Chapter One
Valerie Lang was disciplined in most areas of her life. Food, however, was not one of those areas. Which made life aboardThe Valentine—a sleek, three-deck, one-hundred-and-fifteen-foot displacement yacht currently docked in the turquoise waters of Porto Cervo—deeply inconvenient. She had to cut straight through the galley to reach her cabin. Most evenings, there was the heady smell of garlic confit and reduction sauces. In the mornings, it was a yeasty haze of proofing dough and roasted espresso. This time, however, there was a platter of canapés sitting unguarded on the veined Carrara marble island.
Valerie’s mouth literally watered.
She hovered a finger over the miniature puff pastry squares topped with caramelized onion and goat cheese. Then she looked over the cucumber rounds piped with dill crème fraîche before she decided a skewer of prawns wrapped in thin strips of Serrano ham would do. Nope. She was wrong. Those golden risotto-stuffed balls were calling her name. Valerie was just about to pop one into her mouth when a voice suddenly said, “Don’t you dare eat that.”
Valerie spotted Jess out of the corner of her eye.
She was dressed in chef whites with just a peek of a lavender silk scarf sticking through her collar. Her curls were a bright shade of red, which she had pulled back into a claw clip. Most of them, at least. The rest spilled over her temples.
On any other day, Valerie would’ve popped the ball into her mouth, winked, and then made a run for the engine room. Buttoday wasn’t any other day. The air was thick with pre-charter nerves that always preceded a Vale family arrival.
Fine, she thought, setting it down. She wasn’t that hungry anyway.
She turned to face Jess and leaned her hip against the counter. “Is it true Elisabet and Dixon aren’t coming this weekend? Luke said something about them being stuck in Valencia.”
“Yes,” Jess said, sliding back behind the island.
Sometimes Valerie found that speaking to Jess felt like pulling a stubborn tooth. She never gave more than she needed to, which meant Valerie had to get all her gossip from Maggie and Martha, the stewardesses, and once they started talking, the problem was to get them to stop.
“So it’s just the kids then?” Valerie asked.
Though you could hardly call them kids. Adrienne Vale was thirty-five and a third-generation heiress to the Vale Hotel empire that stretched from Tokyo to Zurich. Kyle wasn’t much younger. In the eighteen months Valerie had worked as chief engineer aboardThe Valentine, she’d mostly been assigned to charters involving Elisabet, Dixon, and their highest-profile guests. When Adrienne or Kyle used the yacht for casual weekends with friends, Valerie was usually off rotation, with a relief engineer brought on in her place. Adrienne Vale was someone Valerie heard about constantly from Maggie and Martha, but until today, they had never actually crossed paths. As far as Valerie could tell, Adrienne had very little to do with the business and had instead spent the better part of her life curating a following on social media. Apparently, she had over fifteen million followers. Kyle, on the other hand, seemed to follow in his father’s footsteps. Though his feet seemed to be heading in other directions. Martha had mentioned a failed sneaker startup.
“And two of their friends,” Jess said, picking up a cloth to wipe the already squeaky-clean countertops. She kept the kitchen in pristine condition.
“Do you know who they are?”
Jess buffed a stray fingerprint off the espresso machine’s chrome finish. “Apparently they’re some or other influencers,” she said. “Luke seems to think we’ll know who they are.”
Doubtful. Valerie didn’t have social media. She’d deleted her Instagram account, her Twitter account, and even Facebook two years ago after being perpetually accosted byOutlast Herfans who accused her of nonchalantly quitting that final challenge. There were only so many comments about how she’d quit, how close she’d been, and how she’d thrown away a sure win before she started fantasizing about launching her phone into the nearest body of water. And frankly, the break from social media was quite refreshing.
“Well, I hope they behave themselves,” Valerie said, leaning forward until her elbows rested on the countertop. “I don’t want anything exploding, flooding, or short-circuiting this weekend.”
As the chief engineer aboardThe Valentine, Valerie’s days mostly included monitoring the twin MTU engines and ensuring the stabilizers kept the guests’ martinis from sloshing. But it also meant that more often than not she had to fix blocked toilets and every now and then help the guests with their personal items. Last time Elisabet and Dixon were on board, Valerie had spent a good portion of the day repairing Dixon’s MacBook after he’d knocked a full glass of vintage Krug on the keyboard.
“You sound like an old curmudgeon,” Jess said.
Valerie rolled her eyes. She tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear, but alas, since cutting it into a blunt bob, they never remained tucked. “I’m just not in the mood for wild guests. You know what’s going to happen, don’t you? They’ll end up drunk by lunch, someone will try to launch the jet skis aftermidnight and who knows, maybe Adrienne’s tennis bracelet will end up flushed down the toilet.”
“I doubt Adrienne wears a tennis bracelet.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Maybe they’ll surprise us,” Jess said, though she was smiling like she was joking.
“And maybe mermaids exist.”
“They do exist,” Luke said, walking into the kitchen. He looked nothing like the captain of a superyacht and everything like a man who had just rolled out of a hammock. His linen shirt was unbuttoned just a bit too far, his tan was deep honey gold, and his blonde hair was beginning to silver at the ears. “I’ve seen them with my own eyes. Usually around the second bottle of tequila.” Then he laughed at his own joke and pointed a thumb toward the sliding doors. “Guests arriving in five. The car just pulled onto the pier. They want us to greet them out on deck. Please see to it that you’re both presentable.”
Valerie was always presentable. Yet she smoothed her navy-blue polo shirt and caught her reflection in the refrigerator’s stainless-steel doors. Apart from the faint coat of mascara on her lashes, she didn’t have any makeup on. She didn’t need to. There was no one she wanted to impress.
A minute later, Valerie was lined up beside Maggie and Martha.
Every time the Vales boarded, she felt a strange twinge of pride, as if it were her yacht, as if she’d built it with her own two hands and was about to hand it over like a gift. It was no surprise that she felt this way.The Valentinehad been her home for the last eighteen months and was probably the most glamorous boat she’d ever stepped foot on. There was so much creamy leather and gleaming mahogany. Gold-leaf accents traced the ceiling coves, and the custom hand-tufted silk rugs made walking feel more like floating.
Five bedrooms took up the lower deck, each with an en-suite and decorated with navy blue velvets, crisp white linens, and art of frothy waves on the walls.
