It’s late afternoon, I’m pacing on the upper deck in a mix of agitation, upset, and anger. A turmoil of emotions and I want to scream.

“I’m not talking to you!” I pout childishly, rage beginning to grow inside of me at his confession. Turning away from him on the main deck of the boat, I pull my sarong tightly around my waist and tie it off with an angry tug.

“Bambino, please.” He tries to catch my arm, but I storm away. He stifles a laugh and comes at me again. “You’re really mad at me?” He sounds like he’s in disbelief that I could actually be angry over...