The Path Of Glory (Annabeth Chase x Male Reader)

34. A Little Bit Of Makeup

They had been sailing for quite some time now.

Y/N and Annabeth lay at the bottom of the lifeboat, shielding themselves as they could from the sun coming on their left.

Percy kept the boat moving and acted like a GPS—the luck of being the son of the Sea god.

Ethan just snoozed, his face hidden under his banana sunhat. "One sheep . . . two sheep . . . three sheep. . . ."

Suddenly something hit Y/N straight in the face. It was sticky, unpleasant to say the least, and smelly. He touched it carefully, and retched. Bird droppings.

He stuck his head over the boat rail and splashed his face, cleaning it with salt stinging his eyes.

When he turned back to the boat, he saw Annabeth laughing. Immediately he felt his face turn red. He felt ridiculous. And he didn't like that.

"What?" he said firmly, hoping to get that smile off her face.

"Oh, nothing." She giggled again. "Land's near."

Ethan jerked up. "Food?"

"No, goat boy, just land," Annabeth told him.

Sure enough, there was a line of blue and brown in the distance. Another minute and Y/N could make out an island with a small mountain in the center, a dazzling white collection of buildings, a beach dotted with palm trees, and a harbor filled with a strange assortment of boats.

The current was pulling their rowboat toward what looked like a tropical paradise.

"Welcome!" the lady with the clipboard said.

She looked like a flight attendant—blue business suit, perfect makeup, hair pulled back in a ponytail. She shook their hands as they stepped onto the dock. With the dazzling smile she gave them, you would've thought they had just gotten off the Princess Andromeda rather than a banged-up rowboat.

Then again, their rowboat wasn't the weirdest ship in port. Along with a bunch of pleasure yachts, there was a U.S. Navy submarine, several dugout canoes, and an old-fashioned three-masted sailing ship. There was a helipad with a "Channel Five Fort Lauderdale" helicopter on it, and a short runway with a Learjet and a propeller plane that looked like a World War II fighter. Maybe they were replicas for tourists to look at or something.

"Is this your first time with us?" the clipboard lady inquired.

Y/N and Ethan exchanged looks. Ethan said, "Umm. . . ."

"First—time—at—spa," the lady said as she wrote on her clipboard. "Let's see. . . ."

She looked them up and down critically. "Mmm. An herbal wrap to start for the young lady. And of course, a complete makeover for the young gentlemen."

"A what?" Y/N, Ethan and Percy asked in unison.

She was too busy jotting down notes to answer.

"Right!" she said with a breezy smile. "Well, I'm sure C.C. will want to speak with you personally before the luau. Come, please."

Y/N was used to traps, and usually those traps looked good at first. So he expected the clipboard lady to turn into a snake or a demon, or something, any minute. But on the other hand, they had been floating in a rowboat for most of the day. He was hot, tired, and hungry, and when this lady mentioned the luau, his stomach sat up on its hind legs and begged like a dog.

"I guess it couldn't hurt," Annabeth muttered.

Oh yes, it could! Yet they followed the lady anyway. Y/N thrust his hand in his pocket and began rubbing his ring nervously. But the farther they wandered into the resort, the more he forgot about it.