CHAPTER FIVE: The Woman Outside My Door
1047 Words
“I guess I look like one,” I replied with a smile, Emma and Maya would be proud of.
I looked at her again, this time from my lens.
Designer dress.
Perfect makeup.
Perfect posture.
Perfect scowl.
Not my problem.
Her kind appears like a typical princess but in reality could be a snake.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke. I wonder what was going on in her mind.
The Mediterranean breeze drifted through the open balcony doors behind me, teasing my feet.
Somewhere outside, water lapped softly against the yacht. It was going to be a cool, beautiful night.
The woman broke the silence first.
"You're younger than I expected."
Well, that was rude.
I folded my arms.
"And you're blonder than I expected."
Her eyes narrowed.
Mine smiled, internally.
The smile disappeared when she stepped forward and extended her hand.
"Vanessa Laurent." She had a perfect name too.
I shook it.
Her grip was firm, confident even. The kind of handshake that expected to win.
"Aria West."
"I know."
Of course, she did. The yacht probably knew my blood type by now.
Vanessa released my hand and glanced inside my suite.
A strange expression crossed her face.
It was brief, almost too quick to catch. Then it vanished.
"Interesting."
That was my favorite word, but hearing it come from her sardonic mouth made me cringe.
"What is?"
"Nothing."
Definitely something.
Before I could ask, her attention shifted over my shoulder.
Toward the hallway.
Toward the suite directly opposite mine.
The door remained closed.
Dark.
Silent.
Something flickered across her face.
Disappointment. Jealousy.
It lasted less than a second.
Then she smiled again, and somehow that felt worse.
"Well," she said lightly. "I'll let you settle in."
I nodded. "Appreciate it."
She took a few steps down the corridor.
Then suddenly stopped, turned and looked directly at me.
"Just a little advice."
Uh-oh.
Her smile widened.
"The men who live in worlds like this don't belong to women like us."
Then she walked away.
My eyebrows climbed toward my hairline.
What. The hell. Was that?
I stared after her until she disappeared around the corner and I closed my door.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
Because I suddenly had questions.
Many questions.
Starting with:
Who exactly was Vanessa Laurent?
And ending with:
What did she mean by women like us?
—
Twenty minutes later, I still hadn't unpacked.
Mostly because I was too busy replaying the conversation. The more I thought about it, the stranger it became.
Vanessa hadn't introduced herself as crew.
Or family, or business associate.
Which meant...
A knock interrupted my thoughts.
Three sharp raps.
I frowned. Again?
Crossing the room, I pulled open the door.
A crew member stood outside. A young man with dark hair and a pleasant expression.
This time the smile actually reached his eyes.
"Good evening, Ms. West."
"Please tell me you're not here to threaten me."
His eyebrows shot up, then he laughed. He actually laughed. The sound surprised me but kept me at ease.
"Not tonight."
"Good."
"I'm Matteo."
He adjusted the tray balanced in one hand.
Food. Actual food.
My stomach immediately rumbled, remembering it existed.
"Dinner service."
I stepped aside. "You may be my favorite person aboard already."
His grin widened. "Most guests say that after dessert."
The aroma hit me the moment he entered.
Fresh bread.
Roasted vegetables.
Something involving garlic.
I could have cried. Airline food should legally qualify as a human rights violation.
Matteo set everything on the dining table.
Then hesitated, almost like he was debating something.
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Depends."
His smile returned. "Fair."
I leaned against a chair. "What is it?"
He rubbed the back of his neck and suddenly he looked younger, less professional, more human.
"Are you really a journalist?"
The question caught me off guard. "Last time I checked."
His eyes brightened. "I told them."
"Told who?"
"The crew."
I blinked. "The crew is discussing me?"
His expression immediately changed to guilt.
Oops.
"I wasn't supposed to say that."
I laughed. "Fantastic."
"They're just curious."
"About?"
"You," he pointed out.
Of course.
Wonderful.
Just what every introvert wanted. An audience.
"I promise we're normal."
The fact that he felt the need to say that suggested otherwise.
Then something occurred to me. "How long have you worked here?"
"Three years."
Interesting.
"Then maybe you can answer a question."
His smile immediately vanished.
That answered a different question. Because Matteo already knew which question.
"Mr. Moretti?"
Bingo.
He sighed. "Everyone asks about him."
"That's not an answer."
"No."
"It isn't."
His mouth twitched, like he was trying not to smile.
For the first time, I noticed something.
The loyalty. The crew genuinely liked Lucas.
Not respected, liked. There was a difference. A big one. People respected power. They didn't always like it.
"Will I meet him tonight?"
Matteo glanced toward the corridor. Toward the suite opposite mine and then back at me.
That was the same suite Miss Perfect had stared in hatred at.
Ohhkayy, I think I get it— that could be the All-Glorious Suite of Mr Moretti.
Amusements danced briefly across his face. "Probably."
Probably? What kind of answer was that?
Before I could ask another question, he checked his watch. "Enjoy your dinner, Ms. West."
Then he escaped. Dude literally escaped. As if staying another minute would get him into trouble.
I looked at the meal.
Then at the suite opposite mine.
Then back at the meal.
The meal won.
For now.
—
As midnight approached and sleep swore to isolate me, I found myself standing at the balcony, staring at the sea.
The yacht was quiet.
Most lights had gone dark.
Only a few remained.
The stars above the Mediterranean seemed brighter than those over New York. Closer somehow.
I rested my forearms against the railing, breathing in salt and night air.
Then I heard it, a door opening.
Directly behind me, across the corridor—opposite my suite.
Slowly, I turned.
The opposite door had opened.
A tall figure stepped inside, one hand was wrapped around a phone, the other loosened the knot of a dark tie.
For a moment, he didn't notice me.
Then he looked up.
And our eyes met.
Lucas Moretti had finally arrived.
- Writer
