In the corner, I grabbed napkins from the table and did my best to clean off my feet and the hem of my dress. Weaving through the party, I found most of my crew mates and said goodnight, playing up how tired I was and letting a few very real yawns slip out.
I saved the regatta organizer for last, but unfortunately, Alex had just turned away from saying goodnight to Jack. He’d cleaned up, too, losing his tie and socks and unbuttoning his shirt.
We both stopped, eyeing each other, a heavy silence between us.
Alex broke it. “I have just one question. Is Ion the one?”
I drew back, surprised. “What?”
“You’ve been with him for nearly a year. You’d know by now if he was the one you were going to marry and spend the rest of your life with. Tell me he’s the one for you, and I’ll leave him alone.”
My mouth hung open, poised to declare...what? He was? He wasn’t? It was none of Alex’s business? But nothing came out.
Because I didn’t really know.
Instead of teasing me or making some cutting remark like I expected, Alex frowned, a crease forming between his eyebrows. And something, some spark, passed behind his eyes.
He shook it off. “Fine, whatever. Goodnight, Nikki.”
I watched as Alex faded away into the party. Just because I wasn’t in love with Ion right now didn’t mean I wouldn’t be. Who was Alex to judge me? And why did I let him get to me so much?
I finished my goodnights and left the party, waffling back and forth about my own feelings over Ion, over sailing, over Alex. In my cabin onPegasus, I checked my phone. I had several messages from Ion consoling me, plus a few pictures of him from the photo shoot today.
Ion
Hey, babe, can you post these ones on Instagram and work your magic?
I smiled. So what if I wasn’t in love with Ion yet? He was gorgeous and attentive, even if he wasn’t here in person. And he didn’t pick fights with me.
Relieved to have something to do to get my mind off the evening, I got to work editing the photos and writing the captions.
And I made a vow to myself: I’d never let Alex compete with me again.
TWO
Eight months later
Bigger is better,at least in this case.
But not too big.
I usually could work with one hand pretty well, but in this instance, I was definitely going to need two. I was a bit worried that my arms would get tired or I’d cause some damage. I had to choose one; I couldn’t really fit two. And three would just be mad.
I looked at the options on the bed waiting for me. The biggest one was probably out.
That left the smaller option and the middle option. They both were heavy in my hands, a nice solid weight and some impressive girth.
My usual was about 250 mm, but these were much bigger.
I knew that I might regret not taking a big enough camera lens to South Africa with me. I sighed and picked the middle one up off the bed, then rearranged the padded dividers in the backpack to accommodate it. This was going to be my first time photographing on a safari, and the pressure was on. I had to get this right.
Just two months after the regatta in Malta, I quit sailing for good. I worried that I was leaving it behind for all the wrong reasons—Alex didn’t get a say in what I did—but something else quickly took over my life.
I thought sailing would be my passion, something that excited me and gave me a sense of self. But Iknowthat is what photography is for me.
It had started with Ion. After a few times editing and posting photos for him on his Instagram page, he handed over the entire account to me. And then his website and his portfolio and his modeling career started to take off. Whether the shot was a black-and-white close-up of Sunday morning in bed—tastefully naked—or lounging by the pool in sponsored wear, I was the one behind the lens. My shots weren’t amazing—I was not a portraitist—but they were better for his career than what he’d been posting.
Six months later, I was diversifying, running my own social media campaigns and looking for sponsors. While I love all photography, the real spark had hit me with travel photography. Ion and I had realized that the romance was gone and amicably split.
