“I really don’t want to throw up on your yacht.”
He frowned. “I don’t want that either.” He stood and used his hold on me to pull me up with him. “You might benefit from fresh air and the horizon.”
“I’d benefit more if I wasn’t on this boat,” I grumbled.
He helped me up the stairs, which was no easy feat with how the ocean rocked us side to side, and once we were above deck, I clung to him, not caring if this was appropriate or what his staff would think. The sea was the most dominating thing right now, and I’d become a slave to it.
Macalister sat us down on one of the sun pads mid-deck, and when my head dropped onto his shoulder, he wrapped his arm reassuringly behind my back. His tone was quiet. He was trying to help, not boss me around. “Stare at the horizon.”
I tried to focus on it.
Then I tried to compartmentalize and shut down the part of my brain that was registering the nausea, but that didn’t work either. I wanted to enjoy sitting in the sun with him, nestled close while the waves cast seawater misting faintly over us . . .
But I couldn’t.
My stomach lurched, and once the panic set in that he might watch me as I vomited, it had a snowball effect. My anxiety made me feel so much worse. “Macalister,” I croaked.
“I know.” He eased me down so I could lie across the lounge. “I’ll tell the captain we need to turn back.”
I watched him clamp a hand on the back of the lounger and ride the undulating deck, gingerly making his way toward the cockpit. God, I envied him for not feeling the effects, and I despised my equilibrium.
This was supposed to be our date, and my body had ruined what was going to be a—
Tingles crept up the back of my neck, which was my signal I’d crossed the point of no return. The contents of my stomach were about to come up, and now it was simply a race to keep it down long enough to make it to the side of the boat.
I scrambled up over the lounger, stumbling blindly toward the corded railing that skirted the perimeter of the deck. It was extra hard because the boat was turning and pitching so sharply I practically had to climb.
It leveled off just as I reached the side.
“Sophia!”
Macalister’s horrified yell yanked my attention to him. I didn’t understand what was wrong or why he looked so terrified, but seeing him like that made my heart stop.
It meant I didn’t notice the boom as it swung across the ship until it was too late to get out of its way. The heavy pole that jutted out from the mast slammed into my shoulder, the force of it sending stars of pain through my body and knocking me off my feet.
I didn’t scream as I fell. My voice was too stolen by surprise, so I was silent as I tumbled headfirst over the side and plunged deep into the darkness of the Atlantic.
TWENTY-FIVE
MACALISTER
AWARENESS SCUTTLED OVER MY SKIN like an army of insects. I didn’t believe in premonitions, but the sensation of danger descended on me so rapidly, I couldn’t ignore it. I’d asked Captain Ridley to turn us back to port, but it meant we were making a run downwind. The ship heeled over nearly forty-five degrees unexpectedly, veering us off course.
It was the perfect setup for an accidental gybe—one of the most dangerous events to take place while sailing. If the wind hit the mainsail, it’d caused the boom to swing from one side of the boat to the other. The violent crash of it could rip straps, tear the sail, and damage the mast.
Or it could sweep someone clean off the deck.
The cockpit was lower than the midship and back aft so there was more than enough clearance for me and the captain, but as the wind shifted and began to fill the mainsail, Sophia abruptly stood. My reaction was slowed by fear as she moved directly into the path of danger.
“Sophia!”
She turned to look at me exactly when the boom came at her like a missile.
Ice froze in my blood as it slammed into her body, knocking her over so quickly, one moment she was there and the next she was gone. The splash of her in the water was the same as if it’d been thrown in my face, spurring me into action.
“Man overboard!” I yelled, loud enough for Hilde to hear below deck, and I dashed to the stern, scouring the water for Sophia. The ship was moving at a fast clip, currently sailing away from her, and with the rolling sea, it’d make it difficult to spot her.
I’d approved her black dress this morning because I foolishly liked how low the neckline was, and she’d pulled on a black cardigan to combat the autumn wind. Her clothes made her blend in with the water, and her blonde hair wasn’t nearly as bright when it was wet. My heart beat furiously, and it intensified every second as I scanned the ocean and couldn’t find her.