9
Helen
When the bulk of the passengers finally retire to their cabins, the Marine IV seems to release the air it has held in all day.
A ship of this tonnage is never completely silent; it creaks almost imperceptibly, vibrates with a constant pulse, and breathes with the life of its own engines.
Outside, the Mediterranean brushes the hull with gentle, rhythmic waves.
But here, in the crew quarters, the staff takes a much-needed breather before continuing the voyage.
I’m sitting on one of the stools in the crew bar, holding a nonalcoholic cocktail in my hands.
And I’m exhausted. We haven’t recorded any serious incidents in the daily report, and that fact alone should be enough to help me end the day on a positive note.
However, my analytical mind insists on replaying the first few hours of a cruise that has already brought me too many surprises.
Although the only surprise that really leaves me dazed and unable to think clearly is Maika.
I stir the ice with my straw. At the far end of the bar, two bridge officers talk in a monotonous whisper; an engineer yawns over a half-finished pint of beer, and a jazz piece plays over the background speaker system at such a low volume that it sounds like the lingering echo of the deck party.
The door opens and Gonzalo walks in with his arms raised, as if he’d won a battle.
“My favorite officer has survived!” he exclaims at the top of his lungs.
I look at him with what little energy I have left and raise my glass to him.
“Please don’t make so much noise.”
Gonzalo ignores my warning with his usual impertinence and wraps his arms around my shoulders in an excessive hug that forces me to shrink back.
“I’m proud of you,” he says, squeezing me tight.
“Let go of me already, damn it,” I protest.
“Don’t hold back the affection. You should let yourself be loved a little more.”
“I’m holding back the urge to throw this cocktail at you.”
“That counts as a form of human interaction too, doesn’t it?” he replies, giving me a smile.
I push him away gently. Gonzalo settles onto the adjacent barstool, visibly pleased to have broken my stiffness, and signals to the bartender to pour him a drink. Then he rests his forearms on the wood and looks at me curiously.
“Okay, let’s analyze the facts. How was your first day in the chaos?” he asks as he’s being served.
I lower my gaze to the bottom of my glass.
“I’ve navigated worse conditions.”
“You’re exaggerating,” he says with a laugh.
“I accept it as part of the demands of this uniform.”
Gonzalo receives his glass and takes a generous sip, savoring it slowly.
“Rumor has it you work wonderfully with Maika,” he adds.
I slowly look up and study him closely. He raises his eyebrows twice in a row, like a complete idiot.
“Are you going to start with that too?” I ask, annoyed. “I thought you were on my side.”
“I get along with both of you; it’s nothing personal,” he says, shrugging.
I open my mouth to reply; I close it immediately and open it again, incredulous.
“Excuse me, what kind of betrayal is this?” I exclaim.
“A very balanced and diplomatic one, I’d say,” Gonzalo replies without losing his smile.
“But you’re my best friend, so you’d better not bring that up here.”
Gonzalo raises both hands in surrender.
“Okay, okay. I won’t mention the woman who must not be named.”
“Gonzalo…” I warn him.
“An entertainment coordinator who’s pretty hot,” he insists, amused.
“Gonzalo.”
“Yeah, yeah. That woman with the dangerous smile and a look that takes your breath away.”
“You’re going too far.”
I glare at him, clenching my jaw. He holds the smile for another second before ending the teasing.
“All right, I’ll take a vow of silence,” he replies, though his eyes still twinkle mischievously.
We spend the next few minutes in a comfortable silence, and I appreciate that he decides to change the subject. Gonzalo can be exasperating in his ways, but he has an innate intuition for sensing when I need silence, even though his sarcasm always intervenes just before my own thoughts collapse.
“Now, seriously,” he says, with no trace of mockery in his voice. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired,” I confess with a deep sigh.
“That’s obvious at a glance,” he says.
“Thanks for confirming that,” I reply with a half-smile.
“I’m talking about headquarters. Do you feel like everything’s on track?”
I swallow hard, facing reality. That’s the real reason I keep analyzing protocols when common sense tells me I should be sleeping soundly.
