Chapter 7
The dining deck had been set for celebration before we came up. I knew it the second the crew slid the glass doors open.
White linen stretched over the long table. A low arrangement of white hydrangeas and eucalyptus ran down the center. Mimosas already poured, the orange bright against the crystal. Someone had folded the napkins into points.
The elderly woman stood at the head of the table with her double strand of pearls catching the morning light. She lifted her glass before either of us had fully sat down.
"We didn't sleep much," she said, and her smile was soft but fixed. "Not after such wonderful news. To the future. To finally making it official."
My name is Maya. That morning I had woken up with a strange ring on a chain around my neck I did not remember putting on.
The man beside me — Daniel — reached for my hand under the table. His palm was warm. His own chain glinted against the black of his button-up where his collar sat open. He squeezed once, a warning to hold the line we'd agreed on in the stateroom: investigate first, correct second.
"Thank you," he said, his voice steady. "We planned to announce it later, but — "
"Oh, later is now, darling," the woman in the blue dress cut in. She was seated directly across from me, pearl necklace perfect against her collarbone. She didn't touch her mimosa. She watched me instead. Her eyes didn't flick to Daniel at all. They stayed on my face, on my throat where the thin gold chain rested against my cream top. When I lifted my water glass, her gaze followed the movement. When I set it down, she was still watching.
The woman in the sparkly sleeveless dress filled every silence that followed. She clapped her hands together, let out a breathy laugh, and pushed her chair back half an inch as if she might stand.
"I just knew it," she said, too loud for the quiet deck. "The second I saw you two, I told her, I said that's love. That's real love. We have to get photos, we absolutely have to, before the light changes. Do you know how long we've waited for this?"
She reached across the hydrangeas toward my hand, and I let her take it. Her fingers were cold. She turned my wrist to show the others, though there was nothing on my wrist to show. Her performance needed an audience, and I understood then she was performing excitement more than feeling it.
I smiled because I had to. I kept the chain visible against my skin. I felt Daniel's thumb brush the side of my hand under the table.
Across from her, the younger woman in the light blue blazer said nothing. Her blonde hair was pulled back again, neat. Her hands were clasped together in front of her chest, fingers laced, elbows tucked in. It was the exact pose she'd held in the doorway at dawn when they had all gasped. Her mouth was pleasant, a small closed smile. Her eyes were on Daniel, then on me, then down to her plate.
She didn't lift her glass for the toast until the elderly woman looked directly at her.
"To love," she echoed, quiet. She sipped.
The crew brought out fruit and pastries. No one ate much. The elderly woman talked about a dinner she wanted to host next month, about calling the family office, about a date that would work for everyone. Daniel answered in short, careful sentences. I nodded when I was supposed to.
I started to count breaths to keep my face still, and I started to watch properly.
The woman in blue watched me like she was trying to catch a lie in real time. Her stare was sharp, but it was reactive — she flinched when I touched the pendant, she blinked hard when Daniel said the word "later."
The woman in sparkles looked away too often, over-performed, as if she had decided what joy should look like and turned the volume up.
The younger woman never looked surprised. Not once. When the elderly woman said "engagement," when Daniel said "announce it later," when the toast was made in our honor for something we had not done — her face did not shift. No widening of eyes, no small gasp, no confused glance between us. Her hands stayed clasped. Her smile stayed at the same small size. Even her breathing stayed even.
It was the stillness that caught me. Everyone else had moved that morning, from shock to celebration. She had started at celebration and stayed there, as if she'd already arrived before we woke up.
When the plates were cleared, the woman in the sparkly dress said, "Now photos. We need one of you two on the bow, just one, with the rings showing. The light is perfect. Please?"
Daniel looked at me. I felt the weight of the chain on my chest. I thought about saying no, about pulling it off.
"For the family album," the elderly woman added, softer. "Just as you are."
May you like
I nodded. Daniel nodded. The younger woman finally unfolded her hands and picked up her phone, already angling it, already ready.
We stood for the photo with matching chains around our necks that neither of us had put there, and I kept my eyes on the one person who hadn't needed to gasp.
