Page 29 of A Perfect Disaster

I no longer need to be everywhere at once. I can simply sit down, enjoy something cold, and stop calculating escape routes for a few minutes.

“By the way,” he continues, “when we stop in Marseille, I’ll take you to an amazing restaurant I know. You’ll definitely want to go back.”

“Great, because if I don’t take my mind off things for a bit, I’ll end up going crazy,” I admit with a weary laugh.

“That’s the spirit. Delicious food, a good rest, a quiet drink, and maybe a conversation where the word ‘protocol’ doesn’t come up even once.”

“I won’t promise the impossible,” I reply before flashing a smile.

“And then we could head to the beach. That way we can get a little tan.”

I look him up and down with a skeptical expression.

“Are you serious? Because you should really try not to get sunburned like a shrimp,” I warn him.

“You have so little faith in me,” he protests with a laugh.

“Pure and simple realism.”

We toast again, and this time I let the smile surface without holding back at all. The conversation naturally winds down, and Gonzalo finishes his drink, gives me a gentle tap on the shoulder, and stands up.

“Take a break, Miss Protocol. You deserve it.”

“You too,” I reply affectionately.

“And don’t do any more work tonight.”

“I don’t take orders from you,” I retort sarcastically.

“I know. That’s why I give them anyway. Good night.”

I watch him walk away, and when the door closes behind him, the bar returns to an almost excessive quiet. I finish my cocktail and set the empty glass on the bar. I could go to my cabin now. I should, in fact. Tomorrow will be another demanding day, with the passengers already settled in and the ship approaching Marseille. But I don’t want to shut myself away between four walls. I need fresh air. I need to connect with the sea.

I make my way up to the main deck through the service corridors, which are completely deserted at this hour. The Marine IV’s night lighting bathes the bulkheads in a soft, golden glow.

As I cross the passageway to the promenade deck, the Mediterranean breeze hits me head-on, its cool intensity clearing my head in an instant. I close my eyes for a few moments and let my senses be swept away by the salty scent of the sea, the constant hum of the engines, the lapping of the water against the hull, and the dark immensity stretching out before me.

“I love moments like this.”

The sea stretches out vast, under a cloudless sky where the moon traces a shimmering line across the water’s surface. I enjoy that respite for a minute, until the reality of the ship decides to place the greatest risk of this contract right in my path.

“Don’t fuck with me.”

Maika is at the stern, leaning on the railing, her gaze fixed on the ship’s wake. The wind from the ship’s movement tousles her loose hair, blowing it freely across her face. Now she seems calm, tired, and, above all, more authentic than ever.

My body reacts even before my mind can process the scene. This twist of fate—though I don’t know what I was expecting while on a ship, to be honest—causes my heart to race treacherously, and the memory of her closeness in the hallway returns like a sudden flash of heat.

I freeze where I am.

She hasn’t seen me yet.

Or so I think.

All I know for sure is that, suddenly, the night no longer feels peaceful at all. And that I should turn back the way I came. But as soon as I turn around, her voice cuts through the distance between us.

“Would you like to spend some time with me?”

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