Stormy Waters (eBook)

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- Sapphic love story
- Second Chances
- Enemies to Lovers
- At sea

Chapter 1
Zoe Freeman spotted them from the aft deck as they cleared the marina gates—a moving cloud of hot pink that pulsed with chaotic energy. She squinted toward the dock and sighed, watching as the group made its way toward the Maiden Voyage with the unmistakable swagger of women who'd already been drinking despite the early hour.
"Incoming," she muttered to Rei, who was adjusting her uniform beside her as they waited in the crew lineup. "Full-scale bachelorette invasion."
Rei followed her gaze toward the approaching group, then let out a low whistle. "Jesus. They look like a flock of flamingos had a collision with a craft store."
"Five days," Zoe said under her breath, more to herself than to Rei. "Five very long days."
She'd worked enough bachelorette charters to know the drill. The bride would be demanding and emotional, riding high on pre-wedding hysteria. The bridesmaids would drink too much, cry over their own relationship drama, and require constant supervision around any water-based activities. Someone would inevitably have a meltdown about something insignificant, and by day three, half the group wouldn't be speaking to the other half.
The last bachelorette charter they'd hosted had ended with the maid of honor throwing the bride's phone overboard during a screaming match about the seating arrangements.
"This group looks like they have money," Rei observed, adjusting her tool belt. "All of them, not just the primary. Designer luggage, professional hair and makeup."
Zoe snorted. "Rich drunk women are still drunk women. It's all the same."
Captain Jordan appeared beside them. "Quiet, please," she announced to the assembled crew. "The primary is eager to take off ASAP, so Zoe, you can start with the safety briefing as soon as they've got their first drink in their hands."
Zoe straightened her uniform shirt and fell into her designated position in the crew lineup. Chef Lindsay caught her eye and grinned, her chef's whites immaculate despite having spent the morning prepping.
"They've already got drinks in their hands. The bride is clearly unsteady on her feet and—" Zoe stopped as Captain Jordan shot her a warning look that could have frozen the Caribbean.
She zipped her lips and fell into line beside Dani, who was practically vibrating with nervous energy. Despite having worked four years of regular charters, Dani still got anxious before meeting new guests, especially groups that had the potential for drama. She and the two housekeeping freelancers had spent the morning perfecting the guest cabins and arranging the welcome champagne service, polishing glasses that were already spotless, and fussing over flower arrangements.
Zoe mentally ran through the maintenance schedule for the jet skis, wondering if she'd remembered to check the oil levels in the tender engines, cataloging the weather forecast for the week ahead. Anything to avoid thinking about how exhausting the next five days were likely to be.
The group had reached the boarding plank now, and Zoe could make out individual figures within the pink mass. The bride was easy to spot—she walked slightly ahead of the others, her posture screaming look at me while she raised a travel flute.
Behind her, seven bridesmaids followed in varying degrees of pink coordination and sashes with "Team Bride" emblazoned in glittery script.
The luggage following told its own story—designer suitcases in coordinating pastels, monogrammed makeup cases, and three portable wardrobes.
"Welcome aboard the Maiden Voyage, Ms. Clarke!" Captain Jordan called out as the bride stepped onto the deck.
"Finally!" the bride exclaimed. "I was beginning to think we'd never get this party started. I'm Vanessa Clarke, and this is my weekend, so I hope you're all prepared to make it absolutely perfect."
She punctuated this declaration by draining the rest of her champagne and looking around expectantly for someone to refill it. The gesture was so brazenly entitled that Zoe had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from rolling her eyes.
One of those brides. The kind who thought that paying for a luxury charter meant the crew existed solely to cater to her every whim, no matter how unreasonable or demanding. The kind who would send food back to the galley three times because it wasn't "exactly what I had in mind," even though she hadn't bothered to specify what she actually wanted in the first place.
"Of course, Ms. Clarke," Jordan replied smoothly, her years of diplomatic training evident in her tone. "We're absolutely delighted to have you and your party aboard. Allow me to introduce our crew—"
But Vanessa had already moved on, surveying the yacht's deck with a critical eye that suggested she was mentally cataloging everything that didn't meet her standards. "This is smaller than I expected," she announced loudly enough for the entire crew to hear. "The pictures online made it look much more spacious. And where's the champagne? I specifically requested Dom Pérignon to be waiting when we arrived. Premium Dom Pérignon."
"Right here, Ms. Clarke," Dani interjected, stepping forward with a silver tray bearing flutes of champagne. She'd clearly anticipated this exact demand and had been waiting at the ready. "Freshly opened just for your arrival."
Zoe watched Captain Jordan's jaw tighten almost imperceptibly—the only sign that the bride's rudeness was hitting its mark. After twenty years in the Navy, Jordan had dealt with her share of difficult people, but she'd always maintained that military training hadn't quite prepared her for entitled civilians with more money than manners.
The bridesmaids were a chorus of squeals as they took their flutes, and they were certainly more complimentary than the bride.
"Oh my God, Vanessa, this is amazing! Can you imagine the Instagram photos we're going to get?"
