Eleven
Day four of the charter and I didn’t know where we were. Somewhere in Croatia still, but the view out the window was much the same.
Roy and I were plating up lunch service for the guests. Crew lunch was out on trays on the galley island and the kitchen was loud with staff.
Most guests willing to spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on a weeklong vacation saw us only as demure, nearly silent genies who granted their every wish. But in reality, once we stepped away and into the crew quarters, we were anything but quiet. The conversation always centered around the galley and mealtime; thus, I knew everything.
Since we were underway so often, Dom was up at the bridge deck most of the time. He was fairly isolated, working with the exterior crew to satisfy the guests, but also putti
