Chapter 2
Lucy carried the card into the cabin by one corner, as though it was nuclear reactive.
Adam, meanwhile, had abandoned his clandestine hunt for forbidden electronics among the drawers and cupboards.
Now he stood before the open wardrobe, peering at a rack of life jackets, wooden hangers, and two identical white robes trimmed with the ship’s emblem in delicate silver thread.
He lifted one robe against his chest and considered the mirror reflection with an exaggerated solemnity, saying, “I think I may live in nothing but this for the next seven days,” until he noticed her expression.
“What happened?” he asked, his brow creasing in quiet alarm.
Lucy set the card on the little glass‐topped table between them, tapping it gently with her fingernail. “It appears you’re engaged.”
Adam lowered the robe and turned toward her, half‐incredulous. “I know. I was there when I had the good sense to ask you.”
“Not to me,” Lucy replied, voice soft but steady. She pushed the card across to him. “It’s addressed to Karina.”
Adam sank onto the edge of the narrow bed, his robe pooling around his knees. He picked up the card then flipped it over as though hoping the back side might bear a note of correction. “To Karina?” His voice held that familiar mix of genuine confusion and mild annoyance.
“I’m trying not to take it personally,” Lucy said, forcing a tight smile.
She folded her arms, pressing her palms against her sides to keep from pulling at the edge of her sweater.
Her heart was doing a little jitterbug dance—half amusement, half unease.
Invitations and announcements often arrived by room service, but none had ever mistakenly paired her fiancé with one of his colleagues until now.
This was the third time today; it was starting to become a habit.
Adam read the card again. “This isn’t even the good bottle,” he muttered, straining his eyes as though the paper might reveal a clue if he squinted harder. “If I’m going to have a second fiancée, Northstar could at least spring for vintage.”
Lucy gave a small laugh. “Maybe the sender heard Karina and Steven got engaged, and your name wandered onto the wrong form.”
“That raises more questions than it answers. Karina is definitely not engaged to Steven,” Adam said, his voice edged with frustration. He reached for his phone, laced with the impulse to dial contacts and set this straight. But before he could, a knock sounded at the door—polite, insistent.
He frowned, expecting the luggage attendant who’d promised to deliver their bags. He opened the door to find Karina stepping inside, Steven trailing behind with a jaunty wave and a bottle of high‐SPF sunscreen in hand.
“Tell Lucy I’m sorry for barging in,” Karina said. She crossed the threshold before Adam could protest. She carried herself with that easy sense of belonging one cultivated after years of navigating corporate launches and ribbon‐cuttings.
Lucy rose, smoothing the creases in her skirt. “It’s fine. What’s up?”
Karina held out the sunscreen with a bright, friendly smile. “I thought you might prefer not to resemble a sunburnt lobster. I grabbed this at the gift shop.”
Adam’s gaze flicked from Karina to Lucy. “Did you get engaged to me?” he asked, tone half‐teasing.
Steven lingered in the doorway, one hand on his hip, looking both pleased and bemused by the unfolding scene. Karina looked at Lucy, then to the card lying on the table. “Not since security,” she quipped, sliding the sunscreen into Lucy’s hands, “but there’s still time this morning.”
Adam reached for the card and handed it to her.
Karina’s brow furrowed as she read, a spark of recognition passing across her face.
Then she rolled her eyes in that familiar exasperation Lucy had witnessed at every Northstar function where the Wi-Fi failed or the presenter mumbled through too many slides.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Karina said, replacing the card into Adam’s hand.
“I bet Elise Hartmann sent this. You remember Elise, right? Hartmann Hospitality—she’s one of our biggest accounts.
She met us at the Toronto launch last autumn and said she’d send champagne after your keynote.
She must have assumed you got engaged to me. ”
Karina retrieved her phone and began tapping at the screen with rapid precision. “I’ll message Elise. I’ll have her send a corrected card.”
Lucy’s lips curved in a reluctant smile. The thought of some bellhop removing the offending card and slipping in a replacement felt mortifying. She rather hated the absurdity of it all. “Leave it,” she said. “It’s not a big deal. It’s… just funny how it keeps happening.”
Steven, still lingering by the threshold, turned the card over in his hands. “Lucky you,” he remarked. “They sent champagne. We got a sad fruit basket in our cabin—one lonely pear and half a dozen plums.”
Lucy shrugged and handed him the unopened champagne. “Take it if you want, I think I’m too overheated for alcohol right now.”
