Page 32 of Ship Happens

What does Ethan want? Beyond the obvious beach sex, what is his endgame here?

My phone buzzes with a notification from the ship’s app—a reminder about today’s couples’ activity: “Sensual Massage Workshop, 3 PM, Lotus Spa.”

I close the app with a groan. Of course there’s a massage workshop. Because being half naked and touching each other is exactly what Ethan and I need after last night.

At 12:25, I make my way to the gangway, having changed into a casual yellow sundress and sandals. The ship has docked in Castries, St. Lucia’s capital, the lush green island rising from the turquoise water.

Ethan is already waiting, somehow looking like a luxury travel advertisement in simple linen pants and a blue button-down that makes his eyes even more impossibly blue. He smiles when he sees me, and my stomach does an embarrassing flip.

“Right on time,” he says, offering his arm. “The restaurant’s about a ten-minute walk along the coastal road.”

I take his arm, conscious of other passengers watching us. “Are we still playing ‘couple’ for the audience?”

“We’re whatever you want us to be,” he says, his voice low enough that only I can hear. “On camera, off camera—your call.”

The sincerity in his tone catches me off guard. I expected gloating after last night, or at least smug satisfaction. This consideration of my feelings is... disarming.

We disembark, stepping into the tropical heat of St. Lucia. The port area bustles with activity—locals selling handicrafts, tourists taking photos, taxi drivers calling out destinations. Ethan pushes through the crowd with ease, placing a protective hand on my lower back to guide me.

“How many times have you been here?” I ask as we turn down a less crowded side street.

“Seven or eight. My grandfather used to bring the ships here for maintenance. There’s a good natural deep-water harbor.”

“You spent a lot of time on these islands growing up?”

He nods, pointing out a colorful building. “My childhood was split between boardrooms and boat decks. My father wanted me in business meetings; my grandfather wanted me to understand the ships from the engine room up.”

“And which did you prefer?”

“The ships, without question.” He smiles at the memory. “Nothing better than standing on the bow as you approach an island like this one. My grandfather would tell me the geological history of each formation we could see.”

“He sounds like he had a naturalist’s perspective.”

“He loved the ocean in his way, even if that love was complicated by the fact that he built vessels that polluted it.” Ethan points to a small, blue-painted restaurant ahead. “Here we are—Mer Durable. It’s run by a local chef who only serves sustainable, locally caught seafood.”

The restaurant is charming—open air with views of the water, colorful local art on the walls, ceiling fans spinning lazily overhead. The host greets Ethan by name and leads us to a table on a covered patio overlooking the water.

“The owner started as a fisherman,” Ethan explains once we’re seated. “He became concerned about declining fish populations and helped establish sustainable fishing practices in the local community.”

“Is there anything you don’t know about every port we visit?”

He grins. “I do my research.”

“On marine conservation efforts?”

“On things that might impress you.”

The candid admission catches me off guard. “You’ve been trying to impress me?”

“Since you threw champagne in my face, yes.” He unfolds his napkin casually. “Though I admit, I didn’t expect it to be quite so hard.”

A server arrives with water and menus, giving me a moment to process what he said. Ethan has been working to impress me. Not just manipulate public opinion, not just secure positive press, but impress me personally.

“Why?” I ask after the server leaves. “Why bother? You could have just had me removed from the ship after the champagne incident.”

He looks up from his menu. “Because you were right.”

“About what?”

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