Full Steam Ahead (Sea Swept #1) (9 page)

Ah. Pretend, he means. God, I’m tired of pretending. I’m so exhausted, I don’t know how much longer I can keep it up.

“No,” I say.

Hunter shrugs. “See you around, then.” He walks away.

I stare across the pool, at all the partygoers in gowns and suits. They’re smiling, laughing, dancing, drinking. Everything starts to blur together. I glance at the half-full glass of champagne in my hands. Before I know what I’m doing, I finish it. My head swims a little, and I realize that on an empty stomach, I probably shouldn’t have had that second drink.
 

“Hey,” I hear, and turn to see Jace coming towards me. He looks breathtaking in his suit, and I can’t handle this right now.

“Don’t even start with me,” I snap before I can think better of it. “Just … don’t.” Whirling, I flee around the pool and into the ship.
 

Wandering in a daze, I somehow find myself in the casino. No one notices me when I walk in; their eyes are locked on their slot machines or poker tables, fingers clutching chips and cards. I head unsteadily into a maze of slot machines. The dim lighting makes the bright panels of the machines glow, luring spendy tourist moths to their flames, but no one but me is in this section.

There’s a quarter lying on the patterned carpet. I pick it up and sit down at a machine.

Not knowing what else to do, I place my quarter into the slot and pull the lever. Who knows? I could win big. I could win enough to save my family. Or at least enough to pay for a few drinks. The panels rotate with a quiet whir. I watch them spin, almost too afraid to hope, but I can’t help but sit up straight when they slow and fall into place.
 

I don’t win. Sagging against my chair, I stare at the row of icons: cherry, orange, clover. Not even close. And I’m out of quarters now. It’s not even midnight on New Year’s Eve, but I want to go to bed. Screw my grandmother’s superstitions. Standing, I head for the entrance of the slot machine maze, but stop short at the sight of a couple pressed up against one of the machines that form this section’s entrance. They’re making out, hot and heavy, and I’ll have to disturb them if I want to squeeze past. But there’s no other way out of here. Steeling myself, I’m about to murmur
pardon me
when I notice the girl’s manicured fingernails gliding through the guy’s sandy curls. I take a step back.

It’s Kelsey. With Hunter.
 

My heart lurches. Why can’t I seem to escape them? The irony is that he must have taken her here, away from the party, in an attempt to “keep out of my way.” And now I’m trapped. I would rather die than walk by them.
 

Recoiling into the corner, I swiftly march around the slot machines, hoping to find another way out, but all I find is a door that says ‘Crew Only.’ Feeling faint, I fall into a chair by a broken slot machine. I’ll have to wait Hunter and Kelsey out, but thinking about them kissing a dozen steps away starts to eat at my sanity. I can hear him murmuring, hear her breathy sighs.

Hastily I stand, then grab the back of the chair to stay upright. My stomach holds only champagne, and if I don’t get out of here soon I’m going to throw it up. I’m about to try squeezing into the two-inch space between slot machines when the ‘Crew Only’ door opens and a girl about my age slips out, carrying a clipboard. She spots me and my wild eyes, and pauses.

“You need some help?” she asks a little warily. She’s pretty, with straight blond hair and a ballet dancer’s body. By the looks of her white tucked-in blouse and black skirt, she must be starting or ending her shift.
 

“I have to get out of here,” I plead.
 

The girl throws me a sympathetic look, as if I’ve been hitting the bar too hard. “The exit is that way if you—

“I can’t!” I wave at the end of the row. “My boyfriend broke up with me a few weeks ago and now he’s making out with his new girlfriend right there. I can’t walk past them. Please, it’s been a crappy night and I need somewhere quiet …” I’m babbling. “Sorry, this isn’t your problem. I only thought …”
 

The girl steps back toward the door, and I think she must be running away from me, but she gestures for me to follow her.
 

“Come with me. There’s another way out,” she says, and pushes open the door.
 

“Really?”
 

“Sure. Just be quiet, okay? I’m not supposed to let guests back here.”
 

I murmur a fervent thank-you and follow her into a narrow hallway. We wind our way down some stairs, through another stretch of hallway, and finally come outside in a moonlit courtyard, complete with dozens of potted flowers—graceful pink orchids, red hibiscus, and even a couple orange trees that perfume the air with their citrusy tang. The space is bordered on one side by the near-vertical wall of the ship, and on the other by the railing. The glittering dark sea seems to stretch out for miles in front of me. A painter’s paradise.

