THAT EVENING:

The Bellboy/Handyman/Whatever, Who-gives-a-fuck Miles

They're gathered in the bar side of the dining room, spread out across cosy chairs and settees. I feel the heat of their looks as they glance one by one in our direction when we enter. To hell with what they think. Ryan stands up as soon as our eyes meet, eager to rush over and ask me the question left half unsaid at lunch. I don't want to deal with it yet. I need a drink first. I head for the bar and what's-his-face-behind it, the guy I see everywhere on board. Something about him prickles at me like a forgotten memory, so much so that I feel like Anastasia from that movie—long ago, la la la, things I almost remember ...

I chalk it up to, 'He must have one of those faces', the ones that look familiar even if you've never met them. His badge reads 'Miles' and even that causes long-forgotten dust motes to stir in my mind. How many Miles have I met in my life?

"A screwdriver, please, Miles." I slide onto a stool as gracefully as a five-foot-three person can slide onto a stool made for giants.

Miles places the glass he is drying with a dishcloth away, tucks the cloth into his server apron, and sets about making my drink. As he leans over the fridge beneath the drinks display at the back, I'm hit with a wonderful view of his toned ass.

Bhawani clears her throat next to me and perches on the second stool, far easier than I could, what with being graced with the taller gene. "I'll have a lemon lime bitters."

"You're on a millionaire's yacht for the last time—probably—enjoy yourself for once." I drone. "She'll take an apple martini instead."

"Di, I—"

"Viva la Vida!"

I hear no more protest from her and it eases my sense of discomfort. Bhawani is my wingman tonight, despite our little hiccup earlier. She needs all the liquid courage she can get. Her hands are shaking, though that could be from the fact that we walked here, taking the scenic, chilly outdoor route. The breeze has a bite to it tonight.

Miles slides our drinks across the narrow bar. My sister reaches for hers desperately and takes a ginger sip—so much for lemon, lime bitters, my ass. After gulping rather loud, she slides off the stool and heads for one of the corner tables, mumbling, "If I'm drinking tonight, I need a sturdier seat than a stool."

I turn my attention back to Miles, who I catch looking away, busying himself with unloading the small dishwasher beneath the bar. Was he watching me? A delightful thrill courses through my chest and I raise my glass to my lips. "So?" I sip a well-made screwdriver. "How many hats do you wear, Miles? I see you everywhere. The Jack of All Trades."

The guy pauses, dishtowel in hand, drying out the schooner in his hand. From behind his bushy dark brows, stormy pair of eyes meets mine. His face sports trendy bread that's well kept. He looks like one of those dapper barbers in the city; neat hair, neat beard, pressed chinos, adorable black suspender strapped over a crisp shirt. A curly mane sits on his head, inviting me to see if they bounce.

A mischievous smile plays on his lips. "I do what they need."

"This is the best screw I've had in years!" I take another sip of my drink while looking at him, realising I'm toying with the guy, right in front of everyone, in front of Ryan. Do I care though? No, not really.

A smile tugs at his luscious lips again. "I can screw better than that." His voice is so low only I can hear him, "Would you like a second?"

My face splits into a smile. After tomorrow, we'll be back in Sydney. I won't see Miles again, and I need a reason to break up with Ryan. If I'm seen flirting with this kid, maybe Ryan will take a hint. "Why not? What have I got to lose?" I slide the near-empty glass towards him, anticipating a much better screw this time around. I watch him pull a fresh highball glass from the fridge, then pour orange juice into the cocktail shaker. "This is new." I lean a little closer, almost propping my tits on the counter. "Never seen someone screw like that."

Miles returns to the counter facing me with a couple more liquors in hand. "I call it The Mile Screw."

I'm mesmerised as this young man confidently pours and mixes a concoction that is indeed a mile away from the traditional screw. He places the finished drink, complete with a wedge of orange and some mint in front of me. I gesture to the decoration around the room, "I love what you've done with the place," and take a slow, sensual sip. Maybe I'm overdoing it. I hear Bhawani clear her throat behind me, as subtle as a doornail in the head.

"It was mostly your assistant. I only helped a little." He smiles.

I watch him return to the task at hand, emptying the glassware from the dishwasher. "Do I know you from somewhere? You look familiar." I bite my lip, hoping to open up a proper conversation with this old trick of mine. Making men think you know them or want to know them works every time.

Miles shakes his head. "I don't think so, Miss Le Fontaine."

Miss? He flatters me. I take a flirty sip from my drink, making heavy eye contact, and I'm about to say, 'Come to my stateroom after midnight,' when I see a figure sliding between me and the empty stool next to me.

"I'll take a dirty martini, shaken, not stirred," Marvin says, not that he'll ever measure up to iconic Bond. I feel a squeeze on my thigh, too close to my crotch to be a coincidence. The way he's standing blocks others' view, and I nearly gasp at the roughness of the touch, like he's trying to claim his territory. The audacity of the guy! I should have kneed him in the balls when I had the chance.

I still might!

I spin away from him, forcing his hand to slide off me. I take my drink with me. As I land on my feet, I'm careful to keep the stool between us. I don't need this moron to undo what little atonement I achieved this afternoon.

The maid rings the dinner bell then.

"Take your places, everyone. The food won't eat itself." I address the room before passing my empty glass over to Miles.

