Chapter 6
Adam caught the elevator doors with one hand and stepped into the corridor behind Lucy.
His grip tightened on the railing when the doors slid shut, and the soft click echoed in the narrow hallway.
Lucy’s heels clicked ahead of him—deliberate, staccato—and though her pace was steady, her shoulders trembled just enough to betray her tension.
Adam’s footsteps fell a half-beat behind, slower than usual, as if he were measuring each moment before voicing the words that had lodged in his throat.
Lucy reached the cabin first. She tossed her evening bag onto the polished wooden table with more energy than necessary, the thud reverberating through the quiet room. Only then did Adam speak.
“I’m not making excuses for the situation.” His voice was low, careful, as though he feared tripping over the truth. “I just honestly believe it has nothing to do with Karina.”
Lucy unclipped one of the borrowed earrings and placed it beside her bag.
The other earring’s fastening had tangled in her hair; she worked the knot free while studying Adam’s reflection in the mirror above the dresser, searching his expression for any sign of the reassurance she secretly craved.
“You don’t know what she has or hasn’t been telling people.
” Her tone hovered between accusation and plea.
“Neither do you.” Adam folded his jacket across the back of a chair, the fabric whispering as he smoothed it flat. He moved with brittle precision—an unmistakable sign that he was more than irritated. He was angry.
A tightening in Lucy’s chest made her fingers tremble around the zipper of her gown. She kept her eyes on Adam’s reflection, watching the set of his jaw.
“Elise repeated one conversation from nine months ago,” he said. “And there was a very reasonable explanation.”
Lucy released the earring and let it drop beside the first.
He crossed the room and, almost gently, moved her hand away from the zipper.
His fingers slid to the small of her neck, and she felt the warmth of his skin through the bronze silk.
The zipper yielded under his touch, gliding smoothly until the gown pooled at her waist, exposing the soft curve of her spine to the cooling air.
He withdrew his hand as soon as the fabric hit the floor, and Lucy plucked the gown from around her legs.
“I’m not sleeping with Karina,” Adam said, stepping back.
Lucy turned, bare-footed in the plush carpet, her heart tightening into a knot. “I know.”
“I’m not interested in her.”
“I know that too.”
“Then what exactly do you think is happening?” His tone no longer coaxed an explanation—he demanded one.
Lucy crossed her arms and picked up Adam’s crisp white shirt hanging on the chair.
She slipped into it, the cuffs sliding over her palms, the collar brushing against her collarbone.
One side carried the faint citrus scent of Karina’s perfume.
She inhaled, tasting that memory. “I think she likes people believing she’s the most important woman in your life. Maybe she wants even more.”
Adam’s eyes narrowed. For a moment disbelief flickered across his face, then a reluctant consideration dawned. Lucy dared to hope he might see her side. But he shook his head.
“Lucy.” He spoke her name as a warning. The sound of it scorched her cheeks. Adam rubbed his forehead; he left a gentle red line above his brow. “You’re listening to yourself, right? She’s here with Steven.”
She was. That was the problem. Before boarding this ship, she would have laughed at the idea that Karina—intelligent, poised, impeccably calm—would invent a boyfriend to hide an interest in Adam. “We don’t know anything about their relationship.”
“And they don’t know anything about ours, but you’re furious when people make assumptions.” His words landed with surgical precision, and Lucy had no immediate retort. She folded her arms tighter across the shirt, feeling its crispness against her skin.
Adam’s face softened for a fraction of a second, as if regretting the blow, then he dropped his gaze. Adam untied his bow tie, letting it fall from his fingers. “I’ve never given you a reason not to trust me.” The words were so soft they trembled on his lips.
“This isn’t about whether I trust you not to sleep with her.”
“What else would it be about?” His voice cracked, revealing a touch of hurt.
Lucy closed her eyes. She wanted to explain—something about territory felt childish, something about feeling ridiculous felt vain.
Her mind seized on the memory of Mark Sanchez.
She had dated him for nearly four years.
In the final months, he’d excluded her from dinners with his friends, saying she dampened the mood, yet still slept in her apartment, ate her cooking, asked her advice on his grant applications.
