“Janice!” Victor suddenly exclaims, waving to a party guest behind me. “Where do you think you’re off to? Don’t you dare disappear on me. I’m going to have the crew bring us up a round of espresso martinis!”

I use his distraction as an opportunity to slide past him and hurry down the railing toward the back of the yacht. Before, I had no plans to rejoin the party. Now, there’s no way I will. How many others suspect what Victor has just shared with me? Is it because of last night or our conversation earlier today by the pool? Have I missed something?

Surely Victor is only grasping at straws. Emmett has spent more time with Marie than he has with me, not to mention Royce was the one to lead my search party before dinner last night. Did Victor not take that into account?

My mind works overtime trying to determine some elusive fix to this problem. Already, I feel anxiety twisting my stomach. I go back into the boat and find myself in a quiet sitting room. I take a seat on a couch, wringing my hands.

I don’t know how long I sit there, spiraling, before I’ve exhausted myself. I heave a deep sigh and decide it’s enough. While worrying, there’s nothing I can do about the situation right now. I might as well distract myself. I’ve never been on a yacht this size, and though I’m not sure what the rules are for events like this, I decide it can’t hurt to do a bit of exploring.

Soon, I’ve given myself a tour of the second level, and then I slip down one floor below, peering into the spacious cabins. I’m not disturbing anything, careful to keep things exactly like I found them.

Here is what I’ve observed so far: it’s astounding, really, to see how much bad design a person can cram into a multi-million-dollar vessel. It’s like the owner hired four interior designers to give suggestions and then decided, What the hell? Let’s do it all. Every bathroom is decorated using a different color scheme. Black marble, white marble, gold marble—the sky’s the limit. Some bathrooms incorporate all three. The last one was actually wall-to-wall turquoise with pink tile floors and black hardware. The one before it was a dark brown with red accents. There’s no cohesion, no overall stylistic design. It’s…a madhouse, and I’m fully invested in discovering what oddity I’ll stumble upon next. I’ve just taken hold of the handle of a door that I think leads to another cabin, maybe a bunkroom for children, when Emmett’s voice scares the life out of me.

“Are you allowed to be down here?” he taunts.

I whirl around as I slap a hand to my chest. It feels like my heart is going to beat right out of me.

He smiles, registering my reaction with a shake of his head.

“You’re going to get in trouble,” he adds.

It’s silly. I won’t. I’m an adult doing nothing wrong, but his threat still hits the mark. I redden like I’ve just been caught breaking rules by St. John’s headmaster.