He looks relieved to say the least. Shit. Was I coming on too strong? I flash him a small smile, and ask for his best cocktail. Then I leave him and Marvin behind, to take my place at the head of the table. Let the games begin ...

Or not.

Don Nguyen, my lawyer, the one I mentioned earlier, stands between me and the table. I want to roll my eyes—people today—but then I remember I asked him to grab me for a quick chat before tonight's party, and I haven't exactly been easy to find today.

"Don!" I pause as my well-suited lawyer smiles at me in his own way, which is to say he doesn't smile. Rarely.

He holds a leather folder, with his company logo monogramed on it, to his chest. "While others settles in and starts their aperitif, might we have that word?"

So formal, isn't he? That's Don for you. I sigh. I don't really want any more 'word' but we are at that pointy end of this trip and I still have some business I need taken care of. That's where Don comes in.

I nod to the corner table for two.

He looks at the door. Outside? "More private."

"Fine." Regret floods me as I tug the thin shawl tighter around my shoulder and follow him out. A kaftan paired with Capri pants, flat sandals, and enough gold bangles to entice a pirate to board the ship and rob us, or drown if I get thrown overboard, isn't exactly storm-suitable attire.

At the door, I pause. "Please, start on the drinks without us. We won't be long," so no nosy body come stickybeaking where their beaks don't belong.

"Where are you two going?" Marvin chimes, looking like he's trying to smile through a sour candy. "A quickie before dinner, aye?"

"Not everyone has your appetite, Mr Garcia." Don's ridiculously admonishing tone puts Marvin in his place, so much so that his haughty shoulders slouches a fraction in response. Did Don know something? Did Don witness Marvin's desperate attempt to get in my pants earlier? Yikes, that thought unsettles me. What must he think of me? He's one of Charlie's oldest friends.

Once we are outside, in the windy evening, Don hands me the folder. "Your updated Will. You wanted to sight it before dinner tonight."

"So it's done? Everything I asked for?" I shiver in the wind, but despite it, there's a warm balloon in my chest, about to burst. This is it. It's done. I can finally say goodbye to Devi Dhungel, the author. I can finally be me. Charlie's Devi.

He nods, glancing at the door.

"Where do I sign?" I hold a hand out for a pen. Don always carries a pen in his lapel pocket.

"You're not going to read it?"

I stare at the man. "I've read all the drafts a thousand times, Don. Unless you've gone and added something new, I think we're good. This is the final version, right?"

He nods stiffly.

"No need to stand on ceremony. Charlie's not here, Don." I chuckle, hugging the folder to my chest as a windshield. "But if it makes you feel better, I can read it one more time."

"It's up to you. If you're fine to sign it ..." He shrugs. "Once it's done, I'll leave you to your affairs." Again, he pointedly looks at the door as if he'd like to say something but stops short.

"Stop being such a baby, Don." I fish the pen out of his lapel pocket, perch the document on the last page against the wall, and get on with it. I've read this a million times, I truly don't need to read it once more. Knowing Don, I'm sure he's done exactly what I asked him to do, the forever trustworthy friend and lawyer Charlie relied on.

"There." I place the folder against his sturdy chest. "Now I can sleep in peace tonight. Regardless of what happens in there tonight, I've done my bit."

Don grabs the folder and his pen. The smile he gives me is hesitant and I want to ask 'what', but I don't.

"I'll have the Captain to store it in his safe until we disembark. I'll be back."

"Can't wait!" I would have loved to stay and watch him walk away, put the wind is snapping. I pull in a sharp, hitching breath, catch sight of a faintly flickering shoreline in the distance, like tiny, faint stars in the vast, dark sky. Mystery Cove, Parry had said. I wonder how many people live there, in that quiet part of the coast, away from all the hullaballoo of the cities. Perhaps, after I travel to my heart's content, with Bhawani in tow, hopefully, we can settle in a place like that. Find some peace. Farm honey, maybe? Or sheep? Comb each other's hair? Do whatever country folks do.

"You coming in or what?" Bhawani's voice startles me. "Where's Don?"

"He's gone to have a quick word with the Captain," I say. "He'll be back."

My sister steps out and shuts the dining-room door. Before she can say what I know she's itching to say, I nudge my chin towards the faint pearls of light in the distant shore. It looks close enough to swim even though I know it's impossible far. That shore is entirely out of reach, that's for sure. Swimming isn't my forte, or Bhav's.

"Who do you think lives there?"

Bhawani shivers beside me and I offer her one half my shawl. "People."

People. I like that. Succinct. I wrap an arm around her shoulder and squeeze. "Maybe one day, we can be people too?"

That's when she turns to me. "Are you sure you want to do this? It'll cause a shit storm in there."

"But that's the plan, sis, to cause a shit storm." I smile.

She chews her bottom lip, a sign that she's running out of courage. I take her hand and pull her towards the door with me, towards the warmth of the room. "We need another drink."

"I'll have the apple martini. It was nice."

A/N: Well, Devi's evening is about to get quite entertaining, to say the least.

What do you make of the whole signing of the will before the dinner business?

And now that you've met all the players on the field, Again, who is your favourite suspect for the crime? I'm taking guesses! 😉

Next up: The actual dinner itself leading up to the you-know-what.