Gloria's Odyssey, a luxurious superyacht with a gleaming aluminium superstructure and expansive beach deck, was named in honour of my mother.
Crafted with precision and boasting exquisite amenities, she was a lavish gift from my father to his wife to mark their second wedding anniversary, commemorating the pinnacle of his financial success prior to the devastating consequences of his gambling addiction.
Upon my birth, it was decreed by my parents that the magnificent vessel would be bequeathed to me on my twenty-first birthday.
Today, as I stand on her plank-like deck as her proud custodian, she resonates not just as a marvel of maritime luxury but also as a poignant reminder of my parents' deep love and the apex of my father's prosperity. I am honoured to carry forward the embodiment of our cherished lineage.
Her exterior spaces are exceptional, starting from the sun-kissed deck with two large bars and a lounging area with plush sun pads, a touch-and-go helipad aft, as well as a large covered alfresco dining area at the rear of the vessel.
But for me, the essence of the yacht is the main saloon with panoramic sea views, a welcoming space with two sparkly dining tables already set with exquisite china and crystal. I have spent many evenings in that room, sharing wine with the people I love and care about.
Staterooms and cabins are splendiferous and well-appointed, with cosy bedding, private bathrooms and sweeping ocean views.
In addition to accommodation, the yacht has a dedicated wellness area, cinema, spa, gym, massage room, treatment facilities, beauty studio, various lounges, entertainment spaces and walk-around side decks for promenading.
She really is the heart of the ocean.
"Holy fucking shit," Drew's voice was tinged with awe. "You have been holding out on us." His investigatory hands smoothed along the steel handrail on the side of the deck. "This boat is insane."
Royce stood motionless, his hands thrust deep into his jeans pockets. His was fixated on the fleet of moored superyachts that gleamed like beacons in the deep, crystal-clear water berths, the dramatic cliffs and the rugged coastline.
"Great. I am glad you approve." My feet hurried towards the waterline, eager to re-board the tender boat, a sleek black RIB bobbing gently at the yacht's stern. I climbed aboard and sat in the bow, waiting for the others to join me. "Now, let's get out of here before the harbour committee catches wind of our surprise arrival."
"Why do you care about the harbour committee?" Chase poked a set of stainless steel cleats, testing the tensile strength of the rope. "It's your vessel. You can come and go as you please."
Yes, I know, but The Harbour Master will inform Daniel if he catches me out here at this time of night and then what? How do I explain being on the boat with a bunch of men to my husband?
"I'm not ready to leave." Chase is an unofficial tender operator, having familiarised himself with a variety of boats during fishing trips, so if he does not agree to drive us back to the dock, I am stuck out here until further notice. "I want to stay."
Hannah sulked, clutching a bottle of bourbon she had swiped from Mac's Bar earlier. "We have yet to show them the saloon," she said dejectedly. "Come on, Oli. No one has to know. It can be our little secret."
Her lips puckered.
Her doe-eyes blinked.
Her head disappeared into her bloody shoulders.
"Oh, for heaven's sake." Falling for the woman's feel-sorry-for-me expression, I clambered out of the tender boat and re-boarded the yacht, holding onto the handrails for dear life as I did not want to fall backwards into the bottomless pit of the ocean. "Hannah, I am seriously re-evaluating our friendship."
"You love me." Her arm dangled over my shoulders, simultaneously, her mouth slobbering my face with drunken kisses. "Also, thank you so much for sneaking me out tonight. I know it started messy, with my brother acting like a caveman and all, but I have loved spending time with him. I forgot how good it felt to be in his company. "
I mustered a nervous smile.
"Plus, he makes me laugh, Oli." A breath of contentment escaped her lips. "And I do not laugh much anymore."
My heart sank for Hannah. I yearned to be her confidante, to help her shoulder the burden of her secrets.
"Well, if it's any consolation, I am glad I snuck you out tonight, too." And if Keith allows it, I would love for her to come over more often. "I get lonely up there," I admitted in a hushed tone, mindful of the others nearby. "The cliff house is my home. It is supposed to be safe, comfortable and relaxing, but I feel isolated and..." What is the word I am looking for? "And...Just..."
"Scared?" she asked, her voice laced with concern as we followed the men to the centre of the yacht, which led down to the saloon on the lower deck. "Worried?"
No, I feel trapped.
Her heeled shoes scraped on the wooden deck. "Is it because of Natasha?"
"Hannah," I whisper-shouted, and she winced. "Why not shout louder next time so her ex-boyfriend can hear you?"
