Chapter 105
“I’m a woman of integrity,” I say, placing a random card down like I’m doing something impressive.
Irma doesn’t even glance at it. She throws down her last card and leans her chin on her palm. “I win again. I’m bored now.”
Fantastic.
She eyes me like a cat sizing up a particularly slow mouse. “You know what’s worse than being bored, bärchen?”
I already don’t want to know. But I sigh. “What?”
“Being bored with tragic company. You can’t play cards. You suck at Monopoly. You thought chess was a fashion label. What were you doing as a kid? Playing catch with your common sense?”
I glare at her. “I was outside. Playing tag. Touching grass. You know being normal.”
–
Irma raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Well, I don’t care.”
My eye twitches.
She’s the one who asked!
I take a deep breath and try to zen my way out of the rising annoyance. If the gym wasn’t packed today, I would’ve left her hours ago with a polite wave and a sprint in the opposite
direction.
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Liam had gone to check it out early this morning, promising to save me a spot. By the time I finally dragged my sleepy self out of bed and made it down for breakfast, half the ship had the same idea.
That’s when I ran into Irma.
Or rather Irma ran into me.
She was in the middle of yelling at her boyfriend (poor guy looked like he wanted to crawl under the buffet table), something about how “real men don’t abandon their girlfriends for biceps,” when she spotted me across the room.
He vanished the second she turned away. Smart man.
Next thing I knew, I was pulled into a chair beside her and appointed Official Company of the Day. Apparently, I didn’t get a choice in the matter.
Now, here I am. Questioning all my life decisions.
Irma takes a sip of her mimosa like she’s doing me a favour by hanging out.
“How does your boyfriend survive you?” I ask, genuinely curious.
Irma freezes. Her eyes narrow into little slits. “Excuse me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Uh–oh.
Behind her, I spot a familiar silhouette–Céline, my sweet French angel – and nearly drop to my knees in gratitude. Salvation.
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I jump to my feet with zero shame and slap on the fakest smile known to mankind. “Oh no, I think my friend needs help with… um… something. Yeah. She’s struggling to breathe. Gotta run! Wishing you the best in life!”
“What?! Wait! We’re not done here!” Irma screeches, but I’m already power–walking like my life depends on it.
And in a way, it does.
Céline’s just outside the breakfast court, heading toward one of the little cruise shops. She’s got a digital camera hanging around her neck and is squinting at the settings like they personally offended her. She’s muttering under her breath in French, pressing buttons like she’s trying to deactivate a bomb.
“Céline!” I call, grinning so wide it hurts.
She jumps like she’s been tased. The camera slips right out of her hands but, thank God, the strap catches it mid–air. She gasps, clutches her heart, and lets out a dramatic sigh when she realises it’s safe.
Then she looks up at me with a tired little smile, brushing hair from her face like she’s in a shampoo commercial. It actually makes me groan inside.
“Emilia,” she breathes. “You scared me.”
I sigh like someone watching a romance movie. “Your hair is so perfect, it’s criminal. You run your hand through it and it just… flows. Like a heroine in a French film.”
She laughs and rolls her eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”
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“No, I’m being honest. My curls eat my fingers for breakfast.”
I loop my arm through hers and lean into her like we’ve been besties since birth. Then I peek at the camera screen she’s holding up — there’s a photo of the ocean, right before sunset, and it’s breathtaking.
–
“Is this yours?” I gasp. “Céline! You’re so talented. Like, actually. I’m mad. How are you good at photography and perfect-
looking?”
Her cheeks flush the softest pink. “Oh, stop. I’m not that good.”
“Lies. If I posted that photo, people would think I’m on a private yacht with a billionaire and three gold–dipped swans.”
She snorts and nudges me with her shoulder. “You’re ridiculous.”
I’m about to say something equally ridiculous when – bam the doors behind us swing open and chaos comes screeching.
“Emilia? Emilia!” Irma’s voice slices through the air like a bad ringtone. “Where do you think you’re going? We are not done, and you didn’t even finish your meal!”
Next to me, Céline freezes like she’s just heard a ghost. I sigh, already dreading what’s coming, and turn around.
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