She claps a hand on my shoulder. “You’re a pro.”
“I’m not acting,” I mumble as she turns to lead me down the ramp, already a few steps ahead of me.
Henry is waiting for me with a life jacket in hand. He gives me a long hug and whispers, “Good morning.”
Chills run up my spine. “Is that a floatation device or are you just happy to see me?”
His laugh tickles my neck. “I’ve been told we have to go over safety procedures, and then we’ll be rewarded with cheap champagne.”
“Cheap champagne is key.”
He steps back and holds the life jacket open for me. “Ahoy, matey.”
“I take safety very seriously,” I inform him. “You joke now, but when this ship goes down, you’re going to wish you’d paid attention. I’m going to be backstroking to shore with my life jacket on.”
“This is taking a seriousTitanicturn,” he says, and cups his hands together. “Bloop.”
“Bloop?” I ask. “What is bloop?”
“You know, bloop, there goes the heart-of-the-ocean-necklace thing. That’s, like, the ultimateTitanicreference.”
“Uh, I think not,” I tell him defiantly. “Maybe Kate Winslet’s hand on the steamy window. Or ‘Draw me like one of your French girls, Jack.’ Or the band playing as the ship goes down! Or even the door that Jack makes Rose float on. But not bloop. That is not high on the list ofTitanicpop-culture references.”
“I feel like there’s a need for more nuance in this conversation than you’re willing to allow.”
“Quiet, people! Listen to Captain Jorge,” Beck shouts.
Henry leans over, and in a loud whisper says, “For the record, there was definitely room for two on that door. Jack died in vain, and I stand by my case, Your Honor.”
I gasp. “Oh my God, yes! Justice for Jack! Justice for Leo!” I shout.
Everyone around us is completely quiet as Captain Jorge clears his throat at the sound of my interruption.
“Sorry,” I screech as I try for an apologetic smile.
“Oooooo,” Henry says just loud enough for me to hear.
“No room on my door for you,” I tell him.
After the safety procedures, Beck and Mallory lead us to the front of the boat, where a blanket, chocolate-dipped fruit, and a bucket of champagne are waiting for us.
“Told you there was a bottle of cheap champagne at the end of the safety-briefing rainbow,” Henry whispers into my ear.
For a while, the boat crashes against waves until we settle out at sea without any land in sight. We are posed like dolls with a lavender-and-orange-sherbet sunset at our backs, and Gretchen curses under her breath at my hair’s unwillingness to obey. Henry and I have nothing left to say in this moment with the cameras rolling, so we say nothing at all.
He leans back with his arms braced behind him, and I lean against his chest as the boat rocks gently back and forth and the sun dips slowly down the horizon.
We share a soft, chaste kiss or two, but for the most part, our silence is comforting and lived-in. I resist yelling over to Beck to ask if we’re moony enough for her. She must be happy with whatever footage she’s getting, because she doesn’t interrupt us or give us any direction at all.
My eyes flutter shut for a few moments, and even though I can’t distance myself enough from the cameras and crew and boat staff to actually fall asleep here against Henry’s chest, I’m able to let my mind drift just enough that for a few brief seconds I can trick myself into thinking it’s just the two of us floating on theTitanicdoor. Because there was definitely room for two.
And maybe—just maybe—fate isn’t a total crock. Maybe the fairy tales aren’t all wrong.
The crew follows us as we walk back to my villa, our fingers intertwined as ours hands swing between us.
“Was that awful?” Henry asks.
I shake my head. “For a TV date, it was decidedly not awful.”
