Arrabella
Arrabella waits for the elevator with Patrick under the watchful eyes of Zeus on his bed of clouds.
“He’s disturbing,” she says of the mural. “I don’t like the way he seems to be pointing his lightning at us.”
“It’s his eyes,” Patrick says. “Anyone with a guilty conscience is bound to feel he can see right into their dark, lying, transactional hearts.”
Her gaze flares to his.
He smiles.
But his words have knocked Arrabella off kilter. Is he implying he knows something? Fishing? Or is her guilt messing with her imagination? Her mind goes to the text she received in the room.
We need to meet. In person.
Got something big and juicy for you. Call me.
I’m on the ship.
It’s the “on the ship” part that really rattles her. She glances at the lights above the elevator. It’s crawling, stopping at each deck as newly embarked guests explore the ship and drift from bar to restaurant to the various decks for drinks and dinner.
“Oh,” she says, feigning casualness. “I just realized I forgot my phone in the room. I’ll run back and get it. Hold the elevator if it comes.”
“I’ll get it,” Patrick offers.
But Arrabella is already moving down the corridor. “No worries,” she calls over her shoulder. “I know exactly where it is.”
Once inside the Calliope suite, she removes her mobile from her purse. Her hands are jerky with nerves. Her heart beats fast as she places her call.
Three rings. No answer. Four. Still no answer. Anxiety nips at her. She glances at the door, imagining Patrick returning any second.
The line clicks. Her pulse stalls.
Silence.
“Hello?” she says.
Silence.
“Hello? Are you there?”
“I’m here.” Clipped voice. Deep. Accented.
Unease unfurls in her chest. “What—what are you doing on the ship? I didn’t know that—”
“Not over the phone. In person.”
Frustration cracks into her urgency. She glances at the door again. “Can you just tell me what you found?”
“Not on the phone.”
Fuck.
She closes her eyes, forces calm. “Where then?”
“Deck 14. The pool bar.”
Her stomach sinks. “I can’t do that,” she almost whispers. “I’m with Patrick, my fiancé. He’s coming up with me. No one can see you and me together. Our arrangement is personal, private, remember? That was part of the deal. That’s what I’m paying you for.”
