The color of the deep

The cabin smelled of sun cream as I stood in front of the narrow mirror. The turquoise-green silk dress glided over my skin like a second sea. No bra, no panties, just the cool touch of the fabric that turned every step into a whisper - a hint of uncertainty that crept under my skin. A faint inkling that this night would be no ordinary evening passed through me like a surge of electricity, barely perceptible and yet electrifying.

I applied my make-up sparingly, but emphasized my lips with a red that reminded me of coral reefs: wild, tempting, dangerous. For whom, I asked myself mockingly as my thumb stroked the curved edge of my lips. The idea of breaking someone's gaze with it later - male or female - made a smile warm on the back of my neck. Turning my head, I saw in the mirror how the neckline painted a shadow between my breasts with every movement, a mysterious abyss that made me curious myself.

Perfect, I thought.

And felt something tighten in my abdomen, a familiar tingling that was no longer just anticipation. The smell in the air suddenly mixed with the memory of sweat, of hot touches that were yet to come. Or could come. This uncertainty - the thought that everything or nothing would happen - made me horny again.

In the hallway, I could feel the stares even before I saw them. Men's eyes that lingered on the slit above my knee. Women who scrutinized my bare shoulders. I walked slower than necessary, letting my hips toss the dress in waves. Not for them. For the fleeting burn that came when silk slid over warmed skin.

The dining room smelled of lemon polish and roasted saffron. As I sat down, the slit in my leg snaked open wider, revealing thigh flesh still reddened by the sunlight. The young waiter with the Bordeaux almost stumbled as he filled my glass. His gaze moved from my neckline to my eyes - and quickly away again. Too easy, I scoffed inwardly.

Then I felt him.

A sudden tingling sensation on the back of my neck, as if someone had electrically charged the air in the room. I bit into an olive, deliberately letting the stone clatter heavily onto the plate. Only when the third course was served - oysters whose slippery insides reminded me of the past - did I turn my head. Millimeter by millimeter.

The anthracite-colored suit shimmered deep blue where the light hit it. His gaze was not directed at me, but at the painting behind me - a stormy sea. But I knew that kind of attention: tense as a cat's hump, ready to spring at any moment.

The corner of his mouth twitched. A half-smile that disappeared faster than I could blink.

When the strawberry and basil sorbet arrived, I let the spoon glide over my lips extra slowly. A trick Clara had taught me: “Let them think they have the power - while you set the rhythm.” His hand, which had just lifted a wine glass, froze for a second. Or was I imagining it?

Suddenly he stood up. His chair scraped across the parquet floor, but he didn't walk towards me, but towards the pianist. A whispered word, a nod. Then Clair de Lune rang out, more tenderly than the situation demanded.

I pressed my knees together, feeling the silk crackle. The neckline of my dress became tight as I leaned forward to reach for the salt cellar. His shadow fell over my hand, even though he was standing three meters away. Imagination, I lied to myself. But my nipples were as stiff as pieces of coral.

I deliberately dropped the napkin during the cheese course. As I bent down, I knew exactly how the fabric stretched over my back, how the slit on my leg opened wider. His steps came closer - two, three - but then he stopped. A soft rustle, then something slid over the edge of the table into my lap.

The card was black, the writing raised like Braille. Cabin number 704, no name, just a symbol: an anchor that turned into a snake.

“In case you feel like... exploring,” his voice said above me. Not British, as I first thought. Something more archaic resonated, as if he'd salvaged the language from shipwrecks.

I finally turned around, slowly enough to feel every vertebra of my spine. But he was already gone.