THE LONGEST YACHT CORRIDOR KNOWN TO MAN
ROARKE
The morning before the Cannes soft launch of WestWard Maritime’s luxury charter division is kind of perfect.
Clear skies.Calm seas.
Sunlight spilling over the marina like someone just polished the Côte d’Azur.
Everything’s ready.
Venue booked.Investors confirmed.Presentations triple-backed-up because Claire believes paranoia is a virtue.
Everything except the one thing I actually care about.
Mia.
She still isn’t back.
“Family emergency,” Claire said a few days ago, sliding my itinerary across the desk.And then, in the cruelest twist of fate, she arranged temporary childcare coverage.
Which turned out to be my ninety-two-year-old grandmother.
Grand-mère is currently in the salon attempting to french-braid Isla’s hair while scolding both my breakfast habits and my life choices.
“Café and croissants again?”she demands, fingers weaving expertly.“You eat like a tourist.Where are the eggs?The fresh bread?The fruit from the market?”
“When you were my age, you were running a hotel kitchen and terrorizing line cooks,” I remind her.
“Exactamente!I had passion.Purpose.You?Meetings.”
“BORING MEETINGS!”Captain Feathers caws from his perch.
“Vois?Even the bird knows,” Grand-mère says, smug.
I check my phone for the fifteenth time.Still nothing from Mia.
“Uncle Roarke,” Isla asks, keeping her head still, “when’s Mia coming back?Captain Feathers keeps asking for her.”
“I don’t know, sweetheart.”
“But she’s coming to the big party tomorrow, right?She promised to teach me how to curtsy for your important friends.”
My chest tightens.“I don’t think she’ll make it to the launch.”
Grand-mère freezes mid-braid.“What do you mean?”
“She’s…dealing with family matters in Nice.”
“Family matters,” she scoffs.“What could be more important than being here?”
And there it is—the question I’ve been ducking like a rookie sailor in a hailstorm.
Why would she stay here—with me—after the way I’ve been?
Hot.Cold.Back.Forth.
Close enough to touch.And far enough to keep her wondering.
