Page 11 of The Second Chance in the Mediterranean
“And I’ve been here about a month,” Gio informed me. “I was placed through a yacht agency.”
I nodded. I’d gotten the job onOdysseythrough a yacht agency, so I knew how that went. Crystal had promised me it would be my dream job, when it was far from it. The experience had left a bitter taste in my mouth.
Edie tilted her head. “Dom told us you’ve been sailing?”
I explained the trip onEikagain, reinforcing thatEikwas nothing likeThemisand the two boats weren’t even remotely similar.
“I obviously searched on the internet forThemisbefore the interview and did a lot of reading about her and her design, but I don’t remember any of it now.”
“She’s a pretty unique beast.” Edie grinned with fondness. “Her square-shaped rigging is completely rare nowadays, so most sailors have never gotten a chance to sail on a yacht like her. We have to go through a lot of training with any new deck crew. And of course, for regattas, we fly in professional sailors. Although we have a few on the crew now who qualify.”
“She’s pretty fast, right?”
She shrugged modestly. “Wins a few regattas every year, but, honestly, there aren’t many to compete in for superyachts, not like some of the smaller classes.”
Appetizers came and Dom shifted the conversation to food. “I remember a lot of the food you made onOdyssey;that dinner was one of the best meals of my life.”
I blushed. “Thank you.”
“Tell us about your work experience. I’ve obviously seen your CV, but these guys haven’t.”
I told the team about attending culinary school in London and working my way through a few top restaurants. I’d had a lot of luck over the years, even working in a small three-Michelin-starred place in France. I glazed over these facts, but emphasized my time on yachts. I knew that was what really mattered; I was a chef who could work independently and with a variety of foods.
“I know Roy has notes on your preferences, but what cuisine or dishes do you particularly like?” I asked the table.
Edie made a face. “Anything but pub food. Please, no fish-and-chips or curry.”
“I spent some formative years in Singapore,” Dom said. “I like almost all Asian cuisines, but street noodles are the best.”
“Anything made by my nonna.” Gio grinned.
That left Cat, who groaned. “I like pizza.”
The table laughed. “So low-class, Cat,” Edie teased. “Just dial up the local pizzeria for delivery and Cat’s happy.”
“Ah, you’ve got to get off the boat for that one. Wood-fired pizza.” I sighed wistfully.
“Oh no.” Cat shook her head. “I like the greasy American-style pizza. I actually went to uni in Chicago, so we’re talking really greasy. And stuffed with meat.”
“Good for hangovers,” Gio chimed in.
Dom’s phone rang on his hip and he checked the number. “Excuse me.” He answered while walking away. “Diane?”
A collective groan went up around the table.
I looked from Cat’s wrinkled nose to Gio’s shaking head. “What? Who’s Diane?”
“Dom’s ex,” Cat told me. “They split up years ago, but he’s got two kids, and it’s always been a difficult thing for him.”
“And that”—Gio looked at me pointedly—“is why the rest of us are all firmly single.”
“That and your looks,” Edie teased, throwing a straw wrapper at Gio.
“I’m guessing you don’t have anyone back home, Marcella?” Cat asked.
“No, no one back home.”
The conversation moved on and I enjoyed getting to know my crewmates. Cat, with the exception of her pizza adoration, was a big foodie. We peppered the server with questions and compared notes on the food. She said that this year was her eighth season in the Mediterranean. She knew the ports well, and this was her fifth time in Tivat. The Adriatic Sea was getting to be a more popular destination for superyachts, and she claimed ritzy ports like Monaco and Nice were losing ground to the cheaper, trendier eastern ports.
