Page 7 of A Perfect Disaster

“If that’s the case, we’ll have to review every single decision that was made, step by step,” added another superior in a definitive tone. “We can’t allow mistakes like this. Not with a ship full of thousands of people.”

I remained silent, slumped in my seat, leaving behind the one person I should never have abandoned—the one I admired and with whom I had found a real connection.

· · ·

“What an idiot,” I muttered to myself angrily.

I shouldn’t have kept quiet. I never should have. Or at least, she deserved an explanation for why I did it. And now Helen believes exactly what anyone in her situation would rightly think: that I used her and that, instead of telling the truth, I let it all fall on her shoulders and disappeared.

I walk toward my cabin, swipe my card through the reader, and the door opens. It’s small, tidy, and temporary, like all the cabins I’ve had over the years.

I sit down for a moment. Just one, because if I stay longer than necessary within these walls, I might start overthinking things, and thinking has never been my strong suit. Work, on the other hand, is something I’m good at. It’s always been my refuge.

It has been ever since I had to start making a living to provide my grandmother with a decent life.

So… I can do this, I’m sure. I can work with Helen like two adults and professionals. We can coordinate, respect each other, and ignore the past. Ignore the present. Ignore what just happened in that hallway and how my body reacted when I saw her.

“Right. Sure.”

I collapse onto the bed and cover my face with my hands, letting out a long, shaky sigh. Okay. No. It’s not going to be easy at all. Because Helen is still angry, but not just about that. Because of the way she looked at me, as if I were a mistake she has no intention of repeating. And I can’t blame her. In her place, I’d probably feel the same way.

What I can do is be professional down to the last detail and show her that she can trust me now. Even if it’s too late. Even if it might not do any good. Even if she doesn’t want to listen to me or give me a chance to explain.

I sit up and stand decisively. I have to check some schedules, the equipment, the supplies, the welcome lists, the rehearsals, and the sound… Everything I always do. Everything that keeps me moving and stops me from thinking too much about how that security uniform hugs her hips in a way that shouldn’t affect me after all this time, or how her gaze still has the power to throw me off balance.

I shake my head.

No. I’m not going to think about that. I’m not going to remember that night on deck, or how we argued for half an hour about protocols only to end up fucking in the dark. I’m not going to remember how I felt in her hands, let alone what her skin tasted like. I’m not going to remember all the kisses we shared. Or how the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of us every time we looked at each other.

Okay, okay. I know what you’re thinking.

Yes. It’s going to be complicated. Much more than I want to admit.

Because my body has reacted to Helen as if no time had passed, as if that meeting had never happened, as if there were no painful silences, no mistakes, and no accumulated guilt. And that’s the worst part of all. I can convince my mind of many things; I can tell myself I’m a professional and that this is just work, but my body refuses to listen.

I step out of the cabin with the folder under my arm and force myself to take several deep breaths. Now it’s time to work, even though deep down I know it will be a constant battle.

And although working with Helen won’t be easy—because she’s still angry with me, and she looks at me as if I were chaos personified—I also know that when I saw her a few minutes ago, standing tall with her folder in hand and that gaze capable of piercing steel, I didn’t just feel guilt. I felt something that never went away and that, it seems, is still as alive as it was on the very first day.

3

Helen

The meeting begins late in the afternoon, just as scheduled. That, at least, reassures me a little. Just a little.

Technical Room Two is completely devoid of glamour. It’s a rectangular room, lit by harsh white lights. In the center stands a long table with a gray surface, and at the back, a screen where I’ve already projected the main blueprint of the Marine IV. In front of me, everyone pretends to be awake, though some already have exhaustion hanging from their necks.

My reports are perfectly organized, the blueprints color-coded, the protocols printed out, and I have a detailed list of points I plan to go over without deviating a single millimeter. In security, I’ve learned that improvisation often masquerades as creativity until someone trips, screams, or ends up in the infirmary.

Maika walks in three minutes early. Exactly three minutes early. She’s wearing the company uniform, her hair pulled back in a high ponytail, and a notebook stuffed with loose papers. “Loose papers at a coordination meeting. Great.” Immediately, I feel my blood pressure start drafting its resignation letter.

“Good afternoon—or rather, good evening—everyone,” she greets us.

Several respond enthusiastically. “Traitors.”

Maika sits right across from me. Because, of course, if the universe can choose between making my life easier or placing Maika Aranda at the perfect distance to watch her lips as she speaks, it chooses the second option and laughs heartily.

“All right,” I say, taking control before anyone turns this into a casual welcome chat. “Let’s go over the evacuation routes and crowd control for the evening events the cruise ship has planned.”