The folding door that hides my shower bangs my heel. I must have dozed off after I've tossed myself across the bed with my legs sticking out too much. My neck was also twisted the wrong way. Cringing, I rub the kink off and jerk my knees to my chest, so Naz doesn't plow through them. She has her war face on, which is frankly excessive for fighting the door to let her out of the shower.

The state room has everything I need, but with the two of us occupying it we'll be cheek to jowl even before Naz drags in her wardrobe. I'm afraid to guess at the extent of it, but for now she's wearing every towel I own. Correction. There's one peeking from under the door, presumably strewn over the floor to keep her tootsies warm. So, my every towel minus one.

Steam trails after her statuesque figure, setting my thoughts on the predictable track.

Back on the beach, when the seawater washed off the make-up, she tasted like the sea. There was a woman underneath all the glitter, tasting like someone I wanted, an intoxicating mixture to drink in... and drink I did, till my head spun. But there, in the predawn darkness, I didn't see much of the real her.

She's before me now. Her cheeks are pink from the shower. Her lips are puffy after our all-nighter. She looks like cotton candy tastes.

I leer, and I can't help it—or want to. If I stretch on the bed, I could grasp the edge of the towel. Then, if she spins like a spindle, I could unwrap her to fall right into my arms on the bed. I squint, visualizing the scene. It has something Disney about it, with a decidedly not-Disney finale.

"Naz, you don't have to dress up for me."

She pulls a t-shirt out of the closet, shakes it out and smirks. "Let's be grown-up about it in the future, okay? Including the condoms."

Oh, look who wizened up now!

"I won't sleep around while we're married." I avoid mentioning Luca and my unspeakable desires. "Your family can mock my living arrangements all they want, but I won't allow them to mock you."

She gives me the look. Fuck, she's going to slap me and run away. With all my fucking towels!

Her mood plummeted on the ride home, but I had faith in the rejuvenating powers of the hot water. Alas, it failed me, because she still bristles worse than any porcupine. She'd kick me if I told her that she needs my protection. I almost kicked myself when I realized it upon seeing her walk into the night sea. If she doesn't self-destruct playing with fire, someone else will put an end to her.

"Okay, maybe my questions were a little out of line—"

"—and poorly timed—"

I blush thinking about my timing. "Okay, yes. Poorly timed. But I can't help you if I don't know the truth. I need to know this shit, dammit!"

She sinks to the edge of the bed and pats my ankle. "Ryan, simmer down. We don't have to work on our relationship. We're not even friends with benefits."

"Enemies with benefits?" I play with the end of her... my towel, tugging at it ever so slightly. I really want to unwrap this gift.

She chews her lip. "No, not enemies either."

"Then... casuals with benefits?"

She heaves a sigh. "Allies. Allies with benefits."

It's a great word. I shake her extended hand, but something twitches inside my chest. I want more.

She pulls her hand out of mine, not letting the handshake linger. "The shower is all yours.".

"Thanks for the heads up. Here I thought the other six dwarves were lining up for it with a song on their lips."

She grunts to cover up a giggle and crawls into the spot I vacate in our only bed. My bed. Her eyes close. A blissful expression spreads over her features. But they pop open the moment I move in the direction she doesn't anticipate. "Where're you going?"

"The galley. Have to get a dishrag seeing how the towels don't magically grow on trees around here." Great, now I'm whining.

"Pfft," Naz replies.

The blanket rustles as she wriggles underneath it, changing in the t-shirt she'd scavenged from my closet. The balled towels whistle through the air, to slam into the sand-and-sea-and-me stained clothes already stuffed into the hamper.

I force myself to walk three steps to the galley in dignified silence. Like I'm wondering if her lingerie is sandwiched between my stuff. Naz's lingerie in the hamper means that she isn't wearing it under the t-shirt she'd borrowed from my closet.

My t-shirt is over her naked body, because her lingerie must be in the hamper, sandwiched in between my stained clothes. The t-shirt must hang loose everywhere, but in that one particular area on her body that is so much fuller than mine... particularly of she's not wearing...

My thoughts circle, building into the old nursery rhyme, swapping Jack for Ryan and adding one thing from the crazy night with Naz to another.

...This is the man all tattered and torn

That kissed the maiden all forlorn

In the House That Ryan Built...

Naz left me a towel in the shower, which took me by surprise. It hangs off the hook in the wall, looking lonely. The wanton devastation wreaked on its brethren turned it completely white. I salute this sole survivor, before climbing into the shower stall. My chuckles turn to all-out laughter when the cold water rushes out of the nozzle.

That's so Naz! To leave me a towel but use up all of the hot water. God only knows if it's a consequence of her luxurious habits or was done by design.

I let frigid water pour over me, pound on my head, my back, and my privates, until shivers rock my body. Then I almost scrub my skin off.

When I step back into the stateroom, cleansed, Naz is fast asleep. She judiciously curled on her half of the bed. That's the half she picked without consulting me. That's how my life is going to be for a while. Lingerie in the hamper. Half-a-bed gone. A woman cocooned into more than her fair share of the blanket... That last one makes me sigh: great, let's add another item to the growing shopping list.

Her face is completely naked—no makeup, no expression that she wants to project to the world. Parted lips, relaxed cheekbones, no eyes darting under the hooded eyelids in a dream. True peace of an entity not touched by any earthly concern.

A smile tugs on my lips despite the cold immersion she'd subjected me to. She is what she is.

"She is what she is..." I repeat under my breath. The smile wains as I sober up.

I don't want to be sober, but I don't want to be made a fool of either, least of all by myself.

What am I supposed to think?

I fucking loved laughing in the shower, not to mention I loved what we did on the beach. Or rather, I loved the delusions of my capitulating mind.

Am I so thirsty that I'm blinding myself to the facts? I enabled Naz—Naz, the mafia princess—to take the high road for reasons that have nothing to do with nobleness. She doesn't need me to guide her away from the mire she'd been born to. Moreover, it pisses her off when someone patronizes her. I get that, after seeing her with the four men in her life.

So, yes, I get why she'd send me that subliminal message with the cold water. I need to chill out. Don't make more out of our quick celebratory fuck than it was. Even if I go mad and make it my New Year's resolution to save Naz from becoming a woman who'd eventually sleep and breed with a Tangorello, she'll still be a Nazarevich.

Always will be one.

She is what she is.

I sigh and climb into bed with my dangerous ally, swearing off the benefits, with or without the condom. How's that for a New Year's resolution?

She shifts in her sleep, searching for even more warmth, her back pressing into my chest.

And like an idiot, I sling one arm around her and grow hard.