Chương 2
My second was better.
I took three and wrapped them in tissue.
I slipped them beneath the removable insole of my walking shoe.
Then I replaced everything exactly as I had found it.
My phone lay on the bed.
No service.
That had seemed charming yesterday.
A digital detox, Florent had called it.
The yacht had satellite internet, but passenger access had been unreliable since morning.
Florent had blamed weather interference.
I opened the messaging app anyway.
Nothing sent.
I tried my father.
The call failed.
My mother.
Failed.
Emergency services were meaningless this far offshore without a connection.
I opened the yacht’s internal directory.
Bridge.
Galley.
Engine room.
Crew office.
Captain.
My thumb hovered over the captain’s number.
Then I stopped.
I knew almost nothing about Captain Laurent except that Florent had hired him.
That detail had not mattered until now.
The yacht belonged to my father, but the crew for this voyage had been arranged by my husband as a wedding surprise.
I could not assume anyone aboard was safe.
A knock sounded.
I nearly dropped the phone.
“Chérie?”
Florent.
I pushed the phone under the pillow and stepped into the bathroom.
Water hammered against the marble.
“One second.”
My voice sounded wrong.
Too thin.
I coughed, then tried again.
“I’m showering.”
The door opened anyway.
Of course it did.
We were newlyweds.
A locked door would have been stranger than an unlocked one.
Florent came into the bathroom without knocking again.
He smiled when he saw me standing beside the sink.
There was no champagne glass in his hand.
No blood on his cuffs.
Nothing villainous about him.
That was somehow unbearable.
“You disappeared.”
“I felt sick.”
His expression softened.
Perfectly.
“You should have called me.”
“I didn’t want to ruin your afternoon.”
“You could never ruin anything.”
He touched my cheek.
Every muscle in my body wanted to recoil.
I made myself lean into his palm.
It was the hardest thing I had ever done.
His skin smelled faintly of cedar cologne and champagne.
“You’re freezing,” he said.
“I think I’m dehydrated.”
“Probably.”
He brushed hair from my face.
“Come back to bed.”
“I need medicine.”
“I’ll bring it.”
“I already took some.”
The lie came too quickly.
His eyes changed.
Only a fraction.
“What did you take?”
I pointed toward the labeled seasickness box.
“One of those.”
He looked at the cabinet.
Then at me.
“Just one?”
“Yes.”
A beat passed.
He smiled again.
“Good.”
I smiled back.
I had never understood before how much violence could exist inside a smile.
Florent kissed my forehead.
“Rest until dinner.”
“I’m tired of resting.”
“You need it.”
“I feel like I’ve slept through half our honeymoon.”
His hand remained at the back of my neck.
“Then sleep through one more afternoon.”
The words were affectionate.
The pressure of his fingers was not.
I lowered my eyes.
“Maybe you’re right.”
He kissed me again and left.
I counted to thirty before turning off the shower.
At twenty-two, I heard his footsteps return.
I froze.
The handle moved.
Florent opened the door just far enough to look inside.
“I love you,” he said.
I forced a sleepy smile.
“I love you too.”
He watched me for another second.
Then he closed the door.
This time I counted to one hundred.
Only then did I sit on the edge of the bed.
My hands shook so badly that I tucked them between my knees.
Crying would have been natural.
I could not manage it.
My body seemed to have decided that tears were an unnecessary expense.
I looked at my wedding ring.
My grandmother’s diamond.
Florent had insisted on using a family stone because, he said, marrying me meant becoming part of my history.
I twisted it once around my finger.
Then I remembered something stupid.
At breakfast that morning, a deckhand named Elias had dropped a spoon while clearing the table.
Florent had snapped at him.
Elias had stared at him for half a second too long before apologizing.
Later, when Florence complained that the satellite connection was down, Elias had muttered, “Only guest Wi-Fi.”
I had barely noticed.
Only guest Wi-Fi.
That meant some connection still existed.
Crew connection.
Bridge connection.
Something.
I stood too fast.
The room rolled.
I grabbed the bedpost until the nausea passed.
Midnight was perhaps eight hours away.
Maybe less.
I did not need to prove everything.
I did not need to understand why Florent had chosen me, when Camille had begun, or how long Antoine and Florence had been involved.
I needed one person with access to the outside world who was not part of their plan.
And I needed to find that person without letting my husband understand that his supposedly drugged wife had heard a single word.
I waited until Florent’s footsteps disappeared toward the aft corridor, then slipped my phone into the waistband of my dress and opened the cabin door.
The hallway was empty.
Somewhere below, a vacuum cleaner whined briefly and stopped.
The yacht’s engines maintained their low, expensive hum beneath everything, a vibration I had stopped noticing on the first day and could now feel through the soles of my feet.
I walked toward the service stairs instead of the main staircase.
At the corner, I paused.
A steward in a white polo came through carrying folded towels.
I recognized him as Mateo, the man Florent had blamed for the creaking stair.
“Mrs. Delorme,” he said.
His smile was polite but distracted.
“Are you feeling better?”
“A little.”
He shifted the towels against his hip.
“You need something?”
“More water.”
“I bring.”
“I can get it.”
His expression tightened.
“Better you rest.”
It sounded innocent.
That was the problem.
Every ordinary sentence now seemed to have teeth.
“I’m tired of my room.”
Mateo gave a small shrug.
“The galley is busy.”
“I’ll stay out of the way.”
He hesitated, then moved aside.
May you like
I went down.
The galley smelled of garlic, lemon, hot metal, and something sweet baking in the oven.
