“It was unexpected,” I agree.
“Do you need anything right away?” Fiona asks, gesturing to a chair next to her on the deck.
I gratefully sink into the white wicker. “Probably. But I’m kind of frazzled. I really didn’t think she’d offer me the job right then and there. I don’t have a lot with me.”
“Viv’s like that,” Fiona says, waving it off. “But our stew can get you whatever you need.”
“Stew?”
“Yeah, we have a couple. Mika’s the chief stew, but you won’t see her much since we’re not technically at sea. She’s in charge of housekeeping and client services. When we’re ‘docked’ like this, the stews mostly take care of cleaning and provisions. They make the boat look nice. Decorate. All that stuff.”
“Does the crew live onboard?” I ask.
Fiona shakes her head, examining a matte black nail. “Not while we’re anchored like this. There are crew quarters beneath the lower level, but Mika said they’re ‘creepy.’”
“Creepy?”
Fiona looks up from a nail, shoots me a weak smile. “Forget I said that. Not creepy. Cramped. Crew quarters aren’t always the comfiest. It’s easier for them to commute.”
I haven’t seen the crew quarters yet, but I’m pretty sure most yachts are designed for the comfort of their passengers, not their employees. It’s probably confined and dingy.
“So, Piper, she’s the sixth influencer, right?”
“Content creator,” Fiona corrects me. I want to tell her they’re the same damn thing, but I bite my tongue. Fiona eyes me up and down. “And yeah. Piper does fashion. What’s your deal? Books, right?”
I do not want to talk about books right now. I haven’t wanted to talk about books for a while, in fact. Ever since Sage announcedA Song of Scales and Salt.
I pivot. “Yeah. It’s pretty cool. But first I have to ask you something important.”
“Oh?”
“Can I please use the fucking bathroom? I had a giant iced coffee two hours ago and haven’t had a chance to pee since.”
Fiona lets out a surprised roar of laughter. “Right on, babe. Come on, there’s a day head on this level you can use.”
* * *
As the toilet flushes, I sigh with relief, enjoying a few seconds of blissful alone time before I have to go back out there and perform again.
I examine myself in the mirror—I look tired. And overheated. I need to reapply my makeup too. Sighing, I lean forward to try to fix my blotted mascara with my fingers.
There’s a little pop, and the bathroom goes dark.
The sudden absence of light unbalances me, and I wheel away from the mirror, heart racing. I blunder in the small space, slapping the wall, trying to remember where the light switch is. I finally find it, flicking it rapidly until the overhead lights burst back on.
The beautiful, silver-accented bathroom comes into sharp relief, as does my reflection in the mirror.
Over my shoulder is a swollen face, blue and misshapen, framed by tangled wet hair.
I yelp, whipping around, stumbling backward so that I crash into the sink, knocking over the bottles of hand cream and liquid soap. My chest heaves as I look around wildly.
There’s no one there.
Slowly, I turn around, gazing into the mirror again. My expression is stark, and my skin is paler than normal, but the only things reflected behind me are the hand towels and the porcelain top of the toilet.
“It was nothing,” I croak, shaking my head, fixing my pixie cut. “I’m exhausted. I need sleep. That’s all.”
Remembering the meditation account I followed over the summer, I take a few ragged breaths, holding my inhales at the top for two seconds before releasing. After a few more rounds of deep breathing, my body settles.
