Chapter 3 - The Family Dinner
The dining salon on the main deck of the Vance Voyager was framed by floor-to-ceiling tempered glass windows that looked out over the black water. Heavy crystal chandeliers hung from the paneled ceiling, swaying gently with the roll of the vessel.
When I stepped into the room at eight o'clock, wearing a dark blue silk dress that hung slightly loose on my frame, the three of them were already seated around the mahogany table.
Flynn rose instantly, his face lighting up with that practiced, radiant warmth that had fooled my father, my friends, and me for two years.
"Look who’s awake," he said, stepping over to meet me near the entrance. He wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me close. His body was warm, smelling of clean linen and expensive soap. It took every ounce of my willpower not to pull back, not to drive my fingernails into his eyes. "How are you feeling, sweet girl? You were out cold when I checked on you."
"A little better," I said, letting my voice sound small and breathy. I allowed my shoulder to lean heavily against his chest, playing the part of the frail, medicated heiress. "The medicine you gave me helped with the turning in my stomach, but my head still feels so heavy."
"That's just the sea air," Fiona said from the head of the table. She was fifty-five, impeccably dressed in a cream silk blouse, her diamond earrings catching the light of the chandelier. She smiled at me, a soft, maternal expression that didn't reach her pale gray eyes. "You’ve always been delicate, Cassandra. Your father mentioned you never had a stomach for the water."
"My father built this ship for my mother," I said, sliding into the chair Flynn pulled out for me. "She spent three months every summer on it before she passed."
"Well, your mother was a stronger woman than most," Aidan said, pouring himself a third glass of cabernet sauvignon. He was a tall, silver-haired man with the broad shoulders of an ex-college athlete and the eyes of an auditor. He adjusted his cuff links—gold ones, I noticed, that my father had given him as a wedding present. "It’s a fine ship, Cassandra. A massive responsibility for a young woman. It’s good you have Flynn now to help you manage the estate."
"I don't know what I'd do without him," I murmured, staring down at my empty plate.
Flynn sat down beside me, his hand resting over mine on the tablecloth. His thumb stroked my knuckles in a slow, rhythmic circle. "You don't ever have to worry about the estate, darling. I’ve already spoken to your father’s legal team in Boston. We’re consolidating the offshore holdings next month to make things simpler."
"That’s very thoughtful of you, Flynn," I said, lifting my eyes to meet his.
For a fraction of a second, something flared in his gaze—a flicker of cold, calculating assessment, as if he were measuring the depth of my compliance. Then it was gone, replaced by his usual charming smile.
A steward in a crisp white uniform stepped into the room carrying a silver tray with four bowl covers. It was Mateo, a twenty-four-year-old crew member from the Philippines who had been hired through my father’s agency two years ago.
"Spiced clam chowder for the lady," Mateo said politely, placing the steaming porcelain bowl in front of me.
My heart spiked. Extra in her soup today.
I looked down at the creamy broth. Tiny flecks of green herbs floated on the surface, but near the center, the liquid carried a faint, almost imperceptible grey tinge.
"Eat up, sweetheart," Flynn said smoothly, taking his own spoon. "You need your strength. The captain says the weather is going to get rough around ten."
"It smells wonderful," I lied, picking up my silver spoon.
Fiona was watching me over the rim of her wine glass. Aidan was cutting into his steak with slow, deliberate precision. They were all watching. Waiting for me to consume the poison they had bought to kill me.
I lifted a spoonful of the soup toward my mouth.
"Oh!" I gasped, deliberately jerking my wrist.
The heavy silver spoon slipped from my fingers, splashing into the bowl and knocking the porcelain dish against my water goblet. The glass tipped over, sending a cascade of ice water flooding across the tablecloth toward Flynn’s lap.
"Damn it!" Flynn snapped, jumping back from the table as the cold water soaked into his tailored trousers.
"Oh, Flynn, I'm so sorry!" I cried out, my voice rising in high, panicked distress. I grabbed my linen napkin and began frantically wiping at his legs, deliberately making a scene, knockings my own chair backward as I stood up. "My hand just trembled! I'm so dizzy, Flynn, I'm so sorry!"
"It's fine, it's fine!" Flynn said, his voice carrying a sharp edge of irritation before he forced himself to soften it. "Cassandra, calm down. It's just water."
"Mateo!" Fiona barked, her maternal mask slipping for a second to reveal a glare of pure venom. "Clear this table immediately!"
"Yes, ma'am!" Mateo hurried forward with a cloth.
In the chaos, while Flynn was distracted trying to dry his trousers and Mateo was clearing the spilled water, I reached out with my silk napkin, swept my bowl of soup toward the edge of the tray, and tipped the entire contents into the hollow center of the folded napkin and onto Mateo's clearing bus-tub beneath the table level.
When Flynn turned back, my bowl was empty, stained only with a few white streaks.
"You really are unfit, darling," Flynn said, his eyes scanning my pale face as he smoothed his trousers down. He took my arm, his grip just a fraction tighter than it needed to be. "I think you’ve had enough for tonight. Let’s get you back to bed before the storm hits."
May you like
I looked at Aidan and Fiona. They were both staring at my empty bowl with quiet, satisfied smiles.
"Yes," I whispered, letting my eyelids flutter as if the non-existent drug were already taking hold. "Please. I feel so... heavy."
