“Forever.”
Beside me, someone made a small, choked sound.
It was the glossy-haired woman, Ms. Calderon.
She had pushed up her own sleeve and was staring at her own wrist.
She had the same bracelet.
She turned it over with shaking fingers.
Inside, in tiny engraved script: D and G.
Forever.
“He bought it in Barcelona,” she whispered.
“He said it was a one-of-a-kind.”
“He said he’d had it made.”
“It’s from the boutique on Deck 6,” said Natalia flatly.
“They’re two thousand dollars each, Giselle.”
“He bought them on staff discount.”
Nobody spoke.
The crowd had stopped being a crowd.
It was a jury.
My mother hadn’t moved.
She was looking at Mr. Kendrick.
“How many?” she asked.
Mr. Kendrick glanced at his tablet, and he did not look happy.
He looked like a man who had been handed an early birthday present.
“On this contract alone,” he said, “four, Captain.”
