The Cruise – Part 1: Twenty Years, One Ship

The ship was enormous, white and gleaming, and Grace had been on it for six hours before she admitted to herself that she was enjoying it.

"You're smiling," said Andrew, from the balcony doors.

"I'm not."

"You are. You've been smiling since the lifeboat drill."

She turned. He stood in the sunlight in a linen shirt, looking handsome and faintly puzzled, the way he always did when life surprised him. Twenty years of marriage had given them a house in Surrey, two cars, a dog called Biscuit and a routine so smooth they could cook dinner together without speaking.

The cruise had been her idea. She had found it on a Tuesday night, in the bath, scrolling through a travel site, and booked it before she could talk herself out of it.

"I thought we needed a change," Grace said.

"We have a change," said Andrew, sitting down beside her on the sun lounger. "It's called the Adriatic."

"I meant us."

He was quiet for a moment. Then he took her hand, a little awkwardly, the way he did when he was nervous.

"I know," he said. "I've been thinking the same thing for a year. I just didn't know how to say it."

The spa was on deck eight, all white stone and soft lighting and the faint smell of eucalyptus. Grace had a voucher from her sister for a couples massage, and she had decided, on the stairs, that she was going to use it.

Andrew stared at the brochure. "Couples? Grace, I haven't had a massage since our honeymoon."

"Then you're overdue," she said.

The therapist was a cheerful woman from Croatia who asked them, very politely, to undress to their comfort and lie face down. Grace felt herself blush as the warm oil touched her shoulders, and she heard Andrew laugh softly on the next table.

"Is it always this awkward?" he asked.

"Only when you're listening," said Grace.

Later, on the top deck, the stars were out over the sea. A waiter brought two glasses of champagne without being asked. Grace sipped hers and leaned against the rail, feeling the ship's gentle motion beneath her.

A man at the next table, silver-haired, with an easy smile, raised his glass to her and winked.

Grace laughed out loud. Andrew turned, saw the wink, and narrowed his eyes.

"Are you flirting with a stranger?" he asked, mock-serious.

"I'm flirting with my husband," said Grace. "The stranger just noticed."

Andrew stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the heat of him through the cool night air. He looked down at her, his expression softening into something warmer, almost shy.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked. "On the deck. Like a stranger would, if he had any sense."

"Yes," said Grace. "And if I say stop, you stop."

"Of course," said Andrew, and kissed her, slow and sure, while the sea moved softly beneath them.