“Of course.” She stepped out of the way.

And I was in.

30

GRANTED, I HAD never exactly been inside a yacht before, so I didn’t have anything to compare it to, but I had to physically force myself not to gasp when I walked inside.

It was huge. Way bigger than it looked from the outside. I was standing in a foyer, complete with chandelier, a luxurious living room to my right, a dance floor to my left. A grand staircase wound its way to an upper deck.

Someone—the housekeeper, I suspected—had sprinkled confetti across black, glass-topped tables. Balloons skittered aimlessly around the dance floor.

“A party,” I said, mostly to myself, but the housekeeper heard me.

“I’m sorry?” She looked at me quizzically. Duh, Nikki, why wouldn’t the caterer know there was going to be a party?

I gave a stupid-me eye roll. “I mean, I know there’s a party. I meant to ask, what are they celebrating?”

“The movie is finished!” she said excitedly, as if their success was hers. “Miss Celeste is exhausted and sick, but she demanded a party to celebrate. She is proud of Mr. Fairchild’s success. Come, the kitchen is downstairs.”

I followed her through a set of doors into what looked like a captain’s quarters, everything white linen and sleek lines. Near the captain’s chair was a staircase. Another spiral, this one disappearing into the bowels of the boat.

“You’ll forgive me for asking,” I said as I tried not to tumble under the weight of the box. “But is this ship Celeste Day’s ship?” She gave me another perplexed look. “I’ve never met an actual celebrity before,” I said sheepishly. Not adding, of course, that until I started looking for Luna and her dad, I’d never heard of Celeste Day at all. “It belongs to Mr. Fairchild,” she said. Her voice had taken on an icy tone. Clearly I had overstepped my bounds. “He is quite fond of Miss Celeste. I’m certain that’s why he named the ship after her.”

“Ah.” That was weird, though, wasn’t it? Was he sleeping with his teen star? “Does he always name his ships after his leading ladies?” I attempted a laugh, but it sounded forced even to me.

“This is his first big film,” she said, bustling to a door. It opened into a walk-in refrigerator, which was stuffed with booze, including three more Ambrosia Catering boxes. She invited me to place my box inside with a sweep of her arm. “And his first ship. It’s quite the perfect marriage, don’t you think?” I was still holding my box. “You can set that in here for now,” she said, prompting me. “We’ll let the bartender decide what to bring up to the bar later.”