She met his eyes in the mirror as she freed a few locks of hair to frame her face. “I simply don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Listen, bitch, I will throw you off the side of this boat if you don’t give me at least one detail. There are sharks.”

“You know we don’t get along,” she replied in a faux-professional tone, smiling innocently and shrugging her shoulders as she gathered her clothes.

“Ugh, what I wouldn’t give for some good old-fashioned hate sex right now.” He pressed on a panel next to him, sliding open one of her empty clothing racks. “Did you like the monkfish, by the way?”

“What do you mean?” She handed him a few hangers, which he neatly placed on the rack.

“Babe, come on. You really think I didn’t plan that lunch to perfection?”

Suddenly, the past few days snapped into clarity: the dinner guest, the lunch, the game? Paul had been stage managing them into a hookup the entire time, and she hadn’t even noticed.

Seeing the realization spread across her face, he smiled. “You’re welcome.”

“You have to be kidding me.” She laughed, replaying the entire week in her mind as she continued to pass off her clothing.

“Of course I’m not kidding you. My wedding gift to myself was finally making this happen, and you two are breathtakingly easy to manipulate.” He slid the rack closed, clicking it into place alongside the rest of the lacquered paneling. “Now, I would like my detail, please.” He extended his cupped hands, closing his eyes.

“Fine,” she took one final look at herself in the mirror before turning toward the door. “I didn’t see it, but I felt it, and you’re right.”

He mimed taking a shot to the heart. “You’re killing me.”

She opened the door, gesturing him out. “Now, I have to get to breakfast. We’re going to be late for the ruins.”

“Fucking on a bunch of old rocks… your mind…” He shook his head, walking past her and into the hallway.

Everyone was already gathered on the deck, sunlight glinting off their glasses and mountains of breakfast spread across the table. Gabriel had evidently spent the night, his arm stretched along the back of Sophie’s chair, absent-mindedly running his fingers through her hair while he read something on his phone. Alex smiled, feeling unusually charitable toward everyone in the world who was currently getting some. Next to them, Guy had his head buried in Dev’s copy of the Financial Times, while Bee was rotating through four different liquids: tea, tomato juice, sparkling water, and Coca-Cola. Dev and Danial were mid-conversation about some tech news, both of their plates piled high with food.

“Good morning,” Dev called over, gesturing to the two open seats at the end of the table.