Chapter 1 — All Aboard

Emma Taylor

The Celestia gleamed beneath the late-morning sun, her pristine white hull a striking contrast against the deep blue of the Mediterranean Sea. From her station on the Grand Atrium’s upper balcony, Emma Taylor scanned the bustling scene below. Passengers trickled in through the glistening marble entrance, their oohs and ahhs blending with the soft notes of the grand piano tucked into a corner. The chandelier above cast golden light across the polished floors, where attentive crew members directed the flow of new arrivals with practiced smiles. The faint scent of salt and sea air drifted through the open doors, hinting at the Mediterranean voyage ahead.

Emma’s sharp eye caught everything: the misplaced floral arrangement near the concierge desk, the slightly uneven bow on a welcome gift basket carried by an attendant, the faint smudge on one of the glass railings. A purse-lipped frown followed each observation, and she quickly typed notes into the tablet tucked against her arm. She prided herself on maintaining the Celestia’s reputation as the epitome of maritime luxury, and she wasn’t about to let the smallest detail escape her watch.

Her fingers brushed against the pendant chain around her neck where her father’s silver pocket watch rested. The weight of it felt grounding, a tactile reminder that precision mattered, that order was necessary—even if the watch’s cracked face hinted at an imperfection she tried to ignore.

“Relax, Emma. The ship’s not going to sink because a bow is crooked,” Sienna Hart quipped as she appeared beside her, a colorful bundle of itineraries in hand. Dressed in a cheerful yellow pantsuit and bold statement earrings, Sienna exuded effortless charm, her bright green eyes twinkling with mischief. Her perfume, a delicate combination of citrus and jasmine, drifted between them like a light-hearted challenge.

Emma barely spared her a glance. “It’s about setting the right tone. Guests notice these things—especially VIPs.”

Sienna leaned on the railing, following Emma’s gaze to a cluster of well-dressed passengers near the concierge. “VIPs like Mr. Laurent?” Her voice dropped conspiratorially.

Emma’s hazel eyes flicked toward the tall, silver-haired man flanked by assistants. Charles Laurent exuded wealth and authority, his perfectly tailored suit and sharp gaze commanding attention. His movements were precise, almost predatory, as he gestured to a staff member with a subtle flick of his hand. The staff member nodded quickly, his posture shrinking slightly, as though Laurent’s presence carried an unspoken weight.

“Yes,” Emma responded curtly. “Exactly like Mr. Laurent. Which is why everything must be perfect.”

Sienna rolled her eyes but smiled. “Perfection is overrated. Guests are here to relax, you know.” Then, in a lower voice, she added, “He’s watching you, by the way.”

Emma stiffened. Sure enough, Laurent’s sharp gaze flitted briefly in her direction before returning to his assistant’s murmured report. Her pulse quickened—not out of nerves, but irritation. The last thing she needed was scrutiny from someone like him.

“Go easy on yourself,” Sienna said, her tone softening. “You’ve got this.”

Before Emma could reply, her earpiece crackled to life. “Ms. Taylor, there’s an issue with the catering setup for the gala tonight,” a staff member’s voice came through, slightly tinny but urgent.

Emma sighed, a knot forming in her chest. Of course, there was an issue. There was always an issue. “I’ll handle it,” she said, already moving toward the service elevator. “Sienna, keep an eye on the Atrium.”

“Will do, boss,” Sienna called after her, her teasing tone lightening Emma’s otherwise brisk retreat.

As Emma made her way to the Culinary Studio, the weight of the watch against her chest seemed heavier. The memory of her father’s steady presence flickered in her mind, a reminder of what precision had cost him—and what it had taught her. The hum of the engines vibrated faintly through the soles of her sensible heels, the rhythm oddly calming. She exhaled. This was her domain, her responsibility. She couldn’t afford to falter.

The Studio was a hive of activity when Emma arrived, the clatter of pots and pans mixing with the hum of conversation as chefs and sous chefs worked in tandem. The air smelled divine—rosemary, garlic, and something faintly citrusy—but Emma had little time to appreciate it. Her focus zeroed in on the man standing at the center of the chaos, clipboard in hand, issuing instructions in a baritone voice that carried over the din.

