Page 76 of Omega's Faith

Saskia Scarmetto. At the reception desk in designer leisurewear.

Our eyes meet across the lobby. She smiles, not even pretending to be surprised.

"Alex! What a coincidence!"

It's not. Nothing with Saskia is ever a coincidence.

"Saskia." I don't move toward her, making her come to me.

She air-kisses both my cheeks, enveloping me in a cloud of expensive perfume. "I had no idea you'd be here. I just needed to get away after—" She waves her hand vaguely. "You know."

I don't know, but I can guess. There's always something with Saskia.

"Which cabin are you in?" she asks, signing the registration form without reading it.

"Twelve."

"How perfect! I'm in eleven."

Of course she is.

She looks good. She always looks good. But there's something fragile around her eyes, a tightness to her smile. She's lost weight, her collarbones too sharp under her cashmere sweater.

"How are you?" I ask, because I'm not a complete asshole.

"Fabulous. Terrible. The usual." She laughs, brittle as glass.She links her arm through mine like we're still together, like the last three years haven't happened. "Show me around? I'm dying to see what ten thousand a week buys these days."

I extract myself carefully. "I was just heading back to read."

"God, you have changed. The Alex I knew would never choose a book over me." She's teasing, but there's an edge to it.

"The Alex you knew drank his body weight in champagne weekly."

"And he was magnificent." She touches my cheek, fingers light as moth wings. "I miss him."

"He's gone."

"Is he? Or is he just hiding behind this new sober, married persona?"

Married. The word sits wrong. Am I still married if my omega left me?

"I'll see you at dinner," I say, stepping back.

She lets me go, but her smile says this isn't over. It never is with Saskia.

That night, I'm lying in bed failing to meditate when the knock comes. Soft, hesitant. I know who it is before I open the door.

Saskia stands there in a silk robes, holding a bottle of Macallan 18. My favorite. The bottle we used to keep in my penthouse for special occasions.

She's drunk. Not sloppy drunk, but there's a glassiness to her eyes, an unsteadiness to her stance.

"I missed you," she says, like it's that simple.

"Saskia, I’m married." And as I say it, I’m aware that that it is the first thing that I think. Jonah may not be here but Ifeelmarried.

"Barely." She pushes past me into the cabin, the whiskey sloshing.

She sets the bottle on my desk, fingers trailing over thejournal I left open. My handwriting, talking about Jonah. She reads a line and her mouth twists.