Page 39 of Blue in the Deep Blue Sea

We were only a few steps from the yacht, dragging our suitcases behind us. The wheels caught on the pebbles, forcing us to pull harder until they finally rolled onto the smooth stone tiles of the marina.

In front of the yacht, two men in suits were already waiting while a bald man directed them to load suitcases and white boxes of food onto the boat. My stomach tightened as my gaze moved from the yacht to the horizon. In daylight it was a little easier to look at, but knowing there was nothing beyond it except open sea made nausea creep up my throat.

I stopped halfway. The color drained from my face, and Isabella turned to me.

“Are you okay?”

I shook my head. “What if the yacht sinks and we all die?”

She rolled her eyes. “The chances of that are one in a million.”

I nodded and stepped closer to her.

As we continued towards the yacht, the bald man waved us over, pointing to the narrow bridge connecting the dock to the boat.

We are here. We are officially here.

“You two arrived just in time,” he said. “The guest who was supposed to board today arrived last night, and the deck, guest cabins, and master suite still need to be cleaned.”

We nodded without asking many questions. I hoped everything would make sense once we got inside. We were both supposed to be experienced, yet neither of us had the slightest idea how any of this worked.

It’s just cleaning. It can’t be that hard… right?

We followed the bald man, George, who showed us to a room we would be sharing with two other women. Luckily for me, there were no windows, and a small wave of relief settled in my chest.

The room was more like a dorm than a cabin, with four beds—two of them bunk beds. The bunk on the right was already occupied, while the one on the left was free for us. I took the bottom bunk, and Isabella climbed onto the top one.

In the middle of the dorm was a tiny bathroom that somehow managed to fit a toilet, shower, and sink into the same cramped space. There were no closets, only two narrow lockers beside each bunk bed.

We didn’t have time to unpack. We shoved our suitcases under the bed and changed into navy blue shorts and shirts with small lettering stitched on the right side of the chest that read,“Deep Blue Crew.”We were given white sneakers and black belts in case the uniforms were too big. George explained that our hair had to be tied into neat buns. Ours were still messy from rushing out that morning.

“Minimum makeup.” He kept talking as we walked down the narrow hallway on the lower deck. “No eye contact. If a guest is in the cabin, you wait until they leave before cleaning.” He stopped and turned to face us. “And I’ll repeat it. No contact with the guests.”

“Understood,” both of us said.

“Our clients are VIP guests. That’s why we hired maids to handle the daily cleaning instead of stewardesses, who usually do the job.” He let out a slow breath. “Got it?”

“Yes,” we both nodded.

We continued through the lower deck until we reached the guest accommodation. Two guest cabins sat opposite each other, with the master suite at the end of the corridor. A cleaning cart, stocked with a bucket and supplies, was already waiting outside the master suite.

George looked at us for a moment, his eyes scanning us as though he could see straight through us. Before I had time to wonder why, he turned and walked away. It wasn’t until then that I noticed the faint vibration beneath my feet and realized the yacht was already moving.

And as his footsteps faded down the corridor, I turned to Isabella.

“I think I’m going to throw up.”

“Uh-huh, no,” she said. “We’re not cleaning that too.”

She knocked on the master suite door, and when no one answered, she slowly pushed it open.

The color drained from her face when the door opened.

“I think I might throw up too.” Her palm flew over her mouth.

I stepped in behind her and caught my first glimpse of the suite.

Used condoms were all over the floor. The bed was in a mess, the windows smeared with greasy hand prints, and the stale stench of sex still hung thick in the air. Everything I’d eaten the day before lurched into my throat.