Salt Kiss (Lyonesse #1)

twenty-nine

The next morning as we’re leaving the Azores, I speak with Mark for what will be the last time until we get to Manhattan. I reassure him of the usual things, that Isolde is content and enjoying the yacht, and I try to keep my voice steady, like someone who’s slept a deep, untroubled night’s sleep, and not like someone who didn’t sleep at all. Not like someone who jerked themself raw thinking of the pink between Isolde’s thighs while the bed smelled like damp stone and rain, and then had to go into her room and wake her from a nightmare and act like everything was normal and platonic and fine.

But Mark hears something in my voice because of course he does.

“Is everything okay, Tristan?” he asks. “You sound strained.”