Karina tucked Steven’s arm through hers. “Come on, we need to make that safety briefing. The steward will chew us out if we skip it.”
Adam closed the door and turned the lock, then crossed to Lucy and cupped her face in his hands. His thumbs brushed gently against her jaw. “See? Just a mistake,” he said.
“I know,” she whispered, leaning into his warmth.
She studied him for a moment—his hair mussed from robe‐shuffling, the way his robe gaped at the chest, the faint crease of concern between his brows.
He’d never be the one to anticipate her hurts, but once she told him, he’d race through city streets and risk missing flights to fix things.
“We’re good,” she assured him. “You can stand down.”
He kissed her forehead, soft and reassuring. “Good. Because I can’t afford two rings.”
His joke should have laid the matter to rest, and for several hours it effectively did.
Lucy unpacked a tidy stack of clothes—dresses, bathing suits, make-up—while Adam drifted onto the balcony, leaning against the rail.
The late‐afternoon sun cut bright slashes across the port, turning rows of boats into luminous rectangles.
The horn sounded just after four, a deep, resonant bellow. Miami receded in tiers of pink and white high-rises, then became a thin, glimmering line on the horizon.
Inside, Adam found another dress Karina had insisted Lucy should pack. He held it against her back, his chin resting casually on her shoulder, and studied their reflection in the mirror. “Wear this tonight,” he suggested, voice low and conspiratorial.
Lucy paused in the midst of unpacking her shoes. “I’m going to wear it now,” she replied, half‐smiling at the spaces between the hangers.
“Then you’re ahead of schedule,” he murmured, leaning in so his mouth hovered against the vein at her neck. “We could skip the reception.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “The reception celebrating you and the year you dragged Northstar out of mediocrity?”
“It was a team effort.” He pressed a kiss just below her ear.
“You only say that when microphones are nearby,” she teased.
“There could be microphones in here,” he answered, looking toward the ceiling with mock paranoia. Lucy laughed and nudged him in the ribs. He caught her around the waist and pulled her against him until she had to step forward to keep her balance.
“We have forty-three minutes,” he declared, voice husky.
“We have twenty-eight minutes,” she countered, checking the small digital clock on the nightstand. “You need at least fifteen minutes to choose socks.”
His hand slid around the small of her back, fingers splaying over the curve of her waist. The warmth of his breath, the faint scent of his cologne mingled with the lingering tang of salt air. “I know where everything important is,” he murmured, mouth brushing closer.
His lips trailed down her neck, warm and deliberate.
One hand found the hem of her outfit, lifting it inch by inch.
Lucy caught sight of their reflection: Adam’s dark hair, his eyes focused entirely on her, his robe slipping open, and her own expression—soft, expectant, amused.
She let him undo her bra clasp through the fabric of her top, a trick they’d perfected over the years so that removing it never felt clumsy. He chuckled against her skin.
“That never gets less smug,” she murmured.
“Correct,” he agreed. He spun her gently by the hips and sealed his grin with a proper kiss, one hand cradling her jaw, the other pressing into the small curve of her back. She pressed back, fingers working at the buttons of his shirt.
“Twenty-six minutes now,” she whispered against his mouth.
“Then stop talking,” he growled playfully, shifting so his hips nestled between her thighs, hand trailing down her side.
She laughed softly, eyes closing against his shoulder. “Adam.”
“Mm?”
“This is not faster.”
“No,” he admitted with a sigh of contentment as his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of her underwear.
Afterward, they lay side by side, limbs entangled in the rumpled sheets, listening to the ship’s engines hum beneath them. Lucy’s head rested against his chest, her hand on the warm sweep of his ribcage.
“Nine minutes,” she announced.
Adam’s brow creased. “What?”
“We have nine minutes until we’re supposed to be downstairs,” she clarified, tracing idle circles on his skin.
“That is not what I expected you to say,” he replied, rolling onto his side to look at her. He kissed her shoulder and pushed himself upright. “I’ll be ready in five.”
“You will not,” she countered, already slipping out of the sheets heading to the shower.
“I will not,” he agreed cheerfully, and vanished to find his clothes.
They emerged from the suite exactly eleven minutes late. Adam’s shirt was buttoned askew—one button too high—an imperfection Lucy discovered in the elevator’s mirrored walls. She straightened it, smoothing the fabric, while he held her evening bag and watched the floor numbers descend.