"Sorry." She held my hand to descend the narrow staircase. "Sometimes, I forget about the secret mission."
Drew, with a questioning glint in his eyes, glanced over his shoulder at us. "What secret mission?"
"Attend to your own affairs," Hannah berated him, and he snorted. "If I wanted to tell you about it, I would have spoken to you directly."
"Fair enough." Drew pushed open the main doors at the end of the elaborately decorated corridor. "Fuck me." His round eyes roved over the expanse of the saloon in wonderment. "What is this place?"
Chase eyeballed the panoply of chandeliers. "Are those real?"
"No," I fibbed, knowing that the light fixtures boasted the purest form of gold and parallelogram-shaped crystals. "Regardless, who wants wine?"
A couple of grunts.
Behind the dark oak cocktail bar, I restricted myself and the others from all things theft-worthy and profitable. "I have Domaine de la Romanée-Conti," I told them whilst arranging bottles on the bar top. "Château Lafite Rothschild and Puligny-Montrachet."
Drew snatched the whiskey bottle from Hannah's hand with a perfunctory apology. "I think I will stick to bourbon."
He turned his head to survey the casino, his unshakable sight lingering on the dark wood panelling, plush velvet seating, roulette, blackjack, poker, craps, and slot machines. I could almost see the wheels of mischief rotating in his head. He was dying to test his luck at the tables and perhaps win a few shillings.
"That looks fun." He pointed at the bandit machines lined up against the back wall. "Can I try my luck at one?"
"You needn't bother. Those machines are programmed to give us a mathematical advantage over you." Daniel would be furious if he found out I had revealed this information to anyone, but I felt it was vital for them to know before they spent money. "However, if you are determined to line our pockets, I suggest choosing the machines with the lowest house edge, as they offer the best chance of winning."
Chase leaned over the bar to see what else stockpiled the state-of-the-art chillers. "You got anything else to drink?" His interest was on the Macallan Valerio Adami nineteen-twenty-six that my husband had previously placed on the wall-mounted shelf alongside the sixty-five-year-old Lalique Cire Perdue. "I've always wanted to try one of those."
"You have got no chance." Those unique bottles are worth millions. Besides, they are for display purposes only. "The best I can offer you is the Sherry Oak, an eighteen-year-old whiskey that is easily overlooked."
He harrumphed, his displeasure evident in the guttural sound. "Fine."
Grabbing a crystal glass beneath the counter, I uncapped the cheapest bottle and poured him a hefty amount of amber liquid.
"Are you sure I cannot tempt you?" My question was for Drew, but he declined, refusing to compromise. He drank bourbon straight from the bottle. "What about you?"
"No." Royce is by the statement fireplace, his body tense and uncomfortable. "Just a beer."
I frowned as the man's words registered. "I am bereft of beer."
"What?" He scowled at me, his brow furrowed and his lips pursed into a thin line. "What's the point of owning a bar if you don't have any beer?"
It is uncommon for individuals to consume draught beverages in my social circle.
So, the question arises: why should I store beer if it will collect dust?
"I don't know," I said, feeling stupid and inhospitable. "We have tequila."
Royce grunted and broke eye contact, his jaw muscles clenching tightly.
"He can share the bourbon." Drew passed the bourbon bottle to Royce, who accepted it with gratitude. "So, Olivia." It hasn't gone unnoticed that he's stopped referring to me as Hannah's Sidekick. "What is the likelihood of having some music turned on around here? A bit if fun never hurt anyone."
I fear that I am in for another long night.
By the early hours of the morning, I had become noticeably more relaxed, thanks to the combined effects of the alcohol and the inner voice urging me to let loose.
I sat at the poker table among my opponents, the overhead speakers providing a soothing soundtrack of modern jazz, a playlist saved on the system from previous excursions.
Drew and his friends did not exploit my generosity, but rather, they were genuinely grateful for the endless supply of alcohol, the sonorous music and access to the spacious casino lounge.
They seemed to enjoy themselves immensely, chatting and laughing as they played poker and imbibed alcohol. I could tell they were impressed by the lavish surroundings and the stakes of the game.
As it stands, I am currently engaged in a game of poker, and to my surprise, I am proving to be quite skilled.
I was initially convinced that I could not play, but somewhere in my subconscious, a voice reminded me that, despite my retrograde amnesia, I was still a force to be reckoned with when it came to a deck of cards.
I opened my eyes and surveyed the table.
