Page 104 of A Perfect Disaster

I throw myself at my grandmother and give her a loud kiss on the cheek.

“You should go get her,” she whispers in my ear as I kneel beside her armchair and burrow into her arms like I did when I was little. “And don’t come back without making it very clear to her how much you love her.”

I hug her tighter, feeling her warmth.

“I love you.”

“And I love you, my sunshine.”

· · ·

The day the crew reboards at the port of Ibiza, naturally, turns into chaos for me. Not literally, though almost. We have to be on board at two o’clock sharp, and it seems that—once again—I’ve miscalculated the time terribly. The taxi I’d ordered decides not to show up. The second one gets stuck in a traffic jam of epic proportions, and to top it all off, a wheel on my giant suitcase—where I’m carrying half my wardrobe for the cruise’s themed nights—breaks right in the middle of the sidewalk, and I end up dragging it along as if I were carrying a corpse inside.

“Come on, please, step on it—the ship’s going to leave without me!” I yell at the driver, who isn’t to blame for any of this.

“Miss, there’s a traffic jam because of the tour buses,” he replies with the patience of a saint.

“Well, do something!” I exclaim, almost pulling my hair out.

The man looks at me in the rearview mirror as if he’s just confirmed that I’m completely crazy.

He’s right.

When I finally arrive at the port terminal, the Marine IV is gleaming in the Balearic sun with its white decks, about to swallow my future if I don’t get a move on. There are exactly seven minutes left before they close the crew access. I pay the taxi driver in a hurry, grab my stuff, and dash out.

I run through the passenger terminal as if all my past mistakes were chasing me—and there are many of them, and they’re in excellent physical shape.

My hair is a bird’s nest from the rush and the harbor wind, and my T-shirt is stuck to my back.

“Move out of the way, please!” I shout, dodging a couple of retired Germans in hats.

Great. I’m late, out of breath, and in love, and to top it all off, making a scene.

Maika Aranda in all her glory.

A security guard at the terminal looks at me in alarm as I head down the gangway.

“Miss, passengers enter through Deck 5…”

“I’m the entertainment coordinator! Unfortunately for the ship’s security!”

I practically crawl up the gangway. My lopsided suitcase gets caught on the safety rails of the ramp. I curse it with a couple of words that would make a dockworker blush. I manage to yank it free and burst onto the deck, into the technical access area, like a hurricane with my lip gloss completely melted.

And, of course, I crash into someone with the force of an ocean liner.

“Ouch!”

The suitcases fall with a horrible crash to the floor. My bag spills out, and I look up, my lungs burning, ready to apologize.

Helen is standing right next to the security scanner, impeccable in her uniform, the gold stripes gleaming, the walkie-talkie clipped to her belt and a control tablet in her hand where she logs the crew’s ID cards. Her stern, iron-willed expression is a sight to behold; she tries not to lose her composure in the face of the chaotic scene I’ve created.

For an endless second, we say nothing. The beep of the card machine seems to be the only sound on board. The crew around us freezes. Gonzalo is at the crew counter a few meters away; Nico and Lara, from my entertainment team, peek their heads around the main aisle. And Lara opens her mouth as if she were witnessing the best musical theater premiere—and for free, no less.

“Maika,” says Helen. “Can you tell me what…?”

“Yeah, I’m a mess,” I confirm.

Her eyes scan my messy hair, the dark circles under my eyes, the suitcases scattered on the floor, and my wrinkled T-shirt. Then she glances at her wristwatch with professional severity.