chapter two
OTHER RILEY
The woman from check-in screams at me, and I almost crap my pants.
“Your cabin?” I scratch the back of my head, confused. “This isn’t your cabin. It’s mine.”
I study the details, almost going cross-eyed because she’s practically rammed the card up my nose.
Riley Wilson. 10143.
I’ll be damned.
Raising my hand, palm out, because she looks about ready to either barrel me over or take a dive off the balcony just to get away, I lift my lanyard from my chest and show her my own card. “Mine says the same. Room 10143, see?”
“What?” Her brows pull together, her posture losing its I’m-gonna-kick-your-ass rigidness just slightly before she huffs, tugs my card closer, and nearly severs my neck from my body as she inspects the details.
I breathe in her perfume for the second time today, a mixture of flowers and coconut. She smells amazing—unlike the stench of Upper Bay.
“Wait a minute,” she says, letting out a relieved sigh, her hand clutching her chest as her eyes meet mine. “They’ve printed my card twice and given one to you. They both say Riley Wilson.”
Our heads are mere inches apart, and although the lanyard is practically cutting into my nape, I can’t help the grin that breaks across my face. She’s cute, and a little clueless.
“I don’t think that’s what they did,” I explain.
“Yes, it is. Look.” She flips the card and shows me what I already know. “Yours says Riley Wilson too.”
“That’s because I am Riley Wilson.”
“What?”
“Yeah.” I step back and run my hand through my hair. “This explains the weird Jane Doe comment in the terminal.”
“Oh.” She cups her cheeks, her stormy eyes wide. “Your last name is Wilson too?”
“Yep.”
“That’s crazy.”
It’s not; I bet there are more Riley Wilsons in the world other than us.
She bites her lip. “What does this mean, then?”
“It means we need to head to Guest Services and sort this out.”
“Yes!” She stabs both of her pointer fingers at me and then delicately collects her bag off the bed. “Let’s do that.”
“After you.” I gesture toward the door, allowing her to go ahead because I’m a gentleman, then both of us stride along the narrow corridor—my eyes glued to her incredible ass.
“I’m sorry for screaming at you,” she says, glancing over her shoulder. “You scared me, is all.”
I snap my eyes to a respectable height. “No apology necessary. I’m surprised I didn’t scream too.”
She laughs and stops at the elevators, and my insides cringe. I hate these oxygen-lacking death boxes with every fiber of my being.
“So, where are you from?” she asks after pushing the button.
“Buxtonville.”
“Nice! I’ve been through there once. It’s lovely.”
“It is,” I agree. “How ’bout you?”
“Manhattan.”
Fighting my urge to scoff, I don’t offer the same compliment, because where she lives isn’t lovely. Manhattan is a concrete jungle, and I prefer my jungles to have trees.
“You don’t like the city?” she probes when I don’t answer.
“Not particularly.” I eye the stairs, tempted to take them, but I’ll look like a weirdo if I abandon her now. So I lean against the wall and wait, praying the elevators are out of service. “I like peace and quiet,” I explain. “More oxygen, less people.”
The elevator dings and opens, and my gut churns.
“Can’t say I blame you. Manhattan is many things, but environmentally friendly isn’t one of them.” She enters the death box and then pokes her head back out when I don’t follow. “You coming?”
“Yep,” I mutter, pushing off the wall.
Riley squints at the buttons on the panel. “What deck is Guest Services on? I don’t know which deck we actually boarded the ship on.”
Not wanting to be in here longer than I have to, I lean across her and press the button for Deck 4, and she gasps when my arm brushes her bag.
“Whoa, you got a bomb in there?” I joke, even though bombs—especially in elevators on a ship—are no joking matter.
“No! Of course not.” She steps back. “Just something very precious and… delicate.”
I eye her suspiciously.
By the looks of her non-vacation-type clothing—white blouse and tailored gray pants—I suspect her “precious and delicate” thing is an expensive pair of shoes, like the ones on her feet, or perhaps something from that Tiffany store.
Krystal, my ex, often came home from weekends in Manhattan with one of those bank-breaking blue bags.
“Fair enough,” I say, letting it go. “So long as it’s not a bomb.”
“It’s not.” She laughs the kind of laugh that isn’t convincing, then asks, “So why are you on a cruise?”
My face scrunches with confusion. “Huh?”
“You just said you like peace and quiet and fewer people, yet you’re about to embark on a journey with a lot of people.”
Yeah. Three and a half thousand, or thereabouts.
“I need to get away,” I explain.
She nods, as if she needs to get away as well, and I’m curious as to why, but the elevator doors open, and my speedy exit takes priority.
“After you,” I say, holding my arm across the door.
