“I’m told you like British literature.”
“Does that make you the Lizzie Bennet of this metaphor?”
“Hmm. Always fancied myself more of a Jane, actually. Because of the tattoos.”
“Oh, that’s right. Jane had the two full sleeves.”
“And M R . B I N G L E Y across her knuckles.”
“That’s how he knew she was the one.”
“Do you have any tattoos?” he asks.
“Afraid not.”
“I have a few.”
“I actually noticed.”
“Weird. They’re subtle.”
“Yes, very understated. How many do you have? Sixty?”
“Hmm. Twelve, I think. But if you’d prefer more I’m sure there’s a tattoo parlor at the next port.”
“Good idea. What will you get?”
“What do you suggest?”
“How about theRomance of the Sealogo?”
“Just that?”
“Yes, but forty-eight times.”
“That might hurt.”
“I’ll hold your hand.”
He grabs my hand and squeezes it.
“Deal,” he says.
He doesn’t let go.
We pass a couple in the corridor and they say hello to us, smiling at our joined hands likeaww, young love.
“Would you happen to know where the Cigar Lounge is?” the woman asks.
“No, sorry,” I say.
“Are you two on your honeymoon?” she asks.
“No,” Felix says. “It’s our first anniversary.”
“Oh, how wonderful. She’s such a beautiful place to celebrate.”
It takes me a second to realize the “she” in question is the cruise ship.
