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“Lenore.” Alex’s voice is muffled through the door. “Can we talk?”

So, apparently, he would dare.

“Fuck you, Alex!” I yell. It occurs to me that if he can hear me through the door, my neighbors on either side can probably hear me too, but I don’t care. “Leave me alone!”

“Lenore, please. I don’t know what you thought you saw... well, no, Idoknow what you thought you saw, but you need to let me explain.”

It’s the “need” that gets me, that makes me feel like steam is shooting out of my ears and through my nose. My stomach sloshes as I run over to the door, throw on the chain, and glare out at him, all “here’s Johnny.”

He looks terrible. His eyes are sunken and his hair is even more of a mess. But I’m not going to let that sway me. Heshouldfeel like shit.

“I don’tneedto let you do anything,” I say to him, spitting out each word. “I saw you two, the happy couple, with my owneyes, and there’s no way you can explain that away.”

“Lenore, it wasn’t like that,” he says, shaking his head. “I promise. We were—”

“So that’s what it’s like, huh?” I cut him off. “It doesn’t even matter to you who it is? You just need someone to fit into the partner slot on your dumbass twenty-year plan. Might as well upgrade to a future lawyer if Natalia will take you back, huh?”

“Lenore, come on. Don’t do this.” His voice cracks. “You know me.”

I can feel my face harden, my armor against the way that voice—the same one that made me feel seen and special—is trying to get through to my heart. “I don’t know you, Alex. It’s been ten days. Ten. Days.” He winces, like the words flew from my mouth and pierced his chest. “And you sure as hell don’t know me if you think I’m going to fall for any of this ever again.”

A wave of nausea hits me, and something toxic and hot bubbles up in the back of my throat.

“Go away. We’re done.”

I slam the door in his face.

Chapter Seventeen

I spend the rest of the afternoon crying. I cry curled up into a ball, my chest aching with the effort. I cry so loud, apparently, that my neighbor bangs on the wall, and I bang it right back. I cry until my tear ducts sputter out and are all like, “Girl, are you really out here trying to get dehydrated over a man?”

And then I get up.

The nausea is back.

At first I thought I was feeling sick because of Alex’s betrayal. But, no, it’s just like the first few days of this cruise. I can feel every sway of the ship, even as we’re docked. My stomach rocks and my skin is all clammy and I have to take deep breaths to swallow down the impending vomit.

Why did I throw my Sea-Bands at him? I could have thrown anything, my purse, my chunky-heeled clogs—those suckers would have hurt. I should have gone for the plastic chairs on the pool deck, really made a statement. But instead I threw theone thing that was magically keeping me from emptying the contents of my stomach, allowing Alex to ruin everything in yet another way.

I don’t know how many hours pass before Wally returns to the room—the alarm clock fell behind the tiny dresser when I threw my pillow, at one point, in anger, and our windowless box of a room pretty much erases the concept of time. But I must be in bad shape because he opens the door and then quickly makes his way over to my bed and hugs me.

Hugs me!

I can’t remember the last time this happened—definitely not at my graduation, or any recent birthdays and Christmases. Wally and I are just not huggers. But he pulls me close, leaning his head on top of mine, and whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” I say between sniffles, because apparently I’m crying again.

“Still, I’m sorry. Whatever happened. I’m assuming it was... with him.”

I nod, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.

“Did... did he hurt you?”

I shake my head. “No, no. Just my heart.”

“Well, I sort of want to kill him for that, too.”

I let out a laugh, surprised because Wally has never pulled the protective big brother card, not any time recently. And then he starts laughing too, and soon we’re giggling together on my bed, like we’re little kids again.