Lena bends down the case that contains her watercolors and pulls out a few tins of paint and a square of paper. “Who said I’m not having fun?”

The ship creaks the worst at night. Back and forth, vibrating and swaying and making awful noises.

Maxine sleeps right through it, snoring from the other room. Lena sighs and rolls over.

I stare at the ceiling in the dark and pray I don’t fall asleep. If I don’t fall asleep, I won’t see him. I won’t have to face what it means.

By day five on the ship, we have finally found our sea legs. We greet the porters by name, make jokes with the widows at dinner; even the countess begins to open up a little. She calls the count “that man” when he’s not around, and I have to stifle my laughter every time. She has plans to replace the brocade drapes at her estate with something more modern, and can’t wait to give her old housekeeper a heart attack.

Only two more sleeps until I see him. Or at the very least, two nights of avoiding sleep, so I don’t see something I don’t want to.

When I finally lose the fight, I dream of slipping under the churning dark ocean. Salt water fills my lungs. But at least I am alone.

We dock in Le Havre, France, on a bright-blue morning six days after leaving New York. I hear it before I feel it, the groaning of the great boat, the Versailles of the Atlantic finally coming home to the shores of France.

I peek out our porthole and see it, precious land. It isn’t until I lay eyes on the small seaport that it settles in just how far from home I am.

I still don’t feel quite ready for any of it, for Oliver, for seeing somewhere that isn’t New York, for the address in my pocket, but I’m learning to let go of the need to feel ready for things. I don’t think I’ll ever find it, the sense of finality I’m craving.

Maxine and Lena pack up our suite in a hurry, flinging clothes, shoes, and hats across the room, both by hand and with magic. A sapphire hatpin comes zooming by my head like a sparkly insect. “Watch it,” I snap. “Death by hatpin isn’t how I dreamed of going.”

“But what a story!” Maxine responds. The pin lands gently in her hand. She throws it in her trunk with the rest of the detritus.

If they notice me packing my things by hand, they don’t mention it.

I step off the ship, and don’t miss it at all.

CHAPTER FOUR