Mark

The sun was setting, painting the Mediterranean Sea the color of molten gold. The premium deck of the Aurora Dream liner hummed with muffled laughter and the clinking of crystal glasses. It was a world where the air smelled of expensive tobacco and French perfume, and every smile was worth more than a year's rent on a suburban apartment.

She stood by the railing, clutching a glass of champagne. She felt like an impostor in this glittering anthill. The dress she'd bought on sale fit perfectly, but she knew it was a fake in these people's eyes. The only real thing in her was her embarrassment and gratitude to Alina, who'd shrugged off her whim and paid for the cruise, saying, "You need some fun, darling."

It was then that she saw him. He stood among a group of men in perfectly tailored suits. He listened to them with polite boredom, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. And then his gaze settled on her.

— You don’t dance?

She was at a loss, glancing sideways at the empty lounge chair where Alina should have been, but her friend had canceled at the last minute, citing urgent business. And so she was left alone in this strange world. Alone against all these brilliant, self-assured people.

“I... I’m not very good at it,” she admitted honestly, feeling her cheeks burn.

"It's simple," he smiled. "You just follow me. The music will do the rest."

He took her hand. His palm was warm and dry. They danced a slow dance among strangers, and she forgot who she really was. She forgot about money, about the contrast between their worlds. She simply drowned in his gaze.

"My name is Mark," he said when the melody faded. "What's your name? In case you get lost in this vast world."

She hesitated. Say hers? It sounded too simple. She didn't belong in this world. But Alina's last name—Vorontsova—was loud and familiar. And without knowing why, she blurted out:

• Vorontsova.

Mark nodded and let her go. She remained standing, feeling her insides tighten with fear.