Cruise of Secrets

3.

Chapter 3: A Dance with the Devil

The next morning, I wake up with a headache, the remnants of last night’s wine swirling in my mind. I sit up in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling the heaviness of the moment from yesterday settle back into my chest. The whole “fake dating” thing with Prescott feels like a whirlwind, and I’m not sure if I’m caught in it or if I’ve willingly thrown myself in.

I glance at the clock—10:00 a.m. I’m still on this damn cruise for another two days, and I haven’t even processed how my life went from “cheerful holiday” to “revenge plot.”

I groan, tossing the covers off me, and I immediately reach for my phone. I half-expect to see messages from Ethan, but instead, there’s nothing. Nothing but an unread message from Maya, the girl he’s been seeing behind my back. I don’t know why, but a sense of nausea curls in my stomach when I tap on it.

Hey, Sydney. Are you and Ethan okay? I noticed he was acting weird last night. Let me know if you need anything, though. I’m here for you!

I roll my eyes. She knows. She has to know what he did. But there’s no point in responding. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that people like her don’t care. They just want to cover their tracks.

I push the phone aside and stand up, walking to the window. The view from my cabin is stunning: the vast ocean, the endless horizon, the way the sun hits the water just right. But it doesn’t make me feel better. I still feel angry. Still feel betrayed.

A knock on the door interrupts my thoughts. I freeze. Who the hell could be at my door?

“Sydney?” Prescott’s voice calls from the other side. “Are you awake?”

I don’t know why, but I feel a rush of heat to my face at the sound of his voice. I quickly pull myself together. I’ve been avoiding him all morning, even though I know we need to continue this charade.

“Yeah, I’m awake,” I call back, trying to sound as casual as possible.

He enters without waiting for an invitation, his confident presence filling the small cabin. His hair is tousled from sleep, and his eyes—those dark, knowing eyes—seem to be searching me already. It’s disconcerting, the way he always looks like he can see straight through me.

“You okay?” he asks, his tone softer than usual. “You didn’t respond to my message last night.”

I try to shake off the unease. “I was tired. Had a long night,” I say, brushing past him to grab a cup of coffee from the small counter.

He leans against the doorframe, watching me. “Is that so? You sure you’re not avoiding me?”

I freeze, my back to him, my fingers wrapped around the warm mug. “Avoiding you?” I repeat. “Why would I avoid you?”

He steps closer, his presence filling the space between us. “I don’t know. Maybe because this whole thing is starting to feel a little too real?”

I turn around to face him, swallowing the knot in my throat. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean…” He shrugs, his eyes not leaving mine. “We’re pretending to be in a relationship, Sydney. You and I both know it’s not just about revenge anymore.”

My heart skips a beat. For a moment, I almost forget to breathe. This is crazy. It’s just a game. Just an act. But why does it feel so much like something else?

I open my mouth to respond, but before I can, the door bursts open again, and my stomach drops when I see Ethan standing there, his eyes scanning the room, his expression unreadable.

“Ethan,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk,” he says simply, ignoring Prescott completely as he steps inside. “About last night.”

I can feel Prescott’s body stiffen beside me. I glance at him, but he just stands there, his arms crossed, his gaze unwavering. He’s not going to interfere—not yet, anyway.

“You’ve got nothing to talk about,” I say, my voice quieter than I mean it to be. “You made your choice, remember?”

Ethan sighs, running a hand through his messy hair. “Look, I know I screwed up, Sydney. But can we please just—”

“Can we please just what?” I interrupt, the anger I’ve been holding back flooding my voice. “Do you think this is some kind of joke? You cheated on me, Ethan. I saw it with my own eyes. So don’t stand here and act like you’re the one who needs closure.”

His face tightens, and for a brief moment, I see the hurt flicker in his eyes. But it’s gone almost instantly. “I know. I know. And I regret it. But can’t we just—”

“No!” I snap, cutting him off again. “I don’t want to talk to you. Not now. Not ever.”

For a long moment, there’s only silence between us, thick and heavy. I feel the tension in the room like a living, breathing thing.

Finally, Ethan takes a step back, his jaw tight. “Fine. But don’t expect me to just walk away and forget about it, Sydney. We were good together.”

“We were good,” I repeat, my heart aching at the memory of the times we shared. “But that’s over. It’s done.”

Without saying another word, he turns and walks out of the cabin, leaving the door swinging behind him.

The moment he’s gone, I feel like I can breathe again. But the silence between me and Prescott is deafening.

“Well, that was dramatic,” Prescott says, his voice breaking through the stillness.

I exhale slowly, letting the weight of the conversation sink in. “Yeah, it was. I don’t know why he thinks he can just waltz back into my life like nothing happened.”

Prescott takes a step closer, his gaze softening. “Because he’s an i***t. And idiots always think they can fix things with a few words. Don’t let him get to you.”

“I won’t,” I say, though I can feel the sting of his betrayal still fresh in my chest. “I just… I need to move on. And that means this thing with you has to work.”

I glance up at Prescott, his eyes already on me. There’s something in his gaze that makes my pulse quicken. He doesn’t say anything at first, just stands there, watching me with an intensity that makes me feel both uneasy and excited at the same time.

“I’ll make sure it works,” he says quietly, his voice low. “We’ve got two more days. And we’re going to make the most of them.”

The day passes in a blur. Prescott and I stick to our plan, making sure Ethan sees us together, laughing, holding hands, playing the part of the perfect couple. But as the evening draws closer, something shifts between Prescott and me. The playful touches, the small smiles… it feels less like an act and more like something real.

We’re sitting on the deck later that night, sipping cocktails, the cool sea breeze ruffling our hair. Prescott is telling me a story about his childhood, something about a misadventure with his brother involving a bike and a tree, and for a moment, I forget everything—the betrayal, the hurt, even the act.

“I had a huge crush on a girl in high school,” Prescott says, leaning back in his chair, his eyes half-lidded. “She was way out of my league, of course. But I didn’t care.”

“Did you ever tell her?” I ask, genuinely curious.

He shakes his head. “Nah. I figured she’d just laugh at me. But, you know, there’s a weird kind of freedom in not caring about what anyone thinks.”

I pause, studying him for a moment. There’s something vulnerable about him in that moment, something I didn’t expect. For a brief second, I wonder what he’s not telling me, but I push it away. This is not the time for that.

“You’re not what I expected,” I admit quietly. “You’re not like the guys I’ve known.”

He looks at me then, really looks at me, and for a moment, it feels like the world falls away.

“I’m not like anyone else, Sydney,” he says softly. “And maybe that’s a good thing.”