“I told my mum that, one day, I’d buy her a house,” he finished, holding his glass up with a proud gleam in his eyes. “And that’s exactly what I’ll do.”
Bernard and Gisella lifted their glasses to his, the rest of us following suit. I noticed Palmer wearing an appreciative smile, like he wanted to help Cameron as his bosun to achieve that dream. When I glanced next to me, Leah had practically turned into a heart eye emoji. I cocked a brow at her, but she flushed and waved me off.
“What about you, Em?” Eli asked, pinning me with a tipsy, crooked grin from where he sat across the table from me. “What’s your family like?”
I froze, drink hovering at my lips where I’d been about to take a sip. I finally managed to take one, slowly, smiling though my heart was already starting to race. “Oh, I don’t have a story to tell, really.”
“Come on,” Palmer chided. “Everyone has a story.”
It wasn’t warm enough to sweat, but I felt myself start to as all the eyes of the table fixated on me.
“Mine is pretty boring,” I said, hoping the laugh I gave with it would convince them to leave me be.
“Try us,” Leah said. Her smile was genuine, curious, and it shouldn’t have been that big of a deal for me to answer the question. They wanted to know about my family, just as most of them had already shared about their own.
But I was suddenly very aware of the cameras, of the fact that my father would watch this on television, and that I needed to be very careful with my words.
I shrugged. “I don’t know, my family is pretty normal, I guess.”
“Normal.” Bernard snorted. “Is there really such a thing?”
“My mom is a wonderful mom… quiet, but smart. She’s been a great partner to my father all her life and always made sure I was nurtured. My dad…” I paused, my fingers tracing the stem of my martini glass. “He’s a businessman. Real estate, mostly — but not the flashy kind you see on TV. He’s more of a numbers guy. Commercial acquisitions, development deals, asset management. The whole nine.”
Bernard let out a low whistle. “Bloody hell, so you’re definitely not here for the money then, are ya?”
A few of them laughed, and I forced a smile, even though my stomach tightened like a fist wringing out a towel.
“Seriously,” Palmer added, nudging my elbow. “Are you like a trust fund baby?”
I shook my head. “Not even close. My father has always believed you should earn what you have. No handouts. No freebies. If you want something, you work your ass off for it.”
“Sounds like a proper hard-ass, your dad,” Cameron said.
I shook my head immediately, taking a long sip of my martini to buy myself some time to say the right words. I wondered if I’d say anything different if the cameras weren’t around, but knew in my heart I wouldn’t.
I was protective over my father, even if I struggled from his lack of affection.
“No, no, he just expects me to be great, you know? Like any parent, I guess. He wants me to make smart decisions, earn respect, make something of myself.”
The table grew eerily quiet.
“That’s a lot of pressure, Ember,” Gisella said softly. I winced under the soft empathy in her gaze, both surprised and annoyed by the presence of it. I didn’t want her pity, and yet something inme cracked at her words, like I was thankful someone said what I couldn’t.
“Well, all I know is he’s gotta be a proud papa bear,” Leah said, lifting her glass in the air like a cheers toward me. “Chief stew on a superyacht? On a hit reality show? Come on — you’re killing it.”
I used all the energy I had to smile at her, my throat tightening so fast I had to swallow hard to force it open again. I tried to speak — to agree, to say something witty and deflective — but nothing came out.
Because I knew my father wasn’t proud of me.
I wasn’t sure he ever would be, with the path I’d chosen.
No matter how hard I worked, no matter how many promotions I earned or how many charters I crushed or how much praise I got from captains and guests alike — I wasn’t sure I’d ever change his mind about my career and the value of it.
And suddenly, agreeing to be on this show in the hopes it would prove my worth to him felt naïvely silly.
The silence dragged a beat too long, my insides churning under the weight of it along with the alcohol buzzing through me. But then, from across the table, Finn cleared his throat.
“Well,” he said, sliding into the conversation with that easy, charming smile of his. “I come from a long line of terrible cooks. Me ma could burn water if you gave her half a chance, and me da once made boxed mac and cheese with powdered sugar instead of flour for the roux.”