Chapter Sixty-One Ella
Chapter Sixty-One
Ella
You have got to be kidding me.
I stare up at the cruise ship that will carry me across the Atlantic for the next fifteen days.
What twisted sense of humor does the universe have?
Poseidon’s Princess.
Really? Tiero is all I can think about as it is. I don’t need the reminder.
I reach into my bag and feel for the satellite phone Miranda gave me in the cruise terminal bathroom when we said our final goodbye.
Well, at least until I see her and Garrett in Atlanta again. Meanwhile, they’ll return to Greece and continue their vacation after the ship leaves.
She stressed the phone is for emergencies only, but its mere existence makes me feel less alone on this next stretch of my escape.
Nothing should happen on this crossing. Tiero doesn’t know where I am, and once I’m in Halifax, a Catalina Cruz will meet me and help me get to Atlanta.
I take a deep breath.
Time to get on board.
God, this feels so final. Like I’m truly leaving the life I’ve always known behind.
I hesitate. I don’t feel ready for this.
Turning around, I scan the dock one last time. I spot Garrett in the far distance and relax a little. It’s good to be watched over.
Of course, I would never have said that when Alonso and Oriana were guarding me.
Alonso… I wonder how he’s doing. Has he come out of his coma? I pray he’s recovering and that he’ll find a way out of the Mafia life.
With a last scowl at the ship’s name, I step onto the ship and into a whole new chapter of my life. Actually, it’s more like a whole new book.
After a day of orientation, I’m in a corridor on my way to my tiny cabin. It really is the size of a shoebox.
There’s just enough room for a bed and a tiny desk with a chair. I’m surprised I can turn around in there. But beggars can’t be choosers.
Lying in bed last night, it was hard not to think about Tiero’s yacht and how luxurious it was. And the bed…
God, it was comfortable. And the things we did in that bed…
Argh!
Just thinking about our first time together on the yacht had me all hot and bothered. And now I will never experience his touch again.
I’m distracted from my daydreams by cursing and the rustling of bags from behind me. I turn around to see a woman in flowing garments with a scarf wrapped around her head, carrying too many bags and losing half of them.
As she bends down to pick them up, the bangles on her wrists clang together and create a surprisingly pleasant sound. Hmm, is there such a thing as musical bangles?
At a guess, she’s in her late thirties, with an energy that’s bright and inviting.
“Would you like help with your bags?” I call out.
Her attention instantly goes to me, and she scans me for a long moment.
I raise a curious eyebrow at her and then, from one second to the next, she breaks out into a wide smile.
“That would be much appreciated. What’s your name?” she asks, a faint French accent threading through her words. It sounds so melodic.
“I’m Ee…Ash,” I stumble over my name, and now it’s the gypsy lady raising an eyebrow at me.
Damn, I should have practiced the answer to such a simple question.
“Ash Morgan,” I say again, more confident this time as I pick up more of the dropped bags.
“Thank you for helping me, Ee…Ash Morgan. I’m Claudette.”
The name really suits her for some reason.
“Where to, Claudette?” I ask.
She leads the way and opens the door right opposite my cabin. “We’re practically neighbors,” I tell her.
“Do come in,” she says, and I step inside her cabin. “Wow, this is twice the size of my shoebox. How did you end up with a big room?”
“All aisle rooms are bigger to compensate for the lack of windows.”
I hadn’t considered that. I do have a window. It’s not big, but at least I see the water and the sky.
“Plus, I’m always where I’m meant to be,” Claudette says a little cryptically.
Right. She’s a little weird but nice. She studies me again, and I fidget uncomfortably.
“So what do you do on this ship, Claudette?” I ask to fill the silence.
“I’m the ship’s psychic,” she tells me.
“Oh, I didn’t know there was such a… umm, position on a cruise ship,” I stammer, feeling immediately more self-conscious.
Can she read me? Does she know why I’m here?
I sway from foot to foot, uncomfortable now. My hand brushes a porcelain heart Claudette uses as a paperweight, and it falls to the ground and breaks.
I’m mortified.
Way to go, Ella… umm, Ash.
I sink to my knees to pick up the pieces. Holding the parts in my hands, I stand up.
“I’m so, so sorry, Claudette. Of course, I will replace this somehow.”
But Claudette doesn’t seem to hear me.
Her gaze is riveted on the broken pieces of the heart.
Is she trembling?
She closes her eyes.
Seconds tick by.
I’m frozen in place. The hair on the back of my neck is standing on end.
What the heck is going on?
I watch Claudette, unsure what to do next.
She lets out a long breath and opens her eyes. Her gaze finds mine.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper again uncomfortably.
She ignores it and taps her finger against her lips.
“Wow, you’ve waited for this. But what does it mean?”
I’ve waited for this? Or is she talking to herself?
Spooked by her words, I place the heart pieces on the table, mumbling, “It made a clean break. I could try to glue the pieces back together.”
Claudette’s eyes once more shoot to mine, and this time her smile is blinding.
“Yes, of course you will.”
Okayyy.
This woman is odd.
I pick up the broken heart, and turning on my heels, rush out of her cabin.
“I’ll fix it. See you around,” I call over my shoulder, as I hightail it to the relative safety of my shoebox.