"Where's the hot tub? Please tell me there's a hot tub!"
"Of course we have a hot tub. I'll give you the full tour after the safety briefing," Zoe said. Her thoughts stuttered to a halt as she glanced at one of the bridesmaids.
Tall and willowy, with dark, shoulder-length hair, she moved with a confidence that seemed effortless rather than performative. Unlike the others, her pink outfit was understated—a simple blush-colored sundress. But it was more than just her appearance that caught Zoe's attention. There was something familiar about the way she moved, the tilt of her head, the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Something that made Zoe's stomach clench.
Recognition began to creep in around the edges of her consciousness. The hair color was different—it had been lighter in high school, a shade of auburn that she'd worn long and straight. And the braces were gone, revealing a smile that belonged in a toothpaste commercial. But those green eyes, that slightly crooked nose, the way she carried herself with just a hint of swagger...
It couldn't be.
The woman was older now, obviously. Certainly way more polished, sophisticated, and accomplished. But underneath all that, Zoe could see traces of the girl she'd known fifteen years ago. The girl who had made her life hell.
"By the way, this is my sister, Stormy," Vanessa said, linking her arm through the woman's elbow possessively. "She's my maid of honor and the only person I trust to keep me from doing anything too crazy this weekend."
The woman—fuck, it really was Stormy—laughed, and the sound made Zoe nauseous. It was exactly the same laugh that had once made her want to crawl under a rock and die.
Stormy Clarke. The girl who had ruined her junior and senior years. Who had cornered her in the locker room after soccer practice and called her a dyke loud enough for half the team to hear. Who had started the rumor that Zoe was obsessed with her, turning what had been an innocent, carefully hidden crush into a source of public humiliation that had followed Zoe through the halls until graduation.
The girl who had pretended to be interested in her just long enough to get Zoe to admit her feelings, then had laughed in her face and told everyone at Jessica Morrison's party that "the lesbian has a thing for me." The girl who had made Zoe's name synonymous with mockery and shame.
Stormy fucking Clarke.
Zoe's breathing became shallow as memories flooded back. The sick feeling of walking into the cafeteria and knowing that people were talking about her. The way conversations would stop when she entered a room. The graffiti that had appeared in the girls' bathroom: "Zoe Freeman loves pussy" with a crude drawing.
"I doubt that very much," Stormy was saying to her sister. "No one can stop you from doing anything stupid, but I'll do my best."
"I'm sure everything will be fine," Captain Jordan said, clearly trying to regain control of the situation. "But if you don't mind, ladies, we'll begin with a safety briefing before we get underway—"
"Safety briefing?" Vanessa interrupted with a laugh. "Can't we skip all that boring stuff and get straight to the fun part? We can all swim, I promise. I mean, come on, we're not exactly planning to go down with the ship here."
Several of the bridesmaids giggled, and Zoe caught one of them muttering something about the Titanic that was apparently hilarious to her companions.
"I'm afraid safety briefings are mandatory," Jordan replied. "Maritime law requires that all passengers receive safety instruction before departure. But we'll make it as quick and painless as possible."
"Fine, fine," Vanessa waved her hand dismissively. "But make it snappy."
Zoe tried to focus on the captain's words, but her eyes kept drifting back to Stormy. She hadn't looked directly at Zoe yet—why would she? To her, Zoe would just be another crew member. Background noise in her luxury vacation experience.
Maybe that was for the best. Maybe Stormy wouldn't recognize her at all. Fifteen years was a long time, and people changed. Zoe certainly had.
Zoe ran a hand through her curly dark hair, grateful that it was tamed now, and that contact lenses had replaced the thick glasses she'd worn in high school. She'd filled out too, trading her teenage awkwardness for the lean muscle that came from years of physical work on boats.
Maybe she could make it through five days of professional interactions without ever having to acknowledge their shared past. Maybe she could just do her job, keep her head down, and pretend that Stormy Clarke was just another guest requiring her services.
"Our First Mate, Zoe Freeman, will be handling your safety briefing," Jordan said, shattering her hope.
Zoe stepped forward slightly and nodded to the group, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Please follow me to the main salon. It will only take—"
She stopped mid-sentence as Stormy's gaze finally landed on her. For a moment, confusion flickered across those green eyes—the same eyes that had haunted Zoe's teenage dreams and nightmares in equal measure. Then recognition dawned, slow and inexorable, and Stormy's face went completely white.
The moment stretched between them like a taut wire, fifteen years of history compressed into a single, devastating second of eye contact.
Zoe wanted to run. Wanted to tell Captain Jordan she was suddenly violently ill and needed to be replaced immediately. Anything to avoid spending the next five days in close quarters with the person who had single-handedly made her teenage years a waking nightmare.
Instead, she cleared her throat and finished her sentence with as much composure as she could muster. "—It will only take fifteen minutes."
Stormy was still staring at her, lips slightly parted in shock, but the other bridesmaids were already chattering about jet skiing and Instagram photo opportunities, oblivious to the drama unfolding between their maid of honor and the crew member.
Five days, Zoe reminded herself grimly. Just five very long days.