“This place is gorgeous,” I breathe, putting a hand on the wall to steady myself. My stomach has calmed, but that second glass of champagne is hitting my bloodstream, and I feel a little woozy.

“It’s my favorite place on the ship.” Smiling, the girl heads to the railing.
 

“Is this for VIPs or something?” I say, joining her. The top railing feels cool against my hands, but the night is warm, warmer than last night. We’re farther south, I suppose. Even the breeze that ruffles my hair and the hem of my gown is pleasant. Comforting.
 

“Yeah, it’s used for private group dinners or cocktail hours for certain guests. It’s closed to passengers right now since they want everyone at the banquet. Or gambling,” she adds as an afterthought. “Anyway, you can hang out here if you want for a little while. No one should bother you.” She turns toward the door.

“Can you stay a minute?” I know I sound pathetic, but I can’t help it.
 

She chews on her bottom lip. I wonder where she works on the ship. One of the shops? As a waitress?

“Sure,” she finally says. “For a few minutes.”

“I’m Georgia, by the way.”

She points at the gold nametag on her blouse, which I haven’t noticed until now. “Elise. I’m with Hospitality.” She leans forward against the rails. “I’m sorry about your boyfriend. He sounds like a real class act. Are you guys with one of the college groups?”
 

“Yeah. We only broke up a few weeks ago. I should have canceled the trip, honestly. I can’t afford it.” I hadn’t meant to say that, especially not to a stranger. This is why I shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach.

“Really? But you’re wearing a Versace,” Elise says. I glance at her in surprise that she’d know designers so well, but she only raises a brow. On the outside, I realize, I probably look like any other spoiled sorority girl.

“It’s a knockoff,” I confess. My mom is good at finding them, then hiring a seamstress to sew on the right label. My mother has drummed it into me not to talk about our problems, but … what would be the harm? This girl is a stranger. She doesn’t know me; I could tell her anything. Everything. No, I think, mentally recoiling. Not everything. But
something
.

 
“My family’s beyond broke,” I say, and it all starts tumbling out. How my parents refuse to stop trying to keep up with the New Orleans’ Joneses. How we’re behind on our mortgage again, and how my mom pinned all her hopes on me marrying Hunter. How I haven’t told them about the break-up, and that I’m barely skating by with my job and taking out loans up to my eyeballs. I don’t say anything about the emails, though. That would be revealing too much.
 

When I’m done, Elise grimaces. “Sometimes, I’m glad I don’t have parents. Yours sound like assholes.”

“Excuse me?” They’re not perfect, but they’re my parents. And did she say she didn’t have any?

“Georgia, I don’t know you, and I don’t know them. But a lot of my job is waiting on rich, entitled jerks, making sure the VIPs have a good trip. They always think they deserve to sit at the Captain’s Table for dinner, even though someone else reserved it weeks ago. And sometimes they throw a fit when they realize that money can’t solve everything.”

I’m not sure where she’s going with this, because in my case, money would solve a lot. But I just listen as Elise goes on.

“My point is that they make themselves unhappy over something that either doesn’t matter, or is entirely their fault.”

Her words sink in and I should be mad, because she’s essentially saying that I dug my own hole, but I’m buzzed, and can’t help but smile. “Are you always this blunt?”

Elise smiles back a little wryly. “Not with the VIPs. I’d lose my job. But you seem like you need a way out.”

“And you have one?”

“
You
have one. Find your way out, Georgia. Take it from me—no one else will do it for you. And stop trying to take on your parents’ problems too. If they lose their house, that’s not on you.” She checks her watch. “Look, I’d stay, but if I’m gone much longer my boss will strangle me. Can I go get a couple friends for you to talk to?”

I shake my head. I’m not sure about all of what she’s said, so I only respond to the last part. “I don’t want my friends to know I’m broken.”

Elise cocks her head. “Broke, or broken?”

I’d meant to say the former, but … “Both, I guess.” But it’s not her problem, and I don’t want her to get in trouble for helping me, so I paste on my Cantwell smile. “I’m actually feeling a lot better. You sure it’s okay if I hang out here for a while on my own?”

