Page 61 of The Second Chance in the Mediterranean
Roy chuckled at the counter opposite me. “Warm and fuzzy, that one, but she’s got your back.”
Two minutes later the door opened again and this time it was Cat who stepped into the galley. “Half past, Marce. Let’s do a walk-through so you can answer a few questions and then I can leave you in peace.” I ditched my apron, traded my jacket in for a clean one, and followed Cat up the stairs.
The main deck had been completely transformed. Potted plants were scattered throughout, with uplighting and drapery that tastefully hid the backbones of the temporary structures. Waitstaff in smart uniforms scuttled here and there. Will, in a bow tie and vest, was shaking cocktails, and his assistant, who I’d never seen before but was similarly dressed, poured champagne into tulip glasses.
We passed around the bar into the atrium. I came to a sudden stop; Seb was passing in the opposite direction. He was dressed in a tux, with an earpiece and a name badge. His hair was swept back and styled, his beard neatly trimmed.
He grinned at me and adjusted his sleeve. “Hey, Marce.”
“Hi.” Cat continued on without me and I heard her talking to someone in the dining room. I looked Seb up and down. “You clean up nice.”
“Thanks. Working usher-slash-security today, making sure all the drunk partygoers get their photos up at the helm and don’t accidentally press buttons they shouldn’t be touching.”
“You’ll be up on the bridge deck, then?”
He nodded. “All night. I suspect you’ll be equally busy downstairs tonight, eh?” He leaned in closer. “Who do you think is going to get off first tonight?”
My stomach fluttered. “I think we’ll both be exhausted.”
Seb leaned away, tucking his hands into his pockets. “We may be exhausted tonight, but we all have tomorrow off, and there’s no place I’d rather wake up than next to you.”
Heat crept up my body, and I eyed the door nervously, hoping Cat was occupied enough not to overhear.
A glint in his eye, Seb leaned in again. “Naked, sleepy morning sex sounds perfect after a hard day’s work.”
“Hush.” I pushed him gently away. “Let’s just play it by ear. There’s a lot going on, and I really need to get back downstairs.”
“All right.” He glanced around and, finding us still alone, leaned down and kissed my cheek. “Good luck tonight.”
Then he and his tuxedoed glory were gone.
* * *
The evening was a blur,Roy and I a flurry of activity. The stews came and went, gossiping and gasping over guest antics, though this was a fairly tame event and we didn’t have anyone throwing up overboard or otherwise creating drama.
“The security guys have had to block nonstop. People think they can just get dressed up and waltz on board any boat,” I overheard Bok say.
Roy chimed in without looking up from the dish he was plating. “The sous chef onLady Elmiratold me the rejects are trying to get on their boat instead. They—and some other boats down the dock—have pulled up their gangways to discourage crashers.”
The oven door slammed closed behind me as I pulled a tray of puff pastry Wellington bites out. “How is it going upstairs?”
“Good,” Bok assured me. “Natasha has a very pleasant, giggly buzz.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“I know,” she said. “I didn’t realize she had that setting, but yes, it’s true.”
Roy was arranging plates on Bok’s tray when the radio crackled in our ears. “Um, Cat,” Xavier interrupted, “we’ve got a situation upstairs with the dessert display. Better get Marcella, too.”
There was a tiny pause in activity in the room, and Roy and I exchanged a concerned glance. I switched my radio on. “Marcella here, on my way.”
Walking quickly up the crew stairs and toward the bow of the boat, Cat fell into step beside me. When we rounded the corner, we were met with the security team shooing guests aft, away from the shouting match on deck.
“You just can’t accept that I won.” Alex stood on the deck, towering over a petite waif of a young woman. He was shrugging off his suit, which hung oddly off his shoulders. As one arm came out, the back of the jacket twisted, revealing a smashed collection of creams and fondant crusted onto the fabric.
“It was an accident!” the young woman across from him shrieked. “And I could stand it just fine if you’d stopped rubbing your win in my face. Sailing wasmything and you’ve got your spindly, grubby hands all over it.”
The dessert table had been overturned, and several staff members were already at work cleaning up around the fighting couple. I spun to face Cat, but she was gone.
