I spent that afternoon on the beach. I took off the ring before going into the water, not as a declaration that the marriage was over, but because I did not want to lose it in the sand while I was still deciding what it meant. For nearly an hour I floated in warm shallow waves and listened to the water moving beneath me. It was the first time in months that I had not been planning someone else's day while pretending it was my own.
When I came back to the villa, a handwritten card lay beside the fruit bowl. Amara had arranged for the welcome dinner to be replaced by a private tasting of island dishes, included within the amount already paid. The note wished me a peaceful stay and said nothing about husbands. I sat with the card in my hands and felt a ridiculous rush of gratitude toward a woman who had simply respected the name printed on a reservation.
That evening, I went to the resort's restaurant rather than eat alone again. I wanted to try being visible without having to explain myself. The hostess led me to a table overlooking the water, where lanterns reflected in the dark glass of the sea. I ordered grilled fish and a glass of wine and opened the small sketchbook I always carried. I drew the curve of the terrace and the way the lights made the railings look almost silver.
A couple at the next table were celebrating their anniversary. They held hands between courses and laughed about something I could not hear, and for a moment I felt as though I had walked into the wrong life. I closed the sketchbook, ready to retreat to the villa, but the woman caught my eye and smiled. There was no pity in it, because she knew nothing about me. She was simply being kind to another person eating dinner by the ocean.
I stayed and finished my meal. I ordered dessert because I wanted it, not because anyone had insisted. Then I walked back under the lanterns with the sketchbook pressed against my chest, thinking that the difference between loneliness and solitude might be whether I had chosen the company I was keeping. I had not chosen the way my honeymoon began. I could still choose what to do with the hours that remained.
On Tuesday morning, the hotel concierge called the villa to tell me Julian had arrived at the resort's public reception lobby and asked to speak with me. He had not been given my room number or admitted to the guest-only villa area, but he was waiting near the main entrance. Amara said I was under no obligation to meet him and that they could ask him to leave the property if I preferred. I stood with my coffee halfway to my mouth and understood how quickly one person can mistake the knowledge of another person's location for a right to reach them.