When she realized he’d ended the relationship everywhere except the place it was convenient to him, it was too late.
Three of his friends had already met the new woman he flaunted before cutting Lucy out of his world.
She remembered the ache of betrayal—the slow growing suspicion that she was being toyed with, and the final, wrenching clarity.
She opened her eyes and turned to Adam. His reflection glowed faintly in the balcony glass, an outline in the darkness. “I don’t want to be the last person to understand what’s happening in my relationship.”
Adam’s face pinched with understanding, but his next words hit her like a frost. “I’m not Mark.”
Lucy shook her head. “I didn’t say you were.”
He didn’t need to. He had echoed her unspoken fear. Lucy sank onto the edge of the bed, her knees aching from her shoes. Adam lingered near the balcony, where his shadow lay outside on the deck.
“I know you aren’t sleeping with Karina,” Lucy said.
“I know you don’t want her. But I also know an entire company looked at the two of you and decided she was the woman you meant when you said you were engaged.
I don’t understand how that happened, and every time I ask, you explain why I shouldn’t be bothered. ”
She wiped a palm across her forehead, as if she could clear away her confusion. “But every time you push back, I feel more isolated.”
He closed his eyes, long enough for the words to slip free. Then he opened them and took a step toward her. “Then stop punishing me for something I haven’t done.”
The regret softened his features, but Lucy had already bent to remove her shoes. She set them neatly under the vanity as though creating order might still the turmoil inside her.
“I’m going to take a shower.” His voice was firm.
“Adam.”
But he’d already slipped into the bathroom and closed the door between them. In the silence, his absence settled like another weight on her chest.
That night, they slept poorly. Lucy drifted in and out of an uneasy half-sleep, each time startled by the gulf between them.
Adam lay rigid on his side, disciplined as though an invisible barrier had grown between them.
Every time she tilted toward him, she felt the emptiness that kept them apart.
Before dawn, the ship altered course, a gentle lurch that cut into her thoughts.
She opened her eyes and found Adam watching her in the dark, his expression unreadable.
After a long moment, his hand reached out across the sheet, palm up.
Lucy stared until the sway of the ship brushed her fingers against his.
Then she closed her hand around his, relief and longing coiling together in her chest.
Morning came bright and clear over the coast of Nassau.
The sun glowed so fiercely that last night felt indulgent and distant.
Adam ordered breakfast brought to the cabin, and when the steward glided away, he produced scalding cups of coffee and the snorkeling card.
He set them on the bed between them. The card bore Lucy’s name and one blank space. She regarded it as if it were a treaty.
“I have an idea,” he said, lifting one cup. Steam curled in the air.
Lucy wrapped both hands around her mug. “Does it involve sea life?”
“It involves neither of us speaking to anyone from Northstar for four hours.”
She studied his relaxed posture, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. “What if they’re drowning?”
“They could have planned better, they’ll manage.” He offered her the snorkeling card. “Private excursion. Just us and Renée.”
Lucy felt a smile tug at her lips—the first genuine gesture since the argument. “All right.”
By nine, they stood at the marina in more casual clothes.
Adam wore well-worn blue swim trunks and a faded gray T-shirt.
Lucy carried the sunscreen as though it might ward off any lingering tension.
Renée, their Bahamian guide, greeted them by name—“Mr. and Mrs. Shay,” she said brightly—without checking any list. She met Adam’s eyes. He gave her an easy grin.
“Close enough?” he asked.
“Close enough.” Relief bloomed through her.
The small white boat cut smoothly out of the harbor.
As they moved beyond the jumble of cruise ships, the water cleared into a palette of greens and blues so vivid it made Lucy’s skin tingle.
Renée pointed out landmarks—a lighthouse, a private island shrouded in palm trees, a pale strip of water that marked the reef.
The sunlight gleamed on the surface, so bright Lucy had to squint.
When it was time to snorkel, Adam fumbled with the mouthpiece like a reluctant child.
He clamped his teeth around it, inhaled through his nose, and bobbed back up coughing after thirty seconds.
Lucy drifted beside him, chest high above the reef, watching the edges of his mask fill with water.
