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 inBeckett.
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.
