Page 18 of A Perfect Disaster

Night falls over the Marine IV like a dark blue sheet embroidered with scattered lights. From the main deck, the harbor is transformed into another world. It’s as if the sea were whispering in your ear.

First thing tomorrow morning, the boarding ramps will open, the passengers will come aboard, and this steel giant will no longer belong to us alone. But tonight it is still ours. And to prove it, we have the dress rehearsal for the welcome gala with the nighttime lighting and the support crew.

“Nico, if you greet people again like you’re selling life insurance, I’m reassigning you straight to the kids’ club,” I warn him over the intercom, though without losing my smile.

I don’t want to be like Helen and intimidate the staff. Far from it. The ship needs life, not a court-martial.

Nico clutches his chest with his usual Shakespearean drama. Beside him, Lara lets out a hearty laugh as she adjusts the clip on her wireless microphone. The robotic lights sweep across the promenade deck, illuminating the tables set up for the passengers; the central stage, the outdoor dance floor, and the side entrances are bathed in flickering gold and violet hues that come and go, playing with the shadows.

This moment is my weakness. That suspended instant before the cruise begins, brimming with infinite possibilities. And, of course, to top it all off, there’s Helen.

She observes the scene from a distance, leaning on the railing of the upper deck. Her eyes follow my team’s movements down to the last detail, as if her brain were a supercomputer capable of calculating every possible collision before it happens.

I realize she isn’t looking for a mistake to tear us apart in the report. She’s looking for ways to protect us. And that subtle difference—even though she tries to hide it behind her icy facade—is what brings an involuntary smile to my face. “You’d better stop staring at that perfectly shaped ass in those uniform pants,” I scold myself mentally. I take a deep breath, tuck my cheekiness away in my pockets, and head toward her.

“If you keep drilling through the deck with that stare, you’re going to make the wood blush,” I remark as soon as I stop a couple of steps away from her.

She doesn’t flinch, but her shoulders tense a millimeter beneath her white officer’s shirt.

“You know I can’t afford any improvisations at an event of this scale. Tomorrow we’ll have three thousand people up here thirsty for alcohol and a party.”

“Give protocol a break, Müller. No matter how hard you try to align the vectors… the sea always has its own plans.”

At that moment, finally, she looks up and fixes me with those eyes of hers.

“I hope you’re not saying that in your capacity as coordinator,” she blurts out.

“I’m saying it as someone who knows that humans aren’t chess pieces.”

Her mouth moves barely a millimeter, almost curving into a smile. Almost.

I note it down in my notebook as a small victory, ridiculous and private, but a victory nonetheless.

“I’ve reviewed your distribution proposal,” she says, consulting her work tablet. “In fact, I’ve spent half my shift going over it.” “Is it just me, or is there a trace of shyness in her voice?” “I think the central entrance to the atrium is going to get overwhelmed as soon as the welcome photos start flashing. We need to secure that area.”

“Don’t worry, boss. We’ve already got it mapped out.”

She frowns, annoyed.

“You’re taking this too lightly.”

“Because I know the crowd.” “Yes, I said ‘crowd,’ and I love how Helen’s mouth drops open in surprise.” “People board excitedly, with their phones charged and the absurd idea that if they don’t capture the first thirty seconds of the voyage, the entire ship will vanish as if by magic. It’s inevitable.”

“Then we should cordon off that flank and redirect the flow,” she suggests, looking for the most geometric solution.

“Bad idea.”

Her left eyebrow arches in that damn characteristic—and sexy—way.

“Why, based on your vast experience?” she challenges me.

“Because if you put up a red rope, you turn that spot into forbidden fruit. People will see the barrier, stop to look, and think they’re missing out on something better. That’s how we are, Helen, like bees to honey,” I tell her, shrugging. “On the other hand, if you leave the space open and place two people strategically here and here…” I slide my finger across the screen of her tablet, being very careful not to brush against her fingers. “I wouldn’t want the security officer to melt from spontaneous combustion.” “We’ll guide them without them realizing it toward the port side, where the visual spectacle is already underway. Zero delays, natural flow, and you’ve got them immersed in the travel experience from the very first minute.”

Helen looks down at the path of my finger and then studies the map.

“Do you mean placing two entertainers?”

“Better yet: one from entertainment and one from reception. The receptionist will handle the typical questions like ‘Where’s my cabin?’ or ‘What time does the buffet open?’ and mine will charm them with the evening’s program.”