Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
The number of outfits strewn about her living room is proof of that. I can’t imagine what her bedroom in London looks like. The place must be a disaster.
She notices my judgment. “Ignore all that.”
“I’m impressed, actually. How many suitcases did you bring?”
The amount of clothes in her suite could fill a department store.
“Only four. Big ones.” She laughs. “I’m horrendous when it comes to packing light for trips. I like options!”
She finishes with her high heel, then whirls around to grab a dainty Chanel bag from the table near the door. “I’m ready. Let’s go!”
Out in the hall, on the way to the elevator, she gives me a drawn-out appraisal.
“Sheesh. Absolutely knew you had it in you. A total knockout. Spin, let me see the back.”
“It’s nothing fancy.”
I’m wearing a pale-blue wrap dress that ties just above my left hip and hugs me in all the right places. The soft material falls a smidge too high above my knees, and though it’s not exactly work attire, it’s the best I could do. I had a hard time figuring out what to pack for this trip. I don’t have a closet chock-full of pantsuits and blazers. I mostly work remotely for Bon Voyage, and when I do have to commute to Manhattan for our once-monthly all-staff meeting, anything goes. Jeans, caftans, concert T-shirts. In fact, putting too much effort into your look makes you seem like a try hard (according to people more fashionable than me).
When I was given this assignment on board Aurelia, I knew my wardrobe needed a serious facelift. Pajama bottoms from high school and stretched-out Old Navy V-necks would not suffice. I strategically purchased a few nice dresses, but I couldn’t afford to blow it out. I don’t have enough fancy clothes to carry me through the entire trip, so I’ll have to pick and choose and strategize—and talk to Ingrid about the cleaning services she mentioned.
To jazz up my blue dress for this afternoon, I added a pair of diamond studs (courtesy of my late grandmother) and a pair of nude secondhand Manolo Blahniks that I had fixed up and made to look as good as new. I’ll be wearing them on repeat for the ten-day cruise. I’ve pulled my hair up into a high ponytail with neat wavy curls, and my makeup is clean and fresh.
As Sienna and I step into the elevator, I feel ready to take on the battle ahead of me.
Well . . . right up until we actually arrive at the observation lounge, located at the top of the ship on deck nine. It’s a spacious, open room lined with expansive windows highlighting the view of the ocean and faraway horizon. A dozen separate seating vignettes—intimate tables surrounded by inviting armchairs—surround a midcentury bar.
The design aesthetic of the ship continues in here. A lot of monochromatic layering of tone on tone—beige, gray, silver, and white contrast against dark wood and sumptuous brown leather. It’s like the whole place was inspired by James Bond. Or rather, one of his rich nemeses. From the ornate light fixtures to the neatly arranged throw pillows—it’s clear the owners have spared no expense.
The room is already brimming with people mingling and chatting, but thankfully, it looks like we’re not late. Or at least no one has started giving a presentation yet or anything. We slip into the room, and Sienna leads me straight to the bar.
“What should we drink? Wait. Let’s start with lemon-drop shots. Something to loosen us up a bit.” She leans in closer, lowering her voice. “Doesn’t this place feel a bit stuffy to you? I expected a few more people our age.”
“What about that group over there?”
I nod toward a group of women sitting in plush leather chairs near us, all around our age, stylish, and gorgeous. Each one of them is done up fancier than the next. Huge statement earrings, feathers, clinking bracelets, glitz and glam on a scale that has me rethinking everything I packed.
Sienna peers over her shoulder at them, grumbles, then looks away with a shake of her head. “Bella, Jenna, Avery. I can’t stand them. They’re influencers like me. I used to get on with them before I realized how horrible they all are. I mean absolutely savage. They’ll steal a brand partnership right out from underneath you if you aren’t careful.”
She waves the bartender over and orders our shots.
“Right, so they’re off the table. What about them? They look fun.”
She follows my gaze to the group of men I’m nodding toward. They have to be the oldest among us. One of them is dozing off in his chair.
Sienna bursts out laughing and nudges me with her shoulder. “I knew we’d get on.”
Our lemon shots arrive sporting rims caked in sugar crystals and curlicue lemon rinds. They almost look too cute to drink.