Lucas Rivera.

Emma’s polished heels clicked against the tiled floor as she approached him. Lucas turned at the sound, his expression shifting from concentration to easy charm as he caught sight of her. He straightened, his dark wavy hair tousled in a way that seemed more deliberate than accidental. His chef’s whites were rolled at the sleeves, exposing forearms dusted with flour, and the faintest shadow of stubble softened the sharp lines of his jaw.

“Emma Taylor,” he greeted, his lips curving into a smile that bordered on cocky. “Our fearless leader.”

“Mr. Rivera,” Emma replied, her tone cool and professional. “There seems to be an issue with the menu for tonight’s gala.”

He cocked an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “An issue? That’s news to me.”

“Don’t play coy,” she snapped. “I reviewed the menu yesterday. There was no mention of... whatever this is.” She gestured toward a tray of small, artfully arranged dishes that gleamed under the kitchen lights.

“Seared scallops with a saffron beurre blanc,” Lucas supplied easily. “I decided to make an adjustment. Trust me, it’s a crowd-pleaser.”

Emma’s spine straightened. “Adjustments aren’t part of the plan. This menu was approved weeks ago, and the VIPs expect consistency.”

Lucas set down his clipboard, leaning casually against the counter as though her frustration amused him. “Consistency is fine for the coffee station. A gala, though? That deserves a little flair.”

Emma’s irritation flared. She didn’t have time for this. “Flair isn’t what was promised. We’re catering to exacting clients who don’t appreciate surprises. Stick to the approved dishes.”

“And deprive them of something spectacular?” He crossed his arms, his warm brown eyes alight with challenge. “You’re managing expectations, Emma. I’m exceeding them. There’s a difference.”

The kitchen staff had gone quiet, their eyes darting between Emma and Lucas like spectators at a tennis match. Emma felt her cheeks flush. She hated that he was getting to her, hated the flicker of grudging admiration she felt for the confidence he exuded.

“This cruise runs on precision,” she said, her voice low but firm. “Every detail is planned for a reason. If you can’t follow that, you’re going to disrupt the entire operation.”

Lucas tilted his head, studying her with a mix of curiosity and amusement. “You mean your entire operation.”

Something in his words struck a nerve, and her hand instinctively brushed against the pocket watch beneath her blouse. The action grounded her, as it always did. She took a calming breath, her fingers tightening against her tablet. “This isn’t about me,” she replied evenly. “It’s about delivering what we’ve promised our guests.”

Lucas hesitated, a flicker of something softer—understanding?—crossing his face before the cocky grin returned. “Fair enough,” he said. “But the scallops stay.”

A sous chef hesitantly stepped forward. “The scallops really are incredible, Ms. Taylor,” he said, his voice timid. “Chef Lucas had us try them earlier. They’re... well, they’re the best I’ve ever had.”

Lucas shot her a triumphant look, as if daring her to argue further. Emma’s jaw tightened.

“Fine,” she bit out. “But this is the only time. In the future, you clear any changes with me first.”

“Glad we’re finding common ground,” Lucas said with a grin that hinted at mischief.

Emma turned on her heel, her temper simmering as she made for the exit. She could feel his gaze lingering on her back, and she hated the way it made her skin prickle with awareness.

Moments later, back in the Atrium, Emma took a deep breath to collect herself. The faint strains of piano music floated through the air, mingling with the low murmur of conversations. The chandelier glittered as sunlight streamed through the glass-paneled ceiling, and Emma paused for a moment, letting the luxurious surroundings steady her.

She spotted Sienna chatting with a group of passengers, her laughter like a soothing balm against Emma’s frayed nerves.

“Everything under control?” Sienna asked when Emma joined her.

“For now.” Emma’s tone was clipped.

Sienna gave her a knowing smile. “Lucas Rivera ruffling your feathers already?”

“You could say that.”

“Good,” Sienna said, her grin widening. “You could use a little ruffling.”

Emma didn’t dignify that with a response, but the faintest flicker of a smile tugged at her lips.

Above them, the chandelier sparkled as the ship’s engines thrummed softly to life. The Celestia was setting sail, carrying with her the promise of perfect luxury—and the complications that came with it.