“Thank you.” She goes to exit but stops, unintentionally holding me prisoner as she studies my ink. “I like your tattoo. The font is beautiful. Is it a name?”
My chest tightens, and I retract my arm. “Yes,” I snap.
Riley startles at my harsh tone, her cheeks flushing pink before she frowns and scurries ahead.
Goddamn it.
I clench my fists, because I didn’t mean to be a jerk. This trip across the Atlantic is supposed to help ease my anger and resentment, and I’m certainly not off to a good start.
Knowing I should apologize—or make up a ridiculous excuse—I choose to bite my tongue instead, keeping a safe distance until we reach Guest Services, where a guy in a suit kindly greets us.
“Welcome aboard. How can I assist you today?”
I open my mouth to answer, but Riley beats me to it, which is fine. She seems like the type who can adequately explain our dilemma.
“You’ve made an epic mistake,” she blurts, finger pointing, eyes menacing. “Epic!”
The guy inches back, clearly alarmed, and I press my lips together to prevent myself from laughing. Maybe I should’ve handled this.
“I’m sorry,” she inserts, splaying her hands apologetically. “What I mean is, both of us—” She gestures to me, and I offer a polite wave before resting my arms on the counter. “—have accidentally been booked into the same cabin.”
“Oh dear.” The guy pouts as if we’re two lost puppies looking for our owner. “That can’t be right. Let me look up your details.” He holds out his hand. “Can I have your sailing cards please?”
We lift our lanyards from around our necks and hand them over to him. He scans them into his computer, his eyes narrowing at the screen. “They both say Riley Wilson.”
“Correct,” I say, tapping the counter. “That’s our name.”
His complexion turns blotchy. “So… you’re not traveling together?”
“No,” we both snap.
“We don’t know each other,” Riley adds.
“I see.” He rubs his chin, and I know that’s not a good sign. I often do the same when I’ve royally fucked up a piece of furniture I’ve been working on. “It appears you’ve both been allocated the same cabin,” he explains.
“No shit,” I huff out.
“I’m terribly sorry for this. We’ll get it sorted. Just bear with me while I speak to my supervisor.” He pushes a bowl of candies toward us. “Help yourselves. I won’t be long.”
Obliging—because who doesn’t like candy—I offer one to Riley as well. She scowls, so I shrug and pop one into my mouth just as the guy returns with a woman in a crisp-white naval uniform.
“Thank you for your patience, Mr. and Ms. Wilson.”
“We’re not married,” I rumble, my patience wearing thin. All I want to do is go to a bar and relax. That’s what I booked this damn cruise for.
“I wasn’t implying you were,” the supervisor says. “But please forgive me—I meant no offense.”
Riley glares at me. “What he’s trying to say is that, up until minutes ago in the cabin, we’d never met.”
“I see.” The supervisor clicks her mouse a few times, eyes locked on the screen. She exhales and shakes her head. “Hmm… I don’t know how this happened. I mean, you both have the same name, so obviously that’s how it happened, but—” She chews her ruby-red lip. “—it shouldn’t have. How strange.”
She keeps digging for an answer that, frankly, doesn’t matter to me. I don’t care how it happened. I just want it fixed.
“Listen, I’m happy to move cabins,” I offer. “Riley can have the one you’ve given us, and I’ll just move to another. Easy.”
The supervisor’s eyes meet mine, and she relaxes a little. “Thank you for your understanding, sir. I can’t express how sorry I am for this. What I can do is offer you a full refund for your inconvenience.”
“Sweet,” I say, pleased I volunteered first.
“I will have to downgrade you though, sir.”
My satisfaction dissipates. “How much downgrading are we talking about?”
“The stateroom you booked is a premium mini-suite with balcony. Unfortunately, we don’t have any of that cabin class available. The ship is at capacity.”
“Okaaay,” I drawl, not quite processing what she’s saying.
“What we do have are interior cabins, aft, on Deck Three.”
A chill runs the length of my spine. “I’m not moving to an interior cabin in the bowels of this boat. No goddamned way. I’m claustrophobic.”
The woman winces. “Right. That certainly won’t work then.”
We all look at Riley, and she takes a step back. “S-So am I. And… And I get seasick and need to be midship.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m not moving cabins.”
“I understand.” The supervisor sighs and taps her chin. “Would you be willing to share the cabin, then? I can offer you both a partial refun—”
“Absolutely not!” Riley barks.
I’m a little offended, but she’s right. No fucking way. I spent a good portion of my savings on this trip. It’s my bachelor getaway—my freedom vacation—and I’m not about to share my room with a stranger.
“Nope,” I agree, shaking my head. “Not sharing.”