Page 44 of How to Train Your Billionaire

Colette beams. “Welcome! If there’s anything you need, just let me know.” She’s very pretty, and I’m momentarily distracted by how porcelain her skin is.

A guest services specialist named Melisse had contacted me ahead of our departure to arrange for the provisions we wanted on board, which were apparently groceries.Provisionssounds so pretentious. I had to tell her about my allergies and preferences. She already knew Charles’s favorites, but I made sure to remind her about his love for liverwurst.

But other than that, I feel a little clueless about how this whole thing works. Charles only mentioned that we’d be visiting different ports and to have my passport on board with me.

“Uh, yeah, quick question.” I glance between them. “Where exactly doIstay? Do I get, like ... a bunk bed situation, or are we talking aTitanic-stylesteeragescenario?”

Colette’s eyes widen slightly. “You ... have a full suite, Miss Francesca.”

Charles sighs. “Frankie, it’s a yacht, not ahostel.”

“My bad,” I deadpan. “I’m just adjusting to the concept of a floating five-star hotel.”

Colette laughs politely, but the captain is clearly debating whether or not I’m a liability.

“Well, welcome aboard and feel free to explore the vessel,” he says diplomatically. “Dinner will be served on the aft deck at sunset.”

“Sounds great,” Charles replies.

“Wait,” I interrupt. “Do we need to, like ...helpwith anything?”

Now Colette looks genuinely alarmed. “Help?”

“Yeah, you know, hoist sails? Swab the decks? Batten down hatches?” I wave vaguely. “Nautical things.”

Captain Laurent clears his throat. “Elysiumis fully crewed. We don’t have sails since it’s a motor yacht. And you won’t need to, uh ... batten anything.”

Charles pinches the bridge of his nose. “Frankie, for God’s sake.”

I shrug. “Just checking.”

The captain wisely decides to move on. “Well, then, enjoy your time aboardElysium. We hope to depart in a day or two, and until then, make yourself comfortable. We’re glad to have you aboard again, sir.”

As Charles steps onto the yacht like he wasbornfor this, I take one last look at the impossibly blue water and the kind of luxury I willneverbe used to.

Then I square my shoulders and board the yacht—mentally promising myself I won’t fall overboard or, worse, make an absolute spectacle of myself.

Probably.

My guest cabin is dreamy—plush bedding, buttery-soft linens, and a window with a view so perfect it almost looks fake. There’s a private en suite bathroom with gold fixtures, a rainfall shower, and towels that feel like they were spun from actual clouds. Everything smells like lavender and luxury.

I wander from my cabin, strolling along the deck toward the front of the vessel.

There are names for things I’ll probably never get used to. The kitchen is the galley. The balcony is an aft deck. The mess is part of the crew quarters.

There’s also the poop deck and the flybridge, which sound made up but aren’t.

It’s more than I need. Way more than I’m used to.

And for a second, I wonder—not for the first time—what exactly I’m doing here.

In addition to meeting Captain Laurent and Colette, I’ve been introduced to several other crew members. An engineer. Someone called a stew. A couple of deckhands. And a private chef.

It’s dizzying, watching them all move about the yacht with purpose and precision—like they belong here.

I’m still figuring out if I do.

We won’t depart from our slip in the marina for a couple more days because, apparently, we’re still waiting for one more member of our crew who got held up in immigration.