The tension in the room was palpable as my competitive opponents watched me with rapt attention. I could feel the weight of scrutiny pressing down on me and knew that all eyes were on me and that the game's fate hung in the balance.
Taking a deep breath, I exhaled to calm my racing heart. I needed to stay focused and make the right move.
Looking around the table again, I gauged everyone's reactions.
"Come on, Hannah." Drew shuffled in his seat. He tried to keep a straight face, but the smirk that danced on his lips gave him away and betrayed his confidence. "It's just a game."
"It's the principle, Drew." Hannah shot back, her face a mask of faux annoyance. "Always the principle."
Chase's laughter erupted, echoing through the room. His blonde hair cascaded over his eyes as he eased back in the chair with an aura of tranquillity, his shoulders heaving with merriment. "Look at us, all bent out of shape over poker."
Royce, on the other hand, leaned back rigidly, his posture a stark contrast to Chase's animated demeanour. His deep-set eyes, overshadowed by his dark brows, scanned his opponents at the table with cold indifference as if he were mentally slaughtering everyone in sight.
"Fuck this shit." Drew, after a few more teasing remarks, laid down a mediocre set of cards. "I'm out."
"Likewise." Hannah threw her cards down in a strop. "You are insufferable, Drew Bishop."
"How can you say that?" He balanced an unlit cigarette behind his ear, ready for his trip to the deck for a smoke. "I'm your favourite brother!"
Her eyes rolled heavenward. "You are my only brother, you halfwit."
"Go ahead, Liv." Royce's stare was so fierce it made my heart race and my palms sweat. "Show me what you got."
I savoured the moment of victory as I spread out my cards on the table.
A full house.
Royce acknowledged my victory with a barely perceptible nod. "Well played."
I beamed like a smug idiot. "Thank you, Royce. I appreciate the sportsmanship."
"Well, I guess that's it for one night," Drew said with a heavy sigh that punctuated the entire room. "Game over."
"Looks like it." Chase, whose spirit usually radiated a boundless sight, looked crestfallen. "This is why I hate poker. I can never win."
And then, to everyone's astonishment, something unforeseen took place.
Royce, with an almost deliberate slowness, turned his cards over one spade at a time: Ace, King, Queen, Jack and Ten.
My stomach dropped.
"It would seem that fortune favoured me today," Royce rasped with a faint smile, the other guys slapping him on the back in support of his undeniable victory. "Better luck next time, Liv."
To say I was astounded would be an understatement. Royce had executed the strategy flawlessly throughout the game. With deft skill, he deceived everyone at the table and managed to camouflage the true strength of his hand. I was dazzled by his performance.
"Well," I said, reaching for my clutch bag. "I better get the chequebook out."
"Fuck that." Royce's face contorted into a grimace of disgust. "I don't want your money."
"Don't be soft," Chase fished a packet of cigarettes out of his jeans pocket, the cellophane wrapper torn and wrinkled. "It's a low-stakes game. Five hundred bucks. Olivia can afford it."
"She can afford thousands, for all I care," Royce barked an irritated response. "Her money is not something I want or need."
I was torn between gratitude and indignation in the face of the gentleman's brusque exclamation. Royce would have handed over money if I had won, so what is the difference?
But would I have taken off these people?
Probably not. I am sitting on a pile of gold, whereas this lot, aside from Hannah, barely made a living. I will not be another reason for them to struggle.
"You need to chill the fuck out." Chase sparked a cigarette, wafting plumes of smoke out of his face. His eyes, heated with something indescribable, landed on Hannah. "How about a game of strip poker this time?"
"Are you dense?" Drew went berserk, his eyes blazing with fury. "Smooth, Chase. Let's get our dicks out in front of my sister, shall we? What a grand idea, you fucking moron."
"Yes, I have to side with my brother on this one." Hannah's nose crinkled like she had smelt something foul. "Front-row seats to his manhood is not something I want to experience. I am pretty sure he is not interested in seeing my luscious breasts, either."
Drew gave her the death stare. "Luscious?"
"I think so." Lost in self-admiration, she openly admired her dress-clad chest. "You know, I think they have gotten bigger lately—"
"You're taking the piss." Drew, to the sound of his sister's uncontrollable laughter, shot to his feet, the chair legs scratching on the floor. He bounded toward the bar, now littered with bottles. "That bitch is tapped."
"Hey!" Hannah's face turned crimson with instantaneous rage. "Do not call me a bitch."
