HELEN #2
“Maika,” I reply politely, even though my mind is already weighing the option of pushing her overboard, despite knowing the consequences.
Her eyes drop for a moment to my folder and then return to my face.
“I didn’t know you were assigned to the Marine IV.”
“I didn’t know Transmarine had lowered its selection standards that much either.”
A shadow crosses her expression. “Good. I’ve hit her where it hurts most.” This shouldn’t give me any satisfaction, of course, but it does.
“I see you’re still just as charming,” she notes, narrowing her eyes.
“And you’re still showing up where nobody asked you to.”
Maika bursts out laughing. Without a hint of humor, of course.
“I work here, just like you.”
“That’s what I’m trying to wrap my head around.”
She takes a step toward me. The hallway isn’t big, but suddenly it seems much narrower. Her perfume reaches me before she does: a hint of something fresh and citrusy, perhaps with floral notes. It angers me to notice those details. And yes, it angers me even more to remember them so clearly.
“I think we can behave like adults,” she suggests.
I almost choke on my reply.
“What an innovative suggestion coming from you.”
“Helen…”
“No,” I cut her off and raise my hand so she doesn’t even think of adding anything else. “Don’t use that tone with me.”
“What tone?” she asks, though I know she understands what I mean.
“The ‘I’m going to act like a normal person now that it’s all over’ tone.”
Her jaw tenses visibly. For a second, I see something behind her eyes, something like weariness or regret. And I don’t want to see it, because it doesn’t suit me at all.
“It’s been a few years since then,” she reminds me.
“Yes. That’s the thing about time. It passes, even when you don’t receive the apology you deserved.”
The words come out before I can dress them up with more diplomacy. Maika looks away, and that small, almost imperceptible gesture confirms my suspicions.
“It wasn’t as simple as it seems,” she tries to explain.
“No, of course not. It wasn’t easy for me either to sit in front of management while they held me responsible for a decision I didn’t make.”
“Helen, I swear I tried to explain it at the time,” she justifies herself, letting her arms fall to her sides.
“When? After you vanished off the map?”
Her eyes return to mine, and now there’s no trace left of the smile she had before.
“I didn’t disappear. I had to take care of… some things.”
“Interesting,” I say, clicking my tongue. “I must have mistaken you for the huge void you left when I needed someone to speak up for me the most.”
A door opens to our right and a kitchen worker pokes his head out, looks at us, senses the tension in the air, and closes it again with a care that’s almost admirable. Maika notices it. So do I. Under different circumstances, it might even seem funny. In fact, it is a little.
“I don’t want any trouble with you.”
I look at her closely. I don’t want to notice how her voice has softened or think that there’s something vulnerable in that sentence. I don’t want to remember that before—long before the disaster—Maika used to melt my defenses exactly like that.
“Then don’t cause any,” I reply curtly.
“I haven’t done anything.”
“Not yet,” I point out.
Her lips part, as if she’s about to reply with one of her quick-witted remarks, the kind that used to make me want to argue and kiss her in that exact order. But unlike other times, she holds back. “What a surprise.”
“I’m going to coordinate the entertainment department,” she reminds me. “And you’ll be in charge of security. I suppose our teams will have to work together on more than one occasion. That’s why I said it.”
“My people have no problem working with anyone who follows instructions to the letter.”
“And I don’t know how to follow them?” she asks, defiantly.
I look her up and down without being able to help myself. “Mmm, no. Wrong.” Because my gaze registers her neck, her collarbone, her hands, the curve of her pressed lips.
I shake my head in my mind and return to her eyes with my dignity restored, though hastily ironed on.
“You know how to make instructions seem like mere decorative suggestions.”
Maika raises an eyebrow.
“And you know how to turn a five-minute meeting into a full-blown international trial,” she counters.
“It’s a talent I’ve perfected over the years, actually.”
“Exhausting, no doubt.”
“Effective, above all.”
