Page 26 of Ship Wrecked

For all her good cheer and social ease, Maria was as sharp as sea urchin spines and as relentless as the tides. She forgot nothing. And as always, she was right. He admired her talent and her hard work, and he was unequivocally glad to be her costar, but...

She wasn’thungryin the same way he was. She didn’tneedthis job, or maybe any job, the way he did. From what she’d said that night in the hotel hallway, she would walk away from the show if she decided the role no longer worked for her. Without a backward glance or a single regret.

Even withoutGods of the Gates, even without an acting career, her life would remain full and happy. Her loving family and loyal friends would surround and embrace her. Her government would financially support her until she found different work, and he suspected she’d be good at whatever she chose to do.

But this show, this opportunity, was everything to him.

The showrunners were lucky to have her, yes. Definitely. But even so, being cast on a big-budget, blockbuster show was a privilege the vast majority of talented actors would never receive, and one she didn’t seem to appreciate sufficiently. Not the opportunity. Not the professional recognition. Not the money. Not the fame.

So, no, she wasn’t grateful enough. About that, he hadn’t budged.

Which meant he wasn’t answering her question, because he wasn’t a fool.

“You certainly seem to take your packing seriously.” He glancedaround the room. “Have you somehow acquired more suitcases since we arrived? Or did they simply procreate in the depths of your closet?”

Her narrow-eyed stare told him she’d noticed his subject change. But after a moment, her shoulders dropped a fraction, and she let it go.

“Since you were the one who hauled my suitcases over the threshold of this room, you know very well that I have the same number now as I did then.” She smirked. “Also, Swedes receive very comprehensive sexual education in schools. I wholeheartedly believe in luggage control and always practice safe packing.”

He pointedly glanced at the nearest suitcase. “If you believe in luggage control, why the hell did you bring so many bags?”

“Snacks,” she told him, unembarrassed. “Lots and lots of snacks. Three suitcases’ worth.”

What the fuck?

“You realize this isn’t an actual deserted island, right? And that the production will make sure we get fed?” He peered down at her, befuddled. “What were you thinking?”

“I suppose I thought we might have food supply issues,” she said vaguely, then waved her hand in dismissal. “Anyway, care to sample the contents of Sweden’s candy aisles?”

He’d prefer to taste other things belonging to Maria, but snacks were certainly safer. “Sure.”

With easy grace, she rose from the couch and disappeared into her bedroom. When she returned, she held a small yellow plastic bag with cartoon animals on it. The bag was full of some sort of unidentifiable black candy and covered in Swedish text, and she ripped it open.

When she held it out to him, he eyed its contents with caution. “What is this?”

“Don’t be a baby, Peter.” She shook the bag impatiently. “It’s one of the most popular candies in Sweden. Take a piece.”

Well, ten million Swedes couldn’t be wrong. Without further argument, he popped a vaguely round bit of candy in his mouth and chewed.

Then he promptly spat that piece onto the floor, because—

“Holy fuck!” he shouted. “What the hell, Maria?”

“The l-look on your f-face.” She was bent over and cackling uncontrollably. “Oh, shit, thelookon yourface!”

There wasn’t enough sparkling water in the world, but he snatched a bottle from her minifridge anyway and drained half of it in a single guzzle. When that didn’t do the trick, he hurried into her bathroom and rubbed a dollop of stolen toothpaste over his tongue.

Normally, he’d spit out the toothpaste, but not today. He wasn’t risking the return of that candy’s particular flavor to his taste buds.

“What was that—thatabomination?” He pointed accusingly at the half-chewed lump on the hardwood. “Did youpoisonme?”

She rolled her eyes to the ceiling, but she was still chortling. “It’s salty licorice. Lots of Swedes love it, but most people from other countries... not so much.”

“You live in a nation of monsters,” he informed her.

“What did I tell you earlier today, Reedton?”

Her smile bright enough to blind him, she leaned in close. So close he could smell a hint of the raspberry dessert she’d savored at dinner and count the golden flecks in her brown eyes.

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