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“Yeah, I know that, but I think we’re going to have to make a concerted effort toward the other direction. Or else we’re going to end up throwing each other overboard before we reach Barcelona.”

“Ettadidsay that a cruise ship is the perfect place to get away with a murder.”

“You know, from what I’ve seen of her so far, that does not surprise me.”

The boat rocks, and another wave of nausea rolls over me. I close my eyes and will it to pass. Inhale through my nose, exhale through my mouth. Phoenix and Guru Doug would be proud.

When I open my eyes, Alex is studying me, concern in his eyes.

“I have something for you in my room that could help.” He smiles playfully and raises up his hands. “Because I’m only trying to help! Will you walk there with me?”

“Boy, I just got through telling you that a cruise ship is the perfect murdering spot, and you’re trying to take me to your unattended room. Red flag!”

A crew member happens to be walking by in the hallway,his arms full of towels, and Alex waves him over.

“Excuse me, sir. My name is Alex Lee and this is Lenore Bennett. I am bringing her to my room—room 817—with completely innocent, non-murder-y intentions. Can you alert the authorities if she’s reported missing? Again, that’s Alex Lee. Get a good look at my face.”

The guy looks confused, then annoyed, but then he pastes on the customer-service smile that everyone on this ship seems to have mastered when they’re fielding complaints about the unlimited soft-serve machines or the pressure of the jets in the Jacuzzis. “Of course, Mr. Lee.”

“We good?” Alex says, turning to me when the guy leaves.

“Okay, fine.”

Alex’s room is on the eighth deck, three decks above our rooms. And he’s not stuck in a little box with no windows like me and Wally. No, when he unlocks his door, the glittering ocean greets us through the huge sliding glass door that leads to his veranda. The room is still tiny, which is made very clear when we both try to maneuver around his bed at the same time and accidentally bump hips. My whole body tightens in embarrassment and he jumps back, nearly falling into his shower. But it’s less tiny than our tiny. And that view makes being stuck on this cruise seem not all that bad.

“Living large, huh?” I say.

“Well, I mean, Mom and Dad booked this like two years ago, so they got a discount. And I would have been fine sleepingon the pull-down bunk bed in their room, but I think they want to have, like... adult private time, so that’s why they put me—”

“Chill, it’s not an insult. I was just commenting on your sweet room.” I smile. “We’re assuming the best of intentions, remember?”

His cheeks turn red, and he runs his hands through his curls. “Yes, right. Okay, well, I have a couple things to give you.” He walks to his couch—two steps from the bed—and unzips the backpack he was wearing in Palermo yesterday. He pulls out a paper bag that I recognize from the liquor store, and then presents me with two pink sweatbands decorated with a single white plastic button on each.

“First, these.”

“And what are... these?” I ask, studying them. “Because, like, assuming the best or whatever, this was a very kind gesture. But I gotta tell you, these aren’t really my style.”

He laughs. “They’re Sea-Bands. I mentioned them that first night? Well, they didn’t actually have name-brand Sea-Bands in that corner store, but these are the Italian version, I guess.”

“Uh, okay.”

“The way they work is this little white thing here.” He points to the bracelet. “When it’s on your wrist, it’ll press down on this acupressure point. It’s called the Nei Guan, and when you, um, stimulate that point it helps with nausea.”

He must sense the eye roll I’m holding in because he takes the weirdo sweatbands from me. “Here, let me show you.”

He takes them out of the package and then reaches out for my wrist, but stops himself. “May I?”

My stomach flip-flops, reminding me that I’m only doing this because of impending vomit. “I mean, yeah, whatever.”

He flips my hand over and touches a spot on my wrist, gingerly, delicately. My stomach freaks out some more. “This is the point right here. So we’re going to slide these on.” He stretches the bracelet over my hand. “And then there you go. It should start working soon.”

He’s very close. I can see each one of his freakishly long eyelashes, feel his breath on my arm. And my heart starts beating double time, like it’s going to thump right out of my chest. Can he hear that? He’s definitely close enough, and he’s going to get the wrong idea. What kind of weird shit is this bracelet doing to me? And why is he still holding my wrist?

“Aren’t you supposed to be a man of science?” I say, breaking up whatever was just going down, and he steps back. “I mean, magic bracelets that cure nausea? They can’t be teaching this in medical school.”

“Hey, a good doctor embraces all forms of medicine. And you can get some Dramamine in the gift shops on board if you really want it, but it’s going to make you fall asleep and have a dry-ass mouth. But maybe you’re into that.” He shrugs playfully. “Give it a few minutes, okay? While we’re waiting, thing number two.”

He goes over to the miniature table in front of his couch and grabs a stack of papers. He’s about to hand them to me, butthen he pauses and pulls them close to his chest, takes a deep breath.