Isabella rented a mega-yacht. Of course she did.
"The Christina O was available," she announced at breakfast, as if this explained everything. "Aristotle Onassis owned it. Jackie Kennedy sailed on it. I've chartered it for the day."
"You chartered a historic yacht," Victoria said flatly.
"I chartered the historic yacht. There's a difference." Isabella buttered her toast with the precision of a woman who had once managed a six-hundred-billion-euro portfolio. "The crew has been briefed. The route takes us down the coast to the Florida Keys and back. We leave at noon."
"How much did this cost?" Elena asked.
"Enough that the question is vulgar."
The Christina O was a sixty-eight-meter floating monument to mid-century wealth. Teak decks, a pool that converted to a dance floor, a helipad, and a crew of twenty who treated Isabella like the owner. She commanded the ship with the same authority she'd used to command the Vane Consortium.
"This is excessive," Elena said as we boarded.
