“No.” He smiled, stepping back and smoothing the hair she had rustled while pressed against him. “I’m going to go check on the others, Just text me if you need anything.”

“Will do.”

“Oh.” He reached into his pocket. “I almost forgot. In case you need it.”

He reached out with two thin black wristbands, each containing a small white sphere in its center, where a watch face might be.

“What?”

“You put them on your wrists, facing inward. It’s for seasickness, because you—”

“Because I’ve never lived on a boat before, I get it.”

“I was going to say because you puked twice in my car on the road trip to Vermont, but that, too.”

There was a pause, and a satisfied little grin from Paul.

“Fine.” A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth despite herself.

She grabbed them from his hand, walking him out of the cabin and closing the door behind him. For the first time since she left her apartment more than a day ago, she was completely alone, and the privacy itself felt luxurious. It enveloped her completely, almost insisting that she fall back onto the bed to enjoy it. Her body made a starfish shape, stretching out mindlessly to enjoy every inch of surface area. She’d never felt sheets like these before, not even when she stayed at Paul’s family beach house in Hilton Head. And the boat itself felt both solid and smooth, rocking under her in a motion so gentle that she would miss it if she weren’t concentrating on it. The space was like a little mahogany cocoon, crafted to the finest detail to help someone relax. Even the sounds within the quiet were calibrated for relaxation: the water, the air conditioning, the muffled din of voices outside her door. It all combined to create a kind of natural white noise, and she knew that she would be gone for the night if she allowed herself to close her eyes for even a moment.

She began to unbutton her shirt, working her hands down the center of her until it was totally undone. Then she lifted herself off the bed and removed it fully, tossing it to the floor, swiftly followed by her skirt, underwear, and bra. The full-length cheval mirror in the corner reflected half of her naked body, and she stepped fully into frame, walking to the glass to take herself in. It had been years since she’d given this much attention to her appearance: regularly exercising, drinking plenty of water, waxing and tanning and deep conditioning her hair. It was no wonder rich people always looked so good, when even the smallest details—like her brow lamination or her tasteful lash extensions—had the power to transform her face. She even found that her usual insecurities, like the prominent nose she once desperately wanted surgery for, the moles dotted all along her body, didn’t really register.