Chapter 6 Blue Jasmine
BLUE JASMINE
ASHLEY
My phone buzzes, pulling me back into the present, and honestly, I’m grateful to be pulled out of my thoughts.
Rehashing our problems is not why we’re here.
“Our room’s ready,” I announce, leaning down to gather my things—towel, sandals, tote, composure. “If you want, I’ll text you once I’ve unpacked.”
But Beckett is rising as well, pushing up his sunglasses and pulling something out of his pocket—a flip phone. “You’ll need my new number.”
I freeze halfway through stuffing sunscreen into my bag. “Your—what?”
No laptop? And now—a new number?
He’s had that number since before we got married. Aside from my mom’s landline, it’s the only one I have memorized.
The thought, for some reason, makes me a little queasy. Probably seasickness, I tell myself.
We haven’t left the dock yet.
“Why?” I can’t help myself. “Why did you get a new phone?” It’s not my business… but also. It is.
He doesn’t look at me.
“It was with the laptop. Lost them both.”
I know this man. I know he’s lying.
I can’t help but wonder if this has something to do with… Sugar.
And the messages he got from her.
It doesn’t make sense, but then again, what does these days?
I type in the new number, the digits foreign under my thumb.
Then I pause at the name. My Bex.
It’s been there forever. Longer than the marriage. Longer than the boys. A version of him I don’t even know how to reach anymore.
I delete the words. Then key in Beckett.
Just his name.
I save it and slide my phone into my bag, a dull ache settling in my chest. It’s only a contact change. A small, practical thing.
And yet… it feels like I’ve deleted a part of my life and replaced it with a stranger.
When I look up, he’s still there. Not reclaiming his lounge chair. Not walking off toward the bar.
Apparently, he’s decided he’s done with the pool too.
And he’s following me.
The elevator lobby is packed—rolling carry-ons, damp towels, happy couples pressed close and talking over one another. Too much noise. Too many bodies. The kind of chaos that makes my skin itch.
I tell myself to breathe.
This week isn’t about me. It’s Luna’s cruise. Luna’s wedding. Luna’s fairytale.
And Beckett is right—she’ll notice if we’re off.
We’re squeezed into the elevator, the walls all mirrors, no place to look without seeing him. Or myself. Or us.
“I suppose,” I murmur, keeping my voice low, “we should… try.”
In the mirror, his eyes flare. “Try what?”
I don’t look at him. “To be more convincing.”
The light I must have imagined dims. A corner of his mouth lifts. Not amused. Not relaxed. “I can do that.”
“Good,” I say. “So can I.”
The pause stretches. The hum of the elevator fills it.
“I won’t be pretending,” he says quietly.
I laugh. Otherwise… I might cry. “Right.”
The elevator dings. The doors slide open and we both step out.
I immediately check my phone, grateful for something solid to focus on—but when I read it, I stop short in the middle of the hallway.
“Oh,” I say, scrolling, then scrolling again. “I think we’ve been upgraded.”
Garden Suite. Elite Retreat.
For one careless second, I forget myself and smile at him.
His brows lift behind his sunglasses.
“Nice,” he says.
“Yeah,” I breathe, the laugh slipping out before I can stop it. Then the smile fades, like it never belonged to me in the first place.
We slow as the corridor changes—doors farther apart, carpet thicker underfoot, lighting warmer.
I scroll to the message again, just to be sure. The number glows on my screen: 15264.
I look up at the plaque on the door.
“This is it,” I murmur, heart kicking up a little.
Be grateful for the good stuff. Step one of coping, according to everyone.
Beckett nods toward the luggage lined up neatly beside the door. “Well,” he says lightly, “looks like everything made it.”
Everything… and then some.
My suitcases are stacked in a tidy row against the wall—garment bag, my usual mid-size roller, and then the largest one in the set which I never thought I’d use. It’s filled with dresses for the parties. Luna’s veil. Backup shoes. Backup options for the backup options.
“And before you say anything,” I add, already defensive, “there are events. Multiple.”
His mouth quirks. A teasing look I’ve seen a hundred times. “I didn’t say a word.”
At the end of my collection sits Beckett’s lone suitcase.
One.
We still have matching luggage. Same brand. Same color.
I’ve probably seen the inside of it more times than my own.
Up until a month ago, I did his packing for him. I washed his laundry…
I swipe the keycard and push the door open. Inside, the room is impossibly polished—cream-colored walls, a king-sized bed dressed in crisp white with a navy runner. Across from that, a curved sofa facing some wooden shelves. A massive TV. Beyond that, an oversized balcony.
And then I notice it.
An open door to the side. A walk-in closet.
I blink, half-laughing. “They must have realized that I really did book two rooms and this is their way of apologizing.”
Beckett steps inside, somehow bringing all the luggage with him at once. “Must be.”
His tone is so casual it almost flattens the moment—no surprise, no delight.
But I refuse to let him “yuck my yum”, as Luna would say. For the first time in weeks, I actually giggle. “This is… incredible.”
And then the scent hits me.
Not the usual clean, anonymous hotel-room smell, but something delicate. Sweet. Familiar.
I turn, and my breath catches.
On the dresser sits a glass vase brimming with blue jasmine—bright, star-shaped blossoms tangled together in an artful cluster. The scent is fresh and a little dizzying, honey and citrus mixed with something wild.
Blue jasmine. My favorite.
We’d had them at our wedding—woven into my bouquet, tucked into the centerpieces, trailing down the staircase of the reception hall.
I loved them as much for their scent and color as I did for their meaning. Honesty and trust.
It feels like a trick of the universe. A particularly cruel one.
Beside them, a chilled bottle of champagne waits in a silver ice bucket, two flutes gleaming, and a neat tray of chocolate-dipped strawberries sits beneath a Paradise Cruises card embossed in gold.
I laugh softly, the sound coming out a little uneven. “Crazy.”
He says nothing. Does he remember? Of course he remembers, he’s sent me blue jasmine every year for my birthday.
Until this year.
“Must’ve been part of the upgrade,” I add quickly, before he thinks I’m affected by it. Because I’m not.
I’m definitely not.
“Yeah,” Beckett says.
I shake it off, moving toward the balcony before I do something stupid.
Like burst into tears.
When I open the door, the breeze catches my hair, straightened and styled earlier that morning. The silky strands whip across my mouth and I reach to tuck them behind my ear.
The ship’s horn lets out a deep, resonant note.
We’re moving now, busy docks and parked boats and ships sliding slowly past us as we begin our journey out of the bay.
Beckett joins me, leaning his forearms on the rail beside mine. “Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.” His voice is soft enough that it nearly disappears in the wind.
I don’t want to think about what he’s saying. Enjoying any part of this, time spent with him. I can’t.
“I hope that sofa pulls out into a bed,” I say.
“If that’s what you want.”
It isn’t even close to what I want.
Wanted. Past tense.
But I refuse to dwell on that right now.
Feeling his eyes on me, I watch the shipping containers slowly drift away, and then the bridge, along with the tiny vehicles crossing it.
And I can’t help thinking…
It’s the beginning of our last voyage together.