The official excuse for the gathering?
A “Thank You” fête for the sponsors, investors, and crew who made the WestWard launch a smash hit.
The real reason?
Connor likes to throw the kind of parties people name-drop years later.
And the launch itself?
Flawless.
The Carlton Hotel rooftop sparkling with fairy lights.The champagne towers.The Mediterranean framed in every photo.
Roarke spoke like he’d been born with a mic in his hand.
Charming.Commanding.
Completely in control.
And yes, he sailed.
Not a full regatta, but a short, high-speed showcase around the Cannes harbor, all caught by drone footage that went viral in yachting circles within hours.
Even I, watching from the VIP deck with Isla and Mémé Ada, could feel it…
He’d reclaimed something that day.And so did I.
“So this is the famous nanny who tamed theWest Windterror,” Alex Drake says, approaching with his wife Mackenzie Drake and his third glass of wine.“Though I hear your title’s been updated?”
“Officially, Director of Family Operations,” I reply, taking the air-kiss Mackenzie offers.“Unofficially, the woman keeping a certain billionaire from being murdered by a parakeet.”
“That tracks.And how is the little princess and her flying pea?”Mackenzie asks, laughing."Ariana mentioned she's developed strong opinions about yacht interior design."
"Isla's with Mémé Ada for the evening.They're having a grandmother-granddaughter sleepover at her villa in Cannes.Something involving homemade pasta and French fairy tales.Mémé Ada insisted this party was 'for the grown-ups' and wouldn't take no for an answer."
"Smart woman," Grayson Dixon adds, joining our group with his wife Roz."Adult parties need adult conversations.Speaking of which, where’s this pet bird I’ve heard so much about?”
"Captain Feathers is also enjoying the evening with Mémé Ada.Last I heard, he was teaching her some colorful maritime expressions he picked up from the crew."
"ARTISTIC VISION!ARTISTIC VISION!"Roz mimics perfectly, making us all burst into laughter.
"How did you—" I start, then sigh."Let me guess.He's become famous in yachting circles?"
"Connor's been sharing videos," Alex grins."That bird's got better comedic timing than most stand-up comedians."
The party is in full swing—guests spilling from the aft deck dance floor to the quieter cocktail tables near the rail.I’m half-listening to Alex and Mackenzie talk about Portofino when Roarke excuses himself to greet a couple threading their way through the crowd.
They’re hard to miss.
She’s striking, with sun-kissed auburn hair twisted up in an effortless knot and a bright coral dress.He’s tall, broad-shouldered, the kind of man who could pass for an outdoorsy catalog model if you dressed him in plaid and handed him a canoe paddle.
“Mia, this is Luke Sterling and Sage Winters,” Roarke says, the warmth in his tone making it clear they’ve met before.“Old friends of Connor’s.”
Sage offers a smile that’s both gracious and conspiratorial.“We heard all about your Cannes debut.Impressive work.I do suspect keeping a certain Mr.West in line might be your real job.”
Luke chuckles.“And if you see a goat wandering the decks later tonight, that’s ours.Her name’s Buttercup.She’s…uh…a free spirit.”
Roarke arches a brow.“You brought the goat onto a yacht?”
