Stefanos hurries back. “We’ll send a distress call. Don’t worry, we have life jackets and a lifeboat if we need it.” He sets to work with his mayday. Soon, he’s talking with someone in rapid Greek on the radio. Fleetingly, I think Miles wouldn’t like this one bit. Good thing he’s back in Kerkyra. Doubtless he’d scold me for the whole Paxos docking thing, too, once people figure out it was the Greek royals’ yacht in the port.
It’s subtle at first. Like I’m imagining it, that the horizon is very slightly off-kilter. And then, it’s more pronounced and hard to deny. That, in fact, the yacht is starting to list at an angle.
“Stay right there,” Stefanos reminds me as he finishes with his call. Once more, he heads down the stairs before he starts in again with more Greek swearing. He rushes back up moments later. “The hull’s got to be breached more badly than I first thought.”
“Wait. What?” I’m not an anxious person by nature, but if there ever was a time to worry, it’s now.
“The yacht’s sinking.”
Stefanos looks around, flustered. He puts on his winter coat, and I follow suit. With a couple of efficient movements, he gets us life jackets out of a concealed compartment, and we put them on. It’s hard to draw in a deep breath. My hands aren’t as steady as usual.
“The more water she takes on, the faster she’ll sink,” Stefanos says grimly. “Let’s get to the deck.”
The horizon is definitely tilted now. Or we’re tilted. It all feels very wrong. And we make our way outside.
“Careful, the deck will be more slippery from the rain,” Stefanos warns.
The water is choppy with the wind, which isn’t reassuring as the wind gusts and rain falls sideways. It’s freezing outside as we make our way to the bow.
“Hang on to the rail,” Stefanos instructs me.
Not needing to be told twice, I hang.
“The coast guard is on their way. And hopefully someone closer.” He scans the horizon, squinting. His jaw is set.
“I feel kind of useless. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Unless you can magically repair the yacht, I don’t think so.” Stefanos presses his lips together.
“Unfortunately, I don’t have those sorts of powers.”
“Shame,” he says curtly.
“So… is this a good time to go to the lifeboat?” I try to keep my tone light. “I think we’ll need to catch a new ride soon.”
He frowns, glancing at the stern, which appears to be steadily dipping beneath the water as our yacht continues to increase its listing angle. “It’s underwater.”
“Oh.” My eyes widen. “Now what? Let’s not do the whole captain going down with the ship thing.”
“Let’s not.” He scans the horizon.
Shivering, I grip the ice-cold metal rail and do the same. At least I’m well braced here and mostly dry for the moment, except for my face and hands, which aren’t enjoying the winter Ionian wind.
“I’m sorry,” I offer tentatively. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have distracted you.”
“It’s not your fault. I’m the captain. It’s mine.”
It’s a very inopportune moment to fantasize about Stefanos in take-charge captain mode, which is definitely hot. Except he’s worried, and I’m worried too, and I did distract him with my royal confessional and the near-kiss—no matter what he says.
Even with the rough waters, the waters are clear enough to see the shadows of the reef beside us. It’s beautiful. I hope it’s not the last thing we see.
It takes approximately forever to spot a boat. In reality, it’s only minutes because we’re not that far offshore, but I’ve visibly aged in that time. The yacht’s nearly halfway submerged, and we’re both too nervous to say much at this point.
“What if there’s a diesel spill on a reef and I’ve caused an environmental catastrophe?” Stefanos looks ashen as he grips the rail as the yacht’s new angle increases in a way I can’t say I care for.
“They’ll send help.” My stomach twists. I try to sound as reassuring as I can under the circumstances. Circumstances that we could have avoided if I’d left Stefanos alone to do his captain duties. “Right?”
“Help’s on the way,” Stefanos confirms, watching the distant boat approach. His mouth tightens.
