Page 2 of Hearts Aweigh

The finicky employee shook his head. “It’s not protocol. Because you’ve received special permission from the owners, you ladies are allowed to leave your belongings in your cabins. But zero count is a nonnegotiable. We can’t let the new passengers onto the ship until the old passengers are off.”

“Are you calling us old?” Althea’s eyebrows puckered, along with her mouth.

Four pairs of Shipper eyes drilled into him.

“N-no, ma’am.” Peter retreated. “I meant, I … I—” His gaze moved in a wild circuit and landed on Abby. “Aren’t you supposed to pass out refreshments to the VIPs while they wait to board?”

“Yes, sir.” She hopped from her chair. “I’m sorry.”

“We can’t risk offending our first-class patrons. Hurry!”

Abby wadded the skirt of her voluminous ball gown and prepared to run.

“Wait.” Emily lifted a hand.

Abby flopped back onto her seat.

The older woman glared at Peter as if chastising him for the interruption. “Abby, we’ll get more details from you later, but give us a twenty-second summary of what you want in a man.”

Abby grinned. “How about a carbon copy of the last husband you found. The guy you matched with my buddy Lacey was a dream come true. Sweet. Considerate. Funny.”

“Tall, dark, and drop-dead everything.” Althea sighed. “If Jonny had been a few decades older, I’d have kept him for myself.”

Abby pointed at Althea and winked. “I’ll take one exactly like him, please.

Except for the tall part.” She stood to her full height of five foot two.

The fact she wore tennis shoes under her billowy satin dress didn’t help.

She rotated in a slow circle. “I’m vertically challenged.

I want to look up to my husband in the figurative sense, not the literal.

Someone medium , dark, and dreamy is fine with me. No one over five foot ten, please.”

Spencer Masterson’s six-foot-plus frame allowed him to see over the stares of the waiting passengers.

He tugged the lapel of his charcoal-colored business suit.

A determined sea breeze whipped from one end of the pier to the other, attacking the straight black locks of his carefully styled hair.

He pushed the wayward strands into place and smoothed the knot on his navy-blue silk tie.

A man in a floral shirt and Bermuda shorts grumbled beside him. “Who goes on a Caribbean cruise in that getup?”

“I wish you’d wear that kind of getup.” His female companion tittered.

Spencer rolled his shoulder and pretended he didn’t hear their unguarded conversation. A flimsy velvet cord separated the preferred customer line from the teeming mass of regular passengers. The Monarch Cruises VIP experience lacked a few finishing touches.

He checked his watch and sent another text to the office.

It took two people to cover his caseload during this little excursion.

His jaw clenched as his to-do list ran through his mind.

If he concluded this business on the first day at sea, they could charter a plane in Cozumel and fly to New Orleans in time for the trial on Friday.

He stuffed the phone in his pocket and shifted the bag of legal briefs to his other hand.

“Excuse me, sir.” The woman behind him in the austere gray suit spoke. “The child is hungry.” She motioned to the five-year-old at her side.

He glanced at the blond-haired girl in the intricate lace dress who looked nothing like him.

His daughter. One hand held the diamond-studded locket around her neck as she grasped her governess with the other.

Her confused blue eyes absorbed the surrounding pandemonium.

A twinge of guilt hit him. Had she eaten breakfast?

He usually made do with a cup of coffee.

“Madeleine”—he crouched to her height—“did you eat this morning?”

She blinked. “Y-yes, sir.”

Did she think he was reprimanding her? They’d spent only holidays together for the past two years, and he knew next to nothing about being a father. How did one go about communicating with children?

He brightened the pitch of his voice. “Would you like a sna-ack?” The last word squeaked like a cartoon mouse.

Madeleine covered her mouth and giggled.

Heat singed Spencer’s neck. He stood up and gestured to Ms. Blanchet, the expensive caregiver his executive assistant had hired from the most prestigious agency in New Orleans. “You’re the governess. Didn’t you bring any food?”

“Of course I did.” The woman straightened her already rigid shoulders. “But you made it clear mealtimes were nonnegotiable.”

Spencer stared. Ms. Blanchet’s poise remained unruffled. And Spencer stared more. She wavered and tugged open the large leather satchel at her side.

“Perhaps one granola bar won’t spoil her lunch.” She unwrapped the all-natural, sugar-free snack and passed it to the child. “You said we’ll be on the boat for no more than two nights. Correct?”

“Yes. I should complete my business soon. We’ll fly from Cozumel to New Orleans.”

“Thank you,” the little girl murmured.

Spencer’s gaze took in the pocket-size stranger below him.

His ex-wife’s decision to live in New York during their two-year separation meant he’d had few opportunities to spend time with Madeleine.

Now that the divorce was finalized and Priscilla had agreed to give him sole custody, he would do everything in his power to make sure his daughter was happy. But how?

Madeleine chewed on her granola bar without complaint.

At least she’s quiet. Unlike her mother.

One dubious benefit of his ex-wife’s constant criticism had been that it left him in no doubt of her desires.

Spencer had been a full-time father for all of three days and still hadn’t a clue what his little girl wanted.

Would Madeleine tell him if she needed something?

Or would their relationship resemble his own childhood?

Always passing messages through a bevy of servants and employees.

God?

Spencer swallowed. The awkward sensation of seeking help from an invisible Creator rankled his Masterson pride. He’d been taught to never show weakness to anyone. But he’d recently realized the value in relinquishing things to Someone greater than himself.

I’m new at this whole prayer thing. If you’re listening, I could use assistance. Please help me be a father she can trust and depend on. I have no idea where to start.

A musical voice sounded behind him. “Welcome to the MS Buckingham , dear honored guests.”

He turned to find a diminutive young woman dressed in a long purple gown like a princess from a fairy tale. Her fiery hair curled around her face, and her smile beamed with a warmth to match. She held a silver tray with bottled water.

He would have responded, but she wasn’t looking at him. Her twinkling eyes were fixed on Madeleine. She dipped in a curtsy and held out the tray to his daughter.

“Would you care for water, Your Majesty?” She spoke the words in a fake British accent and without a trace of irony, even though her own tiara listed to the side.

Madeleine shook her head. “No, thank you, ma’am.”

The wannabe princess stood tall, if five foot two could be considered tall. Her compact but shapely figure turned his way as she lifted the tray. “Water, sir?” The pesky breeze whipped her red hair, and she twisted her full pink lips to puff it away. “Sir?”

“No.” He’d paused for only a second, but it bothered him. Why was he so distracted? As the most reputed lawyer in New Orleans, he was never at a loss for words.

She moved to the next passenger in the VIP line.

Spencer forced his attention away and focused on the mammoth ship in front of him.

The pristine white sides towered above them.

Crew members rushed along the decks with armloads of miscellaneous items. A twisting mass of tube slides rose from the pool at the front end of the ship.

Near the gangplank, a mariachi band stood in black suits with gold embroidery and wide red ties, filling the air with spirited music.

It was a giant, floating amusement park.

Spencer squinted at the festivities. “It baffles me why Daisy is living in a place like this.”