"Then, stop acting like one," he chided her sharply, his voice dripping with venom as he downed whiskey from the bottle, a trail of brown liquid running down his chin. "You're not funny, Han. There are just some conversations that we don't need to have."
Hannah and Drew threw words back and forth, like sharp knives cutting through the air, causing everyone else to flinch and duck. They accused each other of betrayal, neglect, and not caring enough until the steadiness in their painful debate turned into a full-blown screaming match.
Royce and Chase shared a knowing look as if they had done this dance with Hannah and Drew a million times before, whereas I observed in silence, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire.
"Fuck my life." Chase got to his feet next. "I need a piss."
The Viking left the building in search of some headspace, and who could hardly blame him? A good night had turned sour, awkward and disastrous, yet I felt terrible for them, Hannah and Drew. It was clear that they loved each other, but they were also struggling to communicate and resolve their conflicts.
"What are you talking about?" Hannah's heeled shoes dented the floor as she chased her brother's shadow around the cavernous room. "Why do you behave like this?" Her voice went up a gear. "You are impossible!"
"Oh, I'm impossible," Drew hissed through gritted teeth. He barged through the saloon doors with Hannah's furious footsteps echoing behind him. "No, I don't want you to follow me. I need five minutes, Han!"
The lingering echoes of Hannah and Drew's quarrel faded into the distance as they vanished down the hallway.
Royce and I, now alone, were enveloped in an oppressive silence, save for the faint clinking of our glasses whilst alternately sipping our respective drinks.
The room's atmosphere, thick with unspoken words and furtive glances, felt even more pronounced in the absence of our erstwhile companions. We sat awkwardly, both unsure of what to say or do.
My mind was a blank canvas, devoid of any coherent thought. I glanced at Royce, who was frozen in place, his gaze locked on the doorway through which Drew and Hannah had vanished. His expression revealed nothing of his contemplations.
"So," I said finally, my voice sounding like it was coming from a different person altogether, so strained and unnatural. "How do you know Chase?"
Royce leaned back in the chair, his arms crossed casually over his chest, and cast a disinterested look in my direction. "We grew up together."
He is not very informative, is he? Not that I expected him to be a cordial interlocutor. "What about Drew?
"I met him at The Boardmasters a few years ago." He stared at me with a cold, critical eye as if to assess my worth. "He whooped my ass and taunted me about it the same evening. Next thing I know, we are drinking beer together, and he is kipping on my sofa. The rest is history."
"Right..." His story went over my head like a lead zeppelin. I could have sworn The Boardmasters was an annual festival of rhythmic music, a pulsating lifestyle and the art of surfing. However, since my acquaintance with this man and his friends, none have portrayed the characteristics of quintessential ravers or professional surfers. "In what sense did he school you?"
Royce regarded me as though I were speaking Martian. "Drew performed better under pressure," he said, slow and syllabised, as if I were incompetent. "He was more creative on the waves and impressed the judges. I got caught in a rip current and fell off the board."
My mind immediately drifted back to the Instagram photo of me wearing the "Wave Riders" hoodie, and a cold chill ran down my spine like something eerie and unsettling had awakened me from a deep sleep and roused me in sudden panic. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest and my palms becoming sweaty.
"Oh?" My mouth formed an odd-shaped circle. "You serf?"
"We all love the waves." His shoulders lifted in a languid, melancholic shrug. "Well, we used to. Not so much anymore."
My head began to throb. I contemplated how I could have overlooked that these men were water sports enthusiasts. "I see," I said, downplaying my eagerness to learn more about this topic. "Do you all have a uniform or something for that?"
"A uniform?" He coughed into his fist to suppress an amused chuckle. "Boardshorts and rash guards."
"What about hats?" I played it cool so that he would not suspect my line of questioning. "Jackets or hoodies?"
"Hats?" He swept the playing cards into his hands and neatly stacked them back in the deck. "Are we talking about merchandise?"
I nodded.
"Sure." He gave a dismissive shrug as if it were no big deal. "I guess."
However, for me, this was monumental—a potential key to unlocking two missing years from my memory.
This revelation about the hoodie cast a dark shadow over everything I thought I knew about them. It meant I had met one of them—if not all of them—before the accident, and they had deliberately pretended not to recognise me.
"Do you know that dump on the beachfront with the old sign out front?" He waited for me to nod. "Across the road from Mac's place?"
I nodded again, having noticed the shop on my way to Sabina's once. It was a quirky, heptagonal wooden building with prime oceanfront views, a popular tourist destination. "What about it?"