Renée demonstrated the proper technique again—slow exhale through the snorkel tube—and Adam tried once more.
“I understand the theory,” he huffed, spitting saltwater.
Lucy reached for his hand and guided him, her heart swelling with warmth at his stubborn determination. “The fish respect theory,” she teased. “They’re very impressed.”
“Are you enjoying this too much?” He managed a crooked smile.
“I am.” Her voice echoed across the water, buoyant and free. “I admit it.”
They floated in tandem, hand in hand, as parrotfish flitted among the coral and iridescent tangs hovered like living jewels.
A sea turtle glided below them, ancient and serene, and Lucy felt time slow to the turtle’s pace.
Adam pointed each time he spotted something new, pulling her gaze to an anemone or a starfish.
When his mask leaked, Lucy pressed it against his face until the seal held.
When her strap slipped, he anchored her above the reef while Renée fixed it.
Back under the boat’s shade, they shared pineapple chunks and conch salad. Pineapple juices dribbled down Lucy’s chin and nestled in Adam’s laughter.
She told him about an episode of Naked and Afraid in which one contestant tried to build shelter under a fallen tree. Adam listened intently, asking questions that showed he cared about her excitement more than his own.
“You realize none of this will ever be useful,” he said, watching her with bright eyes.
“It’s valuable,” she countered. “If civilization falls. Then you’ll be sorry you mocked my survival skills.”
“If we become stranded,” he said in mock gravity, “I contribute strategic leadership.”
“You’ll be lunch by the second afternoon,” she said with a laugh.
“You’d eat me?”
“Not me personally. I assume a roving band of zombies?—”
He laughed and kissed the juice from her thumb.
The ease between them returned like a tide washing away last night’s tension.
Lucy remembered the first time Adam had learned to cook a complicated French dish because she mentioned liking it, only to discover he hated both the taste and the cleanup—and yet still made it every anniversary.
She remembered calling him at all hours with good news, bad news, news she hadn’t yet categorized, and hearing him say, “Tell me.” Always that gentle invitation. The memory comforted her now.
On the ride back, Adam sat behind Lucy with his arms wrapped around her waist. The boat rose over the wake of a passing yacht, and Lucy bounced against his chest with a startled laugh. His arms tightened around her.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered in her ear.
“For trying to feed me to the fish?” she teased softly.
He pressed his lips to her temple. “For last night. I should have noticed how you were feeling.”
His apology felt incomplete—he still hadn’t acknowledged her concerns about Karina or the rumor mill that had nearly upended them—but Lucy accepted it anyway. He offered it without prodding, and for today, it was enough. She turned in his arms, tilting her head until her lips brushed his.
“I should have told you sooner,” she said. “I was scared.” Lucy closed her eyes, recognizing the tremor in her chest. The fear had grown from a whisper to a weight she could no longer ignore.
Adam’s embrace tightened, bringing warmth back into her bones. “You don’t have to be. I’m right here.”
She leaned back, resting against him as the white buildings of Nassau swept into view. For a moment, every promise between them felt possible.
At the marina, Karina stood by the excursion desk, crisp clipboard in hand and blue sundress catching the breeze. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail Lucy hadn’t seen before. Steven stood a few yards away, talking with Renée. Karina’s eyes lit up when she spotted them.
“How was it?” she asked.
“Adam tried to swallow the Atlantic,” Lucy replied with a grin.
“It was a tactical error,” Adam said. He climbed onto the dock and extended his hand. “What are you doing?”
Karina glanced at the clipboard. “The St. Lucia vendor changed tomorrow’s schedule. I need final numbers for the private cove tour.” She offered the clipboard to Adam. “You and Lucy are still coming?”
Lucy read the list. Under GUESTS, alongside his name, someone had already written Karina Labelle.
Karina followed her gaze.
Adam took the pen with deliberate calm. He crossed out Karina’s name in three heavy strokes, then wrote in bold, even capitals: LUCY brOOKS.
“There,” he said, handing the clipboard back. “No room for confusion.”
Lucy watched him return the paper. Rumors could swirl, misunderstandings could arise, but this was their moment of clarity.