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“Marcus what do you do? I know Gerry is Quinton’s assistant and a dear friend.” I smile at him. He toasts his cosmo to mine before he drinks.
“I’m a marriage therapist.” He smirks at me.Oh fudge!
I gasp. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” My shock is evident. “Really? A marriage therapist?” He’s the devil’s advocate. Is this a sign I should be ‘working’ on my marriage? I really feel deflated.
He laughs. “I know, I don’t fit the norm for a marriage therapist: a gay man.”
“No, that’s not it at all.” I feel horrible now. “It’s not your sexuality at all. I’m sure you’re a wonderful therapist. You don’t lack the sensitivity that most males do. I’m sure you can see both sides of a marriage with issues, very clearly.” I take a sip. “Here I’m married to someone and I’m on a yacht with all of you. While my husband isn’t.” Shit, I feel like he’s going to be in my head. Maybe he’s already been in my head.
“I’m not working this week.” He winks. “I’m not going to pick your words apart and come up with an opinion on your marital status.”
“Oh.” I feel sort of disappointed. “You don’t have any thoughts, generally speaking, from your years of experience?” I grin. I definitely don’t want to get into a counseling session.
“Thoughts?” He’s smirking at me. “About why you’re here?” I nod carefully, not sure if I really want to know his thoughts. Does he think I’m bad person? I am a bad person. I shouldn’t be flirting with Quinton, he’s not my husband.
“Quite frankly, Amelia, you’re here because you’re in a toxic marriage. You’re physically married to this man, but your heart and mind left it years ago. I suspect something happened, something big that changed the way you saw him. Sometimes women find it easier to stay in toxic marriages for different reasons, especially if emotional abuse is present. I definitely see the signs of verbal abuse, which turns emotional and eventually emotional will turn physical.”
“Oh,” I whisper as I listen. Does he think I’m a bad person? He probably thinks I’m the reason our marriage is toxic.
“It’s a cycle. Some days are good. Fine perhaps, but at some point in the day, a fight happens. Now I’m not saying couples don’t fight or shouldn’t, but it shouldn’t be every day and over every single topic.” I drop my head, looking at my drink, boy he’s insightful. I look up when I hear Quinton’s voice.
“You okay?” he questions with his hand on the small of my back. His eyes are looking at all of us.
“Yes, Amelia and I were discussing her marriage. She just realized I was a marriage therapist.” Quinton looks at me, curiosity brewing. I can see it in his face. I smile between the two of them. “Do you want me to continue?” I hear Marcus ask.
“Maybe we should hold these deep conversations, until after dinner,” Quinton suggests. “Chef is ready to serve dinner. Let’s eat.” I nod as he walks us to our seat. “I could feel your tension.” I look at him. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, although I’m curious what Marcus thinks of me being here … now that I know he’s a marriage therapist. Aren’t they usually advocates for keeping a marriage together?”
“He’s in the practice of making happy marriages. Not keeping two miserable souls confined to one another for the sake of their vows. He’s good at pointing out incapability and helping find a solution.” He sits once I take my seat. “You look beautiful.” He leans over and softly brushes his lips on my cheek. “Relax, enjoy your dinner.”
The steward places a small caprese salad in front of all our seats. It looks delicious. I do love balsamic reductions.
“Everyone enjoy their day?” Quinton asks the table as he grins. He knows we all have. “We will be at sea all day tomorrow, and should port at Nassau Friday morning. We’ll explore during the day, maybe hit a club before leaving. Saturday morning we’ll port at Freeport and play. Then we will arrive back at Jacksonville Sunday.”
“Hell yeah.” Tierra holds her drink up. They all do. I’m the last to join the toast. I watch the steward take my empty plate away. Once the table is cleared, the stewards bring our main course: herb crusted lamb on couscous with spring vegetables and a drizzle of the same balsamic reduction.
I don’t eat lamb, but don’t want to be rude. I nibble around the lamb, tasting the couscous and vegetables. Delicious! I feel Quintin’s eyes as I look up. “Is something wrong?” He’s grinning, watching me.
“No.” I smile as I pick around the lamb.
“You’re picking at your dinner. You don’t like lamb?”
“I don’t eat lamb.” I shyly smile. “The vegetables and couscous are tasty though.”
“Your face looks at that piece of lamb as if it's vile.” I titter looking at him. “This won’t do.” He immediately throws his hand up and the steward rushes to his aid.
“Sir?”
“Yes, have Chef prepare Ms. Amelia something else. She doesn’t eat lamb. My apologies to him.”
“No, no.” I touch his forearm. “It’s fine. I can eat around it. It’s no trouble. I don’t want a fuss made about it.”
“Amelia you will eat. And it will be something you enjoy.” He smiles, and looks at me. “Filet mignon?”
“You don’t have to have your chef prepare me something different.” He smirks at my comment and turns to the steward.
“Have chef prepare the herb crusted filet mignon. She was pleased with the sides, fresh plate.” I watch as the steward rushed away. “It will only be a few minutes.”
