Helen
The next day.
Passenger boarding is going flawlessly. Too flawlessly. And although that orderliness should put my mind at ease, it only keeps my alarm system on high alert, waiting for the organized chaos of a cruise ship to claim its space. But the truth is, nothing happens.
The flow of people is moving wonderfully.
The lines in the atrium dissolve before they can form.
Passengers find the reception desks, the elevators, and their respective cabins without that tense friction that usually reigns during the first few hours on board.
And I, much to my regret, know exactly who to give the credit to.
The mobile entertainment stations Maika suggested yesterday are working.
The dynamic routes Maika designed are so intuitive that the passengers move along relaxed, relieving the main arteries of the ship.
I won’t admit out loud that she’s done an extraordinary job, but as I watch from the railing on Deck Eight while Lara redirects a large family toward the starboard panoramic elevators before they clog the central access, I have to accept that Maika was right.
Again.
When the Marine IV casts off and sets course for Marseille, I finally allow myself to release the tension in my shoulders. The port shrinks to a geometric line on the horizon and the Mediterranean opens up before us, immense and cobalt blue.
The cruise passengers begin to shed the stiffness of their routine on land.
Voices grow louder, laughter becomes more unrestrained, and that anxious rush from the beginning fades away.
I, on the other hand, continue to scan the surroundings for any potential risks.
Someone has to keep a cool head on board.
I’m in the officers’ mess with an untouched tray of food and my laptop open when Maika plops down—literally—in the seat across from me. She’s carrying a plate of pasta, a bottle of water, and her characteristic energy.
“Don’t tell me you’re drafting the watch orders while you eat,” she remarks with a half-smile, unscrewing the cap of the bottle without taking her eyes off me.
I look up from the screen.
“I’m checking the gathering areas and traffic flow for tonight’s party.”
“Sure. How naive of me to think you’d be taking a break,” she says sarcastically.
I try to focus on the floor plan, but the afternoon light streaming through the glass partition hits her face full on, casting perfect shadows. She’s wearing the dark blue sleeveless T-shirt from the entertainment uniform, which hugs her body.
Although I really shouldn’t be paying attention to that.
“The boarding was a resounding success,” she adds, twirling the spaghetti with her fork. “You can take it easy, Müller.”
“I breathe at the pace my job demands,” I reply.
“Helen, you need to relax.”
Maika smiles, and the meeting of our gazes no longer triggers the usual surge of irritation in me.
“What exactly is worrying you?” she asks, leaning forward so that her shoulder almost invades my personal space.
“The side entrances to the main stage on Deck Nine,” I reply, pointing at the screen. “The DJ is going to draw most of the young crowd up there.”
“Too many people according to your contingency manuals, or according to the reality of a summer night?”
I stare at her. She chews slowly, keeping me on edge with that feigned innocence.
“Both variables tend to coincide, Maika.”
“Right…” she murmurs, running the tip of her tongue over her lower lip.
I decide to ignore the gesture and focus on the screen; my authority depends entirely on pretending that her proximity doesn’t affect my heart rate.
I zoom in on the safety map of the aft section.
“Right here,” I point out, marking the port-side service corridor. “This section seems too narrow to me if we need to clear the area quickly.”
That’s why I hate going from cruise to cruise. I always end up working three times as hard.
Maika sets her fork down on her plate.
“Because it is.”
“Wow, thanks for the diagnosis.”
She raises her left eyebrow.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“What?”
“With that look that says, ‘I just scored a point and I’m going to revel in it for the rest of the trip.’”
Maika bursts out laughing, and I find myself storing that sound in my memory.
“I don’t need that much time,” she replies. “I have a very good memory for my successes.”
My heart skips a beat before finding its rhythm again. I force myself to close the map tab before my blush gives me away.
“After my shift, I want to inspect that area on-site,” I announce.
“Great. I’ll go with you.”
She doesn’t offer it as an option.
“Fine.”
We finish eating while discussing regulations and a few anecdotes. I suppose you can already guess who brings up each topic.
Meanwhile, I try to maintain a strict, by-the-book demeanor as she tells me how a passenger on her last cruise threatened to file a complaint against the entertainment department because she claimed the bingo was rigged.
“And was it?” I ask, feeling the tension in my jaw ease.
“Helen, the prize was a company cap and a bottle of sparkling wine that had been sitting in the sun for three hours.”
“People have started riots over much less, believe me,” I reply, and this time I can’t help but let a genuine smile cross my face.
Maika laughs heartily, drawing the attention of two slot machine attendants at the next table. And I force myself to maintain my usual seriousness.
· · ·
An hour later, we climb the interior stairs to Deck Nine.
The Marine IV glides with a dignified pitch.