"You can buy merchandise there if you're interested," he said with a blasé tone as if he were bored with the conversation but trying to be nice after I had accused him of hating me earlier. "But I doubt you really are interested. Five-pound towels are beneath you. It has to be Matouk, right?"
God, he is insufferable.
I do not require hand-woven Turkish towels to survive, but I would be lying if I said I did not own any.
Still, I did not engage in unnecessary bickering and smiled at him. "I suppose anyone can buy one of those hoodies then."
"I guess..." His eyes tightened in scrutiny. "Why the Inquisition?"
"No inquisition, just curious." I made a mental note to swing by the merchandise shop one day next week to look around. I am uncertain what I would find, but it's worth the shot. "So, Royce. What do you do for a living?"
He fixed me with a steady stare. "I work in a dive bar, remember?"
"Right, yes, of course." Okay, I had to think outside the box if I wanted him to open up and divulge. "Any hobbies or interests?"
"What is this? A fucking interview?" He is so verbally aggressive and for no apparent reason. "Yes, I have hobbies, Liv. Don't we all?"
Again, I chose not to bite his head off. "What kind of hobbies?"
He seemed annoyed and did not want to answer but humoured me. "Woodworking," he finally said, and I noticed a slight ruddiness in his cheeks like the admittance embarrassed him. "Or craftsmanship. Whatever you want to fucking call it."
My interest piqued. "Do you have any qualifications?"
"Why? Are qualifications a deal breaker?" His sharp words held a note of bitter irony that did not sit well with me. My curiosity about his life outside work was sincere and devoid of malice, yet he acted as though I had insulted him. "No, Liv. I am not a qualified lumberjack, but my old man taught me a thing or two about woodwork growing up, so I can probably knock together furniture better than any other licenced carpenter."
I was growing increasingly weary of the man's scathing remarks. Nonetheless, I regained my composure, plastering on fake smiles and engaging in conversational chitchat. "You can make furniture?" I inquired, genuinely impressed. "For instance, a dining set?"
He offered a fleeting nod of acknowledgement.
"And suppose the tender boat needed some repairs," I ventured, keen to learn more about his extracurricular activities. "Are you also skilled in marine carpentry?"
"Ask your boy Chase," he said matter-of-factly. "I've worked on all of his fishing boats. You can do that maths."
I slumped into the chair. "You are passionate."
Royce's face was the cynosure of my undivided focus until suddenly, unexpectedly, the entire room went black. Every chandelier and wall fixture extinguished, plunging us into complete and utter darkness.
"That can't be good," I spoke into the encompassing void, discomforted by the inability to discern the man's position, particularly with the looming role of his potentially malevolent inclinations. "Royce? Are you there?"
A long pause. "What?"
"Great." Fingers shaking slightly, I brushed a strand of hair out of my eye and exhaled a worried breath. "You are still with me."
He let out a long, exasperated sigh. "Where else would I be, Liv?"
Behind the bar, looking for an improvised weapon. "This better not be Drew playing some stupid prank on us."
"I highly doubt it," he replied, and I stared blankly into the vast darkness, wondering if he could discern anything in the shadows. "Maybe it's a blown circuit or a tripped fuse."
"Better that than a fuel leak or a mechanical failure," I muttered, already dreading the cost of repairs. "What are we going to do? Do you think the lights will come back on by themselves?"
He did not dignify that dumb question with a response.
I thought about the others, Hannah, Drew and Chase, stranded on the boat somewhere, lost and without light to guide them back to the saloon.
"I hope they do not get stuck on one of the decks." It can be quite scary at the bottom of the yacht, especially when it's dark. "I do not need them tripping overboard on my conscience."
"Where is the wheelhouse?" he asked, and I blinked rapidly as if the quick flutter of my lashes could clear the haze for me to see. "There has to be some sort of electrical shortage. If you can take me there, I can check the fuse box."
"Then I shall show you the wheelhouse." Rising from the chair, I take the bottle of wine with me for a dose of buck courage. "I don't know where I put my phone. I could have used it for a torch..." A phone came on, his phone, as he brandished the light toward the double doors. "Better late than never."
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I will be back for typos. ❤️
Thoughts on the update?
—Olivia?
—Drew?
—Chase?
—Hannah?
—Royce?
Are there any mentions I missed?
—or theories you might want to share?
Thank you for reading. ❤️
Please don't forget to vote. ⭐️