The reason I can’t tolerate deviations from the norm, or unexpected friction that reawakens an emotional memory that should be long gone, or absurd—and sexy—attractions that go by the name of Maika Aranda.
“I’d say yes,” I admit honestly. “That’s why I didn’t want things to get complicated from the start.”
Gonzalo doesn’t ask what I mean by “things.” Because he knows perfectly well.
“Boarding went smoothly,” he says, trying to cheer me up. “And the welcome party turned out better than we expected. The teams handled everything professionally, and there were no serious issues.”
“And what about the other departments? Haven’t there been any problems?” I ask, looking for something to make me feel like I’m in control.
“None at all,” Gonzalo replies.
“Good,” I murmur, more to myself than to him.
“Helen, everything’s going to run smoothly,” he adds, raising his glass in a toast. “I’m convinced it’ll stay that way for the rest of the cruise.”
I clink my glass against his gently.
“Don’t say that. That’s tempting fate.”
“I think misfortune is afraid of you,” he says a moment later. “So you should feel at ease.”
“I hope so,” I reply, and for the first time in many hours, I feel my body begin to realize that the day is over.
I no longer need to be everywhere at once. I can simply sit down, enjoy something cold, and stop calculating escape routes for a few minutes.
“By the way,” he continues, “when we stop in Marseille, I’ll take you to an amazing restaurant I know. You’ll definitely want to go back.”
“Great, because if I don’t take my mind off things for a bit, I’ll end up going crazy,” I admit with a weary laugh.
“That’s the spirit. Delicious food, a good rest, a quiet drink, and maybe a conversation where the word ‘protocol’ doesn’t come up even once.”
“I won’t promise the impossible,” I reply before flashing a smile.
“And then we could head to the beach. That way we can get a little tan.”
I look him up and down with a skeptical expression.
“Are you serious? Because you should really try not to get sunburned like a shrimp,” I warn him.
“You have so little faith in me,” he protests with a laugh.
“Pure and simple realism.”
We toast again, and this time I let the smile surface without holding back at all. The conversation naturally winds down, and Gonzalo finishes his drink, gives me a gentle tap on the shoulder, and stands up.
“Take a break, Miss Protocol. You deserve it.”
“You too,” I reply affectionately.
“And don’t do any more work tonight.”
“I don’t take orders from you,” I retort sarcastically.
“I know. That’s why I give them anyway. Good night.”
I watch him walk away, and when the door closes behind him, the bar returns to an almost excessive quiet.
I finish my cocktail and set the empty glass on the bar.
I could go to my cabin now. I should, in fact.
Tomorrow will be another demanding day, with the passengers already settled in and the ship approaching Marseille.
But I don’t want to shut myself away between four walls.
I need fresh air. I need to connect with the sea.
I make my way up to the main deck through the service corridors, which are completely deserted at this hour. The Marine IV’s night lighting bathes the bulkheads in a soft, golden glow.
As I cross the passageway to the promenade deck, the Mediterranean breeze hits me head-on, its cool intensity clearing my head in an instant.
I close my eyes for a few moments and let my senses be swept away by the salty scent of the sea, the constant hum of the engines, the lapping of the water against the hull, and the dark immensity stretching out before me.
“I love moments like this.”
The sea stretches out vast, under a cloudless sky where the moon traces a shimmering line across the water’s surface. I enjoy that respite for a minute, until the reality of the ship decides to place the greatest risk of this contract right in my path.
“Don’t fuck with me.”
Maika is at the stern, leaning on the railing, her gaze fixed on the ship’s wake. The wind from the ship’s movement tousles her loose hair, blowing it freely across her face. Now she seems calm, tired, and, above all, more authentic than ever.
My body reacts even before my mind can process the scene. This twist of fate—though I don’t know what I was expecting while on a ship, to be honest—causes my heart to race treacherously, and the memory of her closeness in the hallway returns like a sudden flash of heat.
I freeze where I am.
She hasn’t seen me yet.
Or so I think.
All I know for sure is that, suddenly, the night no longer feels peaceful at all. And that I should turn back the way I came. But as soon as I turn around, her voice cuts through the distance between us.
“Would you like to spend some time with me?”