a Time magazine, turned a few pages to find a picture of him, and shoved the article in my face. “Besides, look at his face!”
I couldn’t argue with her there.
“He’s also heir to one of the richest families in America. That can generate a lot of public interest in you.”
That tracked. I knew he was wealthy, not rich.
“If the paparazzi sees him or his brother around New York, they’re like a moth to a flame,” she added coyly.
“He has a brother?” I asked, surprised.
She nodded. “A twin.”
Two of him. What must that be like?
I read the article aloud for her benefit while she primped me.
Some stuff I already knew about him, and the rest I learned from the article.
Graduated early from boarding school and finished medical school at the top of his class at only twenty years old.
By the time he completed his residency, he was already bored with being a doctor.
He changed course and took over a lab for experimental drugs at NewTech University.
According to Amelie, he was required to teach one class per semester, which he hated, but he had complete autonomy over his lab, which he loved.
“But he still practices medicine?” I pondered out loud.
“He takes on shifts at the university hospital once or twice a month,” Amelie replied as if it were nothing. “Just to keep his skills sharp, you know?”
The man worked at the hospital just to keep himself sharp. He was one of those people who wanted to learn for the sake of it, not because it was required. He seemed beyond intelligent and impressive.
What had I been thinking, imagining something between us? I caught my reflection in the mirror. Underneath all the seaweed, highlights, and Brazilian bikini waxes, I was covered in scars. I was damaged goods, and he was… Well, he was Dr. Caledon Maxwell.
“He sounds…dedicated to his craft,” I murmured lamely.
Amelie snorted. “That’s putting it mildly.
The man’s a workaholic. This is his first vacation in forever, and his research assistants are running around like chickens with their heads off.
Do you know how many calls we received since this morning?
He’s probably spent the day putting out fires and finding a substitute to teach his class for the next month. ”
I frowned.
Why wasn’t a substitute professor picked out in advance to account for his absence? Surely, he gave his assistants ample instructions before leaving on a preplanned trip. The doctor seemed responsible and not the type to leave things to chance.
Amelie didn’t notice my confusion. “And don’t even get me started on how shocked the staff members are, they haven’t stopped gossiping about it all day. Todd nearly had an aneurysm last night when Dr. Maxwell decided to join us on the cruise.”
“What?” My head twisted so fast that the brush in her hands hit my eye. “Ow.” The soft bristles prickled my eyeball, and I slapped a hand over it.
“Oh, sorry,” Amelie gushed, running to the mini refrigerator to find a cold compress for my injured eye.
But I caught her panicked look before she busied herself with the ice pack. She hadn’t meant to tell me about the doctor’s last-minute decision to join the cruise. It was a slip of the tongue.
Amelie tried to steer the conversation in a new direction, resorting to gossip about the other staff members and passengers. The high-spirited effort failed to distract me, though I smiled at the expected pauses.
But I could only focus on one thing. I had assumed Dr. Maxwell was meant to be the onboard physician. It turned out that something happened last night that changed his mind, and the only thing that came to mind was the homeless girl he caught sneaking into his boat.