firmly.
“Why not?” Monk countered. “He likes you. You like him. I get to have a room to myself. Everybody’s happy.”
“Adrian, you are not pimping me out so you can get a single room.”
“Pimping?” He shook his head. “Natalie, that is disgusting. And selfish. You know I’d do it for you if the situation were reversed.”
I couldn’t help gasping. “You’d do it for me?”
“Yes.” He looked sincere. “If the roles were reversed. If you were magically me and I were magically you, I would certainly share a room with a man I liked so that you, meaning I, could have a room to myself.”
I knew that in Monk’s fevered mind this statement made perfect sense, which was a sign that I should stop arguing with him.
The two of us had wound up at the rear of the Valencia deck, in lounge chairs pressed safely back against the wall. If I craned my neck, I could see past the railing to the last little specks of San Francisco, disappearing in the distance. This was not how I’d imagined spending my first evening on board the
Golden Sun
.
“You didn’t respond to my hypothetical argument,” he said. “I would switch rooms with you.”
“Really? Then let’s pretend you did. Thanks for the room, Adrian. I appreciate it.” And I got up to leave.
“Where are you going?” he asked. “What about my disaster?”
“I’m going inside,” I said over my shoulder. “I’m chilly.”
“What room are you in? Natalie?”
I pretended not to hear.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mr. Monk and the Lifeboat
A ccording to the schedule, the captain’s welcome cocktail party would last until six thirty. After abandoning Monk on the Valencia deck, I had time to slap on my red name tag and hurry down to the lobby. Once there, I got my hands on a much-needed glass of white wine and began scouring the room for Malcolm. We had made loose plans to meet here and then sit together at dinner.
As I walked into the lobby atrium with its winding staircase and polished marble, I saw a fair number of the passengers milling among the display of raw vegetables and plastic wineglasses. A large ice sculpture gleamed in the center of it all.
I don’t know what I’d been expecting from this at-sea business conference. Perhaps more business? By my rough estimate, about half of the people here were older couples or families with children, none of them with red name tags, and none who might be interested in Monk and Teeger’s shiny new brochure.
At a little raised platform at the front of the lounge was Mariah Linkletter. The captain had just finished with his welcoming remarks, and she had taken back the microphone to tie up the last few details.
“Thank you, Captain Sheffield,” she said, as if a king had just deigned to speak. “We are so excited to have you all with us on the
Golden Sun
. I have to confess this coastal cruise to Mexico is my favorite of all of our itineraries. The forecast for the next week looks wonderful. And we’re so glad to welcome the B. to Sea Conference. This is their tenth time with us and every time, we all have such great fun.”
There was a smattering of applause and a few little whoops. Then Mariah continued, outlining the exciting schedule for this evening and tomorrow. I would try to list the events for you, but honestly, I wasn’t even listening.
“I missed you at the B. to Sea orientation.” It was Malcolm, a concerned smile on his lips, coming directly at me with a glass of white wine in each hand. I took the larger one.
“I had a little emergency,” I whispered.
A serious-looking man in a blue blazer shushed us. We apologized with a nod and stayed shushed through Mariah’s cruise director pitch, which ended with a standard plea to please let her know if there was anything she could do to make our voyage more enjoyable. Something about the way she said it actually made you believe. Here was a girl who seemed to treat every little cruise like a brand-new adventure. I knew that was all
“Why not?” Monk countered. “He likes you. You like him. I get to have a room to myself. Everybody’s happy.”
“Adrian, you are not pimping me out so you can get a single room.”
“Pimping?” He shook his head. “Natalie, that is disgusting. And selfish. You know I’d do it for you if the situation were reversed.”
I couldn’t help gasping. “You’d do it for me?”
“Yes.” He looked sincere. “If the roles were reversed. If you were magically me and I were magically you, I would certainly share a room with a man I liked so that you, meaning I, could have a room to myself.”
I knew that in Monk’s fevered mind this statement made perfect sense, which was a sign that I should stop arguing with him.
The two of us had wound up at the rear of the Valencia deck, in lounge chairs pressed safely back against the wall. If I craned my neck, I could see past the railing to the last little specks of San Francisco, disappearing in the distance. This was not how I’d imagined spending my first evening on board the
Golden Sun
.
“You didn’t respond to my hypothetical argument,” he said. “I would switch rooms with you.”
“Really? Then let’s pretend you did. Thanks for the room, Adrian. I appreciate it.” And I got up to leave.
“Where are you going?” he asked. “What about my disaster?”
“I’m going inside,” I said over my shoulder. “I’m chilly.”
“What room are you in? Natalie?”
I pretended not to hear.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mr. Monk and the Lifeboat
A ccording to the schedule, the captain’s welcome cocktail party would last until six thirty. After abandoning Monk on the Valencia deck, I had time to slap on my red name tag and hurry down to the lobby. Once there, I got my hands on a much-needed glass of white wine and began scouring the room for Malcolm. We had made loose plans to meet here and then sit together at dinner.
As I walked into the lobby atrium with its winding staircase and polished marble, I saw a fair number of the passengers milling among the display of raw vegetables and plastic wineglasses. A large ice sculpture gleamed in the center of it all.
I don’t know what I’d been expecting from this at-sea business conference. Perhaps more business? By my rough estimate, about half of the people here were older couples or families with children, none of them with red name tags, and none who might be interested in Monk and Teeger’s shiny new brochure.
At a little raised platform at the front of the lounge was Mariah Linkletter. The captain had just finished with his welcoming remarks, and she had taken back the microphone to tie up the last few details.
“Thank you, Captain Sheffield,” she said, as if a king had just deigned to speak. “We are so excited to have you all with us on the
Golden Sun
. I have to confess this coastal cruise to Mexico is my favorite of all of our itineraries. The forecast for the next week looks wonderful. And we’re so glad to welcome the B. to Sea Conference. This is their tenth time with us and every time, we all have such great fun.”
There was a smattering of applause and a few little whoops. Then Mariah continued, outlining the exciting schedule for this evening and tomorrow. I would try to list the events for you, but honestly, I wasn’t even listening.
“I missed you at the B. to Sea orientation.” It was Malcolm, a concerned smile on his lips, coming directly at me with a glass of white wine in each hand. I took the larger one.
“I had a little emergency,” I whispered.
A serious-looking man in a blue blazer shushed us. We apologized with a nod and stayed shushed through Mariah’s cruise director pitch, which ended with a standard plea to please let her know if there was anything she could do to make our voyage more enjoyable. Something about the way she said it actually made you believe. Here was a girl who seemed to treat every little cruise like a brand-new adventure. I knew that was all
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