“Sure. That gate over there will take you back to the promenade, okay?”

That’s what the ship calls the indoor carpeted area that stretches along the center of the ship and holds the shops, casino and cafes. And various bars, of course. I nod.

 
“Thanks for listening,” I say.

Elise hesitates, then slips across the garden and out the door. I turn my attention back to the ocean and the inky, star-filled sky. Closing my eyes, I lean my head forward into the breeze.
 

I’m not sure how much time passes, but eventually the realization sinks into me that I’m dressed in a floor-length evening gown and clutching onto the railing of a ship, just like Kate Winslet did in
Titanic
. The scene where she tried to kill herself. I’m not suicidal, but standing here with the ocean spread below me, I can understand her impulse. Down there, problems don’t matter. They don’t exist. The lapping of the waves against the hull is soft and hypnotic, like a song with no words. I wish I could swim down into those waves until I’m lost in the ocean. I’d be free out there.

The water seems almost close enough to touch. Some of the spray, flying high into the air, looks right beyond the reach of my fingertips. I lean over the rail and stretch my arm down, but feel nothing. So I stretch my arm out a little more. My head swims, but I’m determined to feel a drop.

I reach out. Just a little farther …

Chapter 9

Jace

She’s running away again. Standing by the pool, I watch Georgia flee from me, and though part of me enjoys the sight, it’s only because of how good her butt looks in that dress. The rest of me is pretty damned annoyed.

Georgia had seemed so close to saying something real in the cabin earlier, to opening a door in those walls of hers, but then she slammed the door, both literally and figuratively. When I heard the shower start, I’d left to meet the others for dinner.

Andy had talked us all into pre-dinner shots at the piano bar, so we’d stopped there first. I’d spent a fruitless fifteen minutes trying to convince my Kappa brothers to come on the ruins hike excursion with me tomorrow. Once Hunter pointed out that all the girls and their itty bitty bikinis were going to be at the Beach Party excursion, however, I had to accept that I’d be exploring the Mayan ruins solo.

I’d almost thought Georgia would skip the fancy dinner entirely, but then she’d arrived with Yasmin. Georgia, in her elegant dress and her hair smoothed up away from her gorgeous face, made my whole body tighten. Her dress, high-necked and ice blue, was very prim, very Lady Cantwell … except for a racy thigh-high slit that revealed a mesmerizing flash of pale skin when she walked.

But she’d ignored me, and I’d told myself to ignore her too. A girl like her, no matter what crap she was secretly dealing with, would never choose a guy like me.
 

Then came Pete’s proposal to Chloe. From across the pool I’d noticed Georgia’s expression freeze when she realized what was happening, and her fingers clutched her champagne flute like a lifeline. She looked so shattered. But she didn’t cry, because Georgia would pretend she was okay even if she had a spear through her stomach. Which is sort of how she seemed.

Not knowing why the proposal bothered her made me crazy. I tried to pretend I didn’t care, but for whatever reason, I did. I’d gotten the idea to invite her to come with me to the ruins tomorrow, as a distraction from whatever was going on with her. After Hunter walked away I thought I’d have a chance to at least offer the invitation, but … apparently not.

Whatever. I can’t really imagine the prim goddess fleeing me in her ice blue dress traipsing around some piles of old stone anyway. I guess I’ll be hiking the ruins on my own after all.

That’s fine with me, though. After college I’ll be backpacking around Europe alone anyway, so this is a chance to get started.
 

Georgia disappears inside the ship without so much as a backward glance, and I feel my mouth twist into a scowl. I guess only guys like Hunter, with wallets deeper than the ocean, are worth Georgia’s time when she’s sober—they were chatting for ten minutes, but she couldn’t get away from
me
fast enough. It annoys me even though I know it shouldn’t; it’s not like I want to date her anyway. Maybe spend a night naked on the sheets with her the way she thinks I do with any hot girl who crosses my path, but I definitely don’t want to get attached to someone who looks down her nose at guys like me.

Forget her, I tell myself. I’m here to party, to unwind. To set foot in another country for the first time in my life—the beginning of my travels. I’m certainly not here to babysit a girl who seems bent on starving herself right into a hospital visit.