What a little battle. What a little battle. Please, let all the gods come down and have mercy on me.
Because quickly, something resembling a genuine smile touches her lips. And my body, utterly treacherous, detects it as if it were a flare in the middle of the night.
“I see you still have an answer for everything,” she murmurs.
“And you still think that’s an invitation to argue forever.”
“Oh, isn’t it?”
The question hangs between us, too close to something that shouldn’t exist. My pulse quickens, and I hate it with all my might.
I hate that Maika can still raise my body temperature with a single sentence.
I hate that a tiny part of me—stupid and probably deprived of oxygen for too long—remembers the sexual tension between us as if it had been something beautiful.
Because it wasn’t. It was more like a trap.
And I don’t fall into the same one twice.
“Listen to me carefully,” I say, taking a step toward her.
Maika doesn’t back down. Of course not. That would be too easy.
“This cruise is important to me. Much more than you can imagine. I won’t tolerate any mistakes, improvisations, or entertainment stunts that put the passengers, the crew, or my own patience at risk. ”
Her eyes sparkle with a familiar gleam.
“Is your patience included in the protocol, too?”
“In many appendices. And with warnings in bold, so you’ll be sure to check them.”
This time she does smile openly. And I have to clench my teeth because I shouldn’t find this the least bit funny. Not at all.
“All right,” she agrees. “I’ll work with you within the established guidelines.”
“You’ll work by the rules, period.”
“What a cold way to say, ‘Welcome aboard, Maika, it’s so good to see you after all this time.’”
“My joy is still up there, on the deck.”
“What a shame. I was actually looking forward to this reunion.”
I look at her in disbelief.
“Why do you always flirt when someone’s about to strangle you?”
Maika tilts her head and her smile becomes a little more dangerous.
“Because I don’t think that person would dare to actually do it.”
My heart gives an absurd, loud, and ridiculous thud in my chest. The hallway seems to run out of air. I don’t know what to say, and that irritates me almost as much as her presence. Because I always have an answer ready, a wall up, an elegant or cruel way out, depending on the situation.
So I do the only sensible thing, which is to simply pull myself together.
“Don’t confuse self-control with a lack of desire.”
Her low, brief laugh runs through my skin like an unexpected electric current.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
I open the folder and point to the spreadsheet, though in reality I need to look at anything other than her mouth.
“The coordination meeting will be tomorrow at nine o’clock sharp. In technical room two. I need you to bring the complete activity plan, projected attendance figures, technical sound requirements, schedules, and any event involving passenger movement.”
“I’ll have it ready, don’t worry,” she assures me.
“And no surprises, Maika.”
“Of course,” she says then. “Oh, and Helen.”
I look up.
“What?”
Maika looks at me. Less defiant. And for a second, the Maika I remember from the times when we weren’t fighting, but devouring each other with kisses in some corner between her cabin and mine, appears. The one who knew how to listen to me and stayed with me at the end of an endless day.
“I didn’t come here to mess things up. I promise.”
The words hit me where I don’t want them to. Because they sound sincere. Because part of me desperately wants to believe them. And because another part—much smarter and more wounded—remembers perfectly how dearly it cost me to trust her the first time. And so, I close the folder.
“We’ll see about that.”
I walk past her. And I just keep walking.
“Helen!” she says behind me.
I stop, even though I know I shouldn’t.
“What?”
“I’m glad to see you, too.”
I close my eyes for a moment and tilt my head back. Because any response would be too revealing. If I used sarcasm, I’d be giving it importance. And if I turned around, I might see something on her face that I’m not ready for.
So I walk down the hallway with my back straight and my heart completely out of control.
When I turn the corner, I lean against the cold wall for a second.
Just one. A slight but persistent internal jolt gives me the first warning of a storm that hasn’t appeared on the weather maps yet but already has a real shape.
Maika Aranda is on board. And I have the terrible, clear feeling that this cruise has just become a lot more complicated.