Page 80 of A Perfect Disaster

“Don’t exaggerate? I almost smashed my face against the railing trying to get out of the water in the dark so we wouldn’t get caught.”

“I warned you three times not to run on the wet floor,” she reminds me, setting the tablet on her bare thighs for a moment.

“And I whispered a bunch of things in your ear that you decided to ignore so you could keep giving me a hard time,” I reply with a cheeky wink.

Her lips curve a little more, breaking through her icy facade. God, what a serious and addictive problem this woman is for my sanity. I sit up slowly, and Helen fixes her gaze on me immediately, as if assessing the extent of the damage from our nighttime battle.

“Come on, put your homework aside and come here for a moment,” I ask, patting the spot next to me.

When she lies down beside me, the entire cabin seems to shrink until it becomes the most intimate place on the planet. I brush a strand of hair from her face, and as I look at her so closely, I realize that if this woman misses her chance at a promotion, I won’t forgive myself.

“Really… I need to review the report for the next meeting with Julianne,” she says, though her voice lacks conviction as she gives me a tender, lingering kiss on my bare shoulder before reaching back for the tablet.

I don’t know if I’m the one who made her feel so pressured by the inspection, but Helen remains obsessed with proving she’s perfect for the job. And maybe because I love her so much, or because I’m a sentimental idiot, I decide in that very moment what I’m going to do.

“What’s wrong?” she asks suddenly, interrupting my thoughts when she notices I’ve fallen silent, staring at her.

“Nothing important.”

“I know you too well. What are you scheming in that crazy little head of yours?” she insists, setting the screen aside to give me her full attention.

“I was just thinking that you’re incredibly attractive when you’re in work mode. It really turns me on.”

She stares at me, trying to keep a straight face, and then wrinkles her nose.

“That’s not professional or sexy.”

“Not for you, because you’re so uptight. For me, it’s pure fantasy,” I say.

Helen snorts, grabs a pillow, and smacks me in the face with it. I burst out laughing, pounce on her, and for a few precious minutes, we play around under the sheets, keeping the outside world and that damn competition locked out of our sanctuary.

· · ·

Breakfast in the crew mess hall is humiliating and embarrassing. And no wonder. We spent the entire night kissing and stirring up storms in the corners of the ship, hiding from the officers. But Gonzalo, who has a radar for gossip, already knows everything. Only a blind person wouldn’t notice the glow on our faces. He’s waiting for us, sitting at one of the tables in the back, relishing every second of our nervousness.

“Good morning, lovebirds,” he greets us as soon as he sees us appear with our trays, flashing a mocking smile.

Helen nearly drops her bowl of cereal in shock. I, drawing on all my experience as an entertainer, sit down across from him with as much dignity and composure as I can muster.

“I’m going to throw you to the sharks as soon as we round the coast of Sardinia,” I threaten, jabbing my fork into a sausage. “No, look, I think I’ll do it right now if you use that tone again.”

“Oops, death threats before the first cup of coffee. What’s up, are you still riding that adrenaline high?” he replies, completely immune to my killer stare.

Helen sits down next to me, completely stiff, avoiding looking directly at Gonzalo. A huge tactical error on her part.

“How was your night? Did you sleep well in your respective… beds?” Gonzalo asks with a hint of irony.

“Shut the hell up, Gonzalo,” Helen snaps at him immediately.

Gonzalo’s eyes widen, delighted by the reaction.

“My goodness, we’re in for a treat. By the way, girls, a technical question… how was the water in the bow hot tub? Because I’ve been told the steam last night was something else.”

Helen chokes on her sip of coffee and starts coughing.

“What…?” I dare to ask.

“Maika, please, you work on a cruise ship, not at MI6 headquarters. Here, secrets fly faster than the sliced pineapples at the poolside buffet,” he explains, resting his elbows on the table. “The ship’s walls are paper-thin.”