Outside, the sun begins its descent, tinging the sea with a dense, coppery hue.
In the outdoor stage area, lighting technicians adjust the robotic spotlights while the onboard DJ tests the bass with an electronic beat that reverberates off the structures.
I begin checking the safety distances with the digital tape measure, noting the readings on the tablet. Maika follows me closely. Too closely.
“You’re going to have a blind spot there,” she says, pointing to the cocktail bar on the port side.
“I agree. The turning radius is insufficient.”
“Maybe if we put a high-top table next to the entrance, people will stop before entering the aisle.”
“No. It would block the security staff’s line of sight,” I counter, measuring the width of the aisle. “I don’t want any fixed obstacles.”
“Then the other option is to station promotional staff at the corner to divert attention toward the center of the dance floor before the side gets too crowded.”
I glance at her out of the corner of my eye, holding the tablet against my chest.
“Do all your tactical solutions involve using your subordinates as human shields?”
“They’re not shields, Müller. It’s psychology applied to space,” she replies with a confidence that leaves me speechless. “And you’ve seen for yourself that it works.”
I don’t reply because I have no technical arguments to refute her. We move along the right flank of the stage, and I notice that the actual distance between the railing and the wiring casing is even smaller than what the original blueprint indicated. What a surprise.
“We’re going to have to try a little harder,” she jokes.
Just as I’m about to reply, Maika steps back to make way for a sailor dragging a protective tarp.
At that moment, the ship undergoes a subtle shift as it corrects its course. But Maika loses her footing, her boot slips, and she falls forward.
It all happens in a fraction of a second. Her hands search for a secure grip and cling to my forearms. The impact of her weight pushes me back until my back slams against the steel bulkhead by the bridge. And her body is pressed against mine.
The first thing that overwhelms me is a wave of heat, physical and disorienting. Then comes her scent, sharp and close, and the exact position of her lips, just a few centimeters from my mouth.
“Shit. Damn it. What do I do?”
The ambient noise fades away, replaced by the rhythmic sound of her breathing, which has become as rapid as my own.
We hold each other’s gaze in silence; my eyes drift down to her mouth before forcing themselves back to her pupils, which have darkened completely.
I feel the pressure of her fingers on my arms, and the absolute certainty that my defenses are crumbling at an alarming rate.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.”
I almost push her away and clear my throat. Luckily, the tablet hasn’t suffered any worse damage.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Sure,” I reply.
I look at her, hating my inability to hide the trembling of my own hands.
“It was the motion of the ship,” she says.
“I know.” We look at each other for a few seconds. “We’d better keep going.”
The atmosphere grows tense. My mind, usually methodical and efficient, refuses to process the technical readings and insists on replaying the texture of her skin and the proximity of her mouth on a loop.
“If we modify the passage barrier toward…” I stop myself as Maika walks down the narrow corridor.
“Helen?”
“What?” I reply, too quickly.
“I was asking if you’d prefer to station security checkpoints at the club’s entrances or keep the outer perimeter clear.”
It takes me a second longer than it should to pick up the thread of the conversation, still caught in the memory of the glint of her lips in the evening light.
“Keep the perimeter clear,” I manage to say. “But with direct communication to the bridge.”
“Understood.”
This is a tactical error with predictable consequences.
I know exactly where this path leads if I allow myself to give in to Maika Aranda; I learned that lesson the hard way. I’m not going to make the same mistake twice. No matter what’s happening around us.
Maika closes her folder as soon as we’re done and smiles at me.
“No, please. Don’t smile at me.”
“I think that if you keep analyzing this section, you’re going to end up finding a structural flaw in the hull’s rivets.”
“Don’t tempt fate.”
“At least we managed to wrap up the plan without incident,” she says, closing the distance between us.
The sentence is simple. We’ve gone back to being the team that worked without needing orders from superiors who, for whatever reason, have chosen to let us keep working together.
“Yes,” I simply reply.
We stand in silence for a moment in the night breeze, which is beginning to cool the deck.
Maika is the first to break the silence, taking a step toward the deck’s exit.
“I’m going to gather the team for the pre-opening briefing.”
“All right. I’ll stop by the bridge to confirm the final orders.”
“I expected nothing less from you, Müller.”
Although she uses her usual teasing tone, it doesn’t bother me as much anymore. And that’s not good—not good at all.
Maika walks away toward the crew access, and I linger a few more seconds by the railing, staring at the trail of white foam the ship leaves on the water.
I try to apply logic to sort out the internal chaos the afternoon has left me with, but the scientific method doesn’t work.
Because the bitterness of the past is no longer a thick enough insulation; right now, the only thing occupying my mind is the residual heat of her body against mine and the intolerable fact that I was on the verge of closing the distance to kiss her.
“I’m screwed…”