Kylie, Delaney, Sadie, and Lexi had to do some quick convincing, but twenty-four hours later, they were joining Jenna on the cruise.

“My mom said I have to write my social studies report while we’re on the ship,” Sadie announced.

“What’s it on?” Lexi asked as they waited in line at the ship terminal in New York City.

“That’s the problem—I have no idea what to write about,” Sadie said, sighing.

“How about how long it takes to board a cruise ship,” Jenna replied impatiently. Besides going through security and checking passports, they each had to wait till their cabin assignments were ready. Leo ran around with a clipboard, making sure everything his marketing team had ordered was being loaded aboard the ship.

“What about the balloons? The giant Ralph Warren logo banner? The confetti cannon?” he asked his assistant, Mitchell.

“Yes, sir, all accounted for,” Mitchell answered. “And just in time. He’s here! He’s here!”

Ralph Warren, the famous fashion designer, pulled up to the ship’s terminal in a long, black stretch limo. He was dressed impeccably in a navy suit and a red, white, and blue tie with tiny anchors on it.

“Leo!” he said, shaking Jenna’s dad’s hand warmly. “I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to this collection launch—especially the runway show at sea.”

“You are? I mean, you are!” Leo replied nervously. “We all are. It’s going to be amazing.”

“We hope,” Mitchell muttered under his breath.

“I’ll see you onboard then,” Mr. Warren replied. “Anchors aweigh!”

Leo mopped his brow with a handkerchief and began checking and double-checking his clipboard for the third or fourth time.

“Dad looks a little frazzled,” Maggie said.

“It didn’t help that half our family is home sick with chicken pox,” Jenna said. “He felt terrible leaving Mami. And she was so disappointed.”

Marisol overheard their conversation and gulped. She, too, was worried about disappointing Mami. What if she told her mother she didn’t want to be a doctor and Mami burst into tears? Or worse, what if she decided to be a photography major—and Mami grounded her for life? What then?

“Next!” a cruise agent bellowed, waving his hand in Marisol’s face. “Unless you want the ship to set sail without you, young lady?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, handing him her passport and ticket. “I was just daydreaming.”

Jenna tapped her on the shoulder. “You should take lots of pictures on the cruise,” she whispered. “You know, in case you need some to send with your scholarship application to film school.”

“I haven’t decided if I’m applying,” Marisol said, looking around to make sure Leo wasn’t in earshot. “I told you to keep it a secret, so don’t blab.”

“Blab what?” Delaney poked her head in between them. “What’s all the whispering about? Did I miss something?”

“Nada,” Jenna said. “Marisol was just wondering if they have a chocoholic buffet at midnight tonight.”

Delaney’s eyes grew wide. “Chocoholic buffet?” she gasped. “Now those are two words I love to hear.”

The girls all got their cabin assignments and waited for Leo to board the gangway with them.

“Daddy”—Maggie waved at him—“are you coming?”

Leo was shouting loudly into his phone. “Isn’t there anything you can do? Hire a private jet or something? Mr. Warren just boarded the ship. What am I supposed to tell him?”

“Uh-oh,” Maggie said, watching her father’s face turn bright red. “Something’s wrong.”

“Qué pasa, Leo?” Jenna asked him gently.

He waved her off and continued yelling into the phone. “What am I supposed to do? Who is going to photograph the collection? You’ve left me in a terrible bind!”

When he had finished with his conversation, he turned to his family and friends. “Major problema. Patrick De Olivier, the famous photographer I hired to shoot the new collection, missed his flight this morning from Paris. Now he’ll never make it here before we sail.”

“I’m sure you can find someone else to take pictures,” Kylie said, trying to cheer him up. “I mean, there must be a gazillion photographers who could do it.”

“On this short notice? When we’re sailing in less than three hours? I doubt it.” Mitchell echoed his boss’s concern. “This is a disaster.”

“Beyond disaster,” Leo said, sighing. “I could lose my job for this.”

Marisol suddenly remembered Mr. Hammond telling her how he got his start shooting the runways in Paris. “I know someone who might be able to help you,” she told Leo. “He gave me his card.” She pulled it out of her purse.

“Okay, I’m desperate. I’ll try anything,” Leo said, handing the card to Mitchell to call. “Let’s hope ‘Harold Hammond, Professional Photographer’ has no plans for the next week.”

• • •

There was only an hour left before the ship set sail, and Harold was still nowhere in sight.

“All ashore who are going ashore,” a crewman’s voice rang over the loudspeaker.

“What could be taking him so long?” Leo asked anxiously.

“Maybe he’s stuck in traffic,” Mitchell suggested. “Or maybe he needed a little nap.”

Just then, they saw a gray-haired man in Bermuda shorts and a Hawaiian shirt inching his way up the gangway. He was pulling a suitcase on wheels and carrying a large bag filled with cameras and lenses over his shoulder.

“It’s him! It’s him!” Leo said, relieved. He raced over to give the photographer a hand.

“I made it,” Harold said, out of breath. “That was a close one!” He extended his hand to Leo to shake. “Thank you so much for the opportunity. It’s been ages since I had an assignment.”

Leo tried not to let on how nervous he was. “Yes, well, thanks for coming. I hope you’re up to it.”

“Up to it? This isn’t the first Ralph Warren runway show I’ve worked,” Harold boasted. “I shot his resort line at Paris Fashion Week in the nineteen eighties.”

“Oh, how lovely,” Mitchell muttered under his breath. “He hasn’t taken fashion photos in thirty years.”

“I’m sure you’ll do a great job,” Leo said, patting Harold on the back.

“Where’s my assistant?” Harold asked, looking around.

“Assistant? You didn’t mention anything about needing an assistant,” Mitchell replied.

“A photographer always needs an assistant.”

Mitchell was practically hyperventilating. “The ship is sailing in five minutes. Are we supposed to make an assistant magically appear out of thin air?”

“Marisol will do just fine,” Harold replied.

Leo looked stunned. “Marisol? My Marisol? My stepdaughter? You must be mistaken.”

“No, I’m not,” Harold insisted. “She showed me some of her work Friday night when the girls were at my house. I’d love to hire her for the cruise to assist me.”

Leo shrugged. “I guess… I mean, if she wants to.”

“I have a hunch she might,” Harold said, winking. “In the meantime, I do believe you mentioned a private cabin with a balcony and a chocoholics buffet.”

He handed Mitchell his suitcase. “Lead the way!”