“It’s not a boat, Sinclair.” Cal reclined in his chair, placing the iPad by his coffee cup. “It’s a yacht. A big fucking yacht. And if it doesn’t have Wi-Fi, then I’ll literally eat your damn parrot.”

Pika threw him a scowl before resuming his under wing preening.

Cal stroked Pika’s head before adding, “I told you, Sullivan, you didn’t check the dimensions right when you agreed to let that Prest guy start manufacturing.”

“We ordered two in the end,” I said, sipping on freshly squeezed watermelon. “One small one for day trips and another large enough for weekend excursions for the married couples who need that extra step in their counselling.”

“Yes, well, your sexual therapy islands are about to get a yacht almost as big as they are.” Cal chuckled.

“Rapture is bigger than Serigala, so I’m sure you’re exaggerating.” I swallowed. “You are exaggerating, right?”

Grabbing his iPad, Cal tapped in a few places and brought up the email from Elder Prest from a year ago. Sully and I had gone through the link he’d sent us, looked at prior commissions he’d done, and discussed the advantages of having another form of accommodation for our guests on Rapture.

We’d agreed on a boat called Calypso—mainly because she was a goddess who’d trapped her husband on an island and made him immortal. Their twisted tale seemed a mirror image of Sully’s and mine. We hadn’t even really looked at the specifications after that. Sully had sent Elder Prest an email, requesting Calypso to be built along with a smaller vessel called Thimble, after a tiny jellyfish that had a nasty sting.

And to be honest, I’d completely forgotten about it. We’d made the order a week after returning from Hawksridge Hall in England, and apart from the invoices sent periodically as the build progressed, Mr. Prest didn’t bother sending other correspondence.

Cal passed me his iPad. “See for yourself. That behemoth is on its way here.”

Taking it, I squinted at the screen, angling it away from the sun’s glare. My mouth fell open at the sleek, sexy lines of a black and chrome super machine. It’d been given scale by placing a regular sized speedboat beside it.

The speedboat was the size of a grape next to a watermelon.

“Oh...shit.” I passed the iPad to Sully. “Did we seriously order a small floatable country?”

Sully chuckled as his intelligent eyes cast over the screen. “So that’s why it cost a shit ton more than I was expecting.” Zooming in on the specs that we really should have taken note of a year ago, he listed off, “Twelve state rooms, three formal lounges, movie theatre, swimming pool, fifteen bathrooms, onboard submarine, helipad.” He rolled his eyes. “Cal’s right. That isn’t a boat; it’s a fucking hotel.”

“Pity you don’t trade in skin anymore, Sinclair.” Cal smirked. “Aren’t the oceans free from international law? You could’ve had a new place for renting out goddesses to shady guests.”

Sully threw him a look. “You know, that might not be a bad idea.”

“Excuse me?” My eyebrows shot up as Jess stiffened in her chair. Unlike my journey from goddess to wife, she’d had to serve far too many clients. She knew first-hand what it was like to be forced to sleep with strangers, high on elixir or not. “How can you even suggest that, Cal, after you saw Jess’s entrapment?”

Cal shook his head. “You know I’m kidding.” Reaching across the table, he grabbed Jess’s hand. “There is no fucking way I’d ever enslave anyone.” Kissing her knuckles, he added, “Unless it’s in a fantasy, and then I’d enslave the hell out of you.”

Jess pulled her hand back, pretending to rub his kiss away. “I think you had a bit too much fun in Euphoria last night.”

“Which one did you play?” I asked, relaxing again as Sully returned Cal’s iPad.

“Threadbare Trader,” Jess answered.

I frowned, trying to remember which one that was. Before I could ask, Sully bent closer, whispering, “The slave market where the trader tries to buy the prettiest girl on offer but can’t afford her. There’s a computer coded audience while he—”

“Takes her anyway,” Cal said, grinning. “Thoroughly, I might add.”

“And you know I’m kidding too. Right, Eleanor?” Sully stroked my long hair. “About the illegal parts, of course. However, Cal is right that the boat could work as a sex club where both men and women would be free to indulge.”

“Yacht, not boat,” Cal cut in. “A floating city.”

“But isn’t that what Rapture is?” I asked. “The stats that Sophie Smith, our CEO, regularly sends us show that Euphoria is a hit, and they had to build two new playrooms. As word continues to travel that a week on Rapture saves marriages—no matter how broken—we get more and more requests.”

“Yes, but they’re husbands and wives trying to make shit work. I’m talking about younger, friskier people. Girls who want their darkest fantasies played out safely. Boys who want to be animals without running the risk of imprisonment.” Sully’s sea gaze sparked with yet another business venture.

It seemed pharmaceuticals, marriage counselling islands, and all the other side charities and enterprises we oversaw together wouldn’t stop what he truly was.

He was an entrepreneur with a never-ending thirst to birth businesses that fit niches that normalcy couldn’t deliver.

Jess scooted forward in her chair. “You’re right. That could be amazing. I know from personal experience that when Cal and I play, it increases our intimacy a thousand-fold. I know him so well just from sharing what we truly want. Imagine if men and women booked a weekend on Calypso, clicked from a menu of their wants and desires, and were matched with likeminded partners.” She gave me a dreamy smile. “It could be the new version of all those awful dating apps. Don’t swipe left, choose a fantasy that another has chosen, have a night of absolute abandonment, fall madly in love, and be as happy as the four of us.”

I eyed her. “Sounds like you’d enjoy running it.”

“I’d enjoy playing matchmaker.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to do a trial,” Sully murmured. “Create a simple website, let a few discreet booking agents know, host a few strangers onboard, and see where we go from there.”

“At this rate, we’ll need to buy a fleet.” I smiled. “You know anything to do with Euphoria is a massive success.”

“Yes, well. Who can say no to a virtual world where there’s no shame?” Sully gave me a doting smile.

“I think it’s a worthwhile venture,” Cal said. “And, in the interest of business, Jess and I will accompany you on your inaugural cruise so we can test out the yacht and see if it would be suitable for guests.”

Sully laughed. “Your lack of subtly is impressive.”

“I’ve given up waiting for an invite and just issued myself one instead.” Cal grinned. “And there’s no excuse about Wi-Fi. A yacht like that will have its own everything.”

“Fine. If that’s the case, then you’re more than welcome—”

“Eh, sir?” Radcliffe, our head of security, appeared as silently and as stealthy as he always did.