Avery crosses the room and fills a crystal glass with cold water. She holds it out to Andrew, but he refuses to take it. He lays back on the sofa and stares up at her with an unreadable expression. I was so careful to fix my hair and reapply my makeup, and there's no way he can tell that I just slept with Evan, she thinks. But he's staring at me like he knows something. She shifts her weight uncomfortably, puts the glass on the coffee table, and clears her throat.

"You're not going to like the truth," she says, feeling guilty. "I was looking for my handbag and—"

Andrew's face goes white, and he presses his hand to his chest. His eyes are wide and his pupils are huge and black. His skin looks shiny and waxy. His mouth opens as if he's gasping for air, but no sound comes out.

"Andrew, what's the matter with you?" she asks, dropping to her knees to check his pulse. "What do you need? Tell me!"

His body goes stiff, and his lips start to take on a sickening, blue color. Avery grabs his suit jacket and rummages through the pockets, looking for medicine. She finds a yellow pill bottle and pops the cap off.

"How many do you need?" she asks.

"Two," he says, sounding like the words have been squeezed from his throat.

She shakes the bottle, and dozens of pills spill into her palm and onto the floor. With a trembling hand, she picks two up and puts them into his open mouth. She raises the water to his lips and tips the glass back. He coughs and swallows it, and his tense body slowly relaxes. He closes his eyes and stretches out on the sofa, still breathing heavily.

"Should I call the doctor and ask him to come back?" Avery asks.

He opens his eyes and stares at her coldly, as if he's waiting for something. She bites her lip and tries to think of a better way to explain what happened with Evan. It seems easiest to tell him the truth, but I don't want to make him sicker, she thinks.

She hesitates and says, "It's complicated, Andrew."

He sighs and closes his eyes. His lips still look strangely bloodless, and his skin is covered in a sheen of sweat.

He groans and says, "I don't want to know."

"No, I should tell you," she says. "But I can wait until you feel better."

"Do you really want to tell me so badly?" he asks.

"If I don't, I'll feel guilty," she says.

Andrew laughs, but it sounds more like a cough. He opens his eyes and watches her thoughtfully. She wonders what he sees when he looks at her. She stares back, worried he'll have another attack.

"Guilt is the best punishment for you," he says. "Besides, if you feel guilty, you might be nicer to me. Like right now, for example, you're not staring at me as you hate me. That's progress, don't you think? Our relationship is improving."

"I'm only nice to you because you're sick," she says. "You look terrible, by the way."

"I'll take sympathy too," he says, smiling slightly.

"If you don't want the doctor, I'll ask the bodyguards to help move you to your bed," she says.

"No, you should sleep in the room tonight," he says. "I haven't forgotten that you're pregnant."

"No way," she says. "You're really sick—you need a good night's sleep. I can sleep on the sofa for a night."

Andrew winks and says, "Why don't we both sleep in the bedroom?"

She shakes her head, and he sighs. He lifts his hand and points to the bedroom. Realizing it's useless to argue, she nods and walks into the bedroom, locking the door behind her.

Jessica stumbles across the dance floor. Brightly colored lights flash overhead and loud music seems to shake the room. The ship's club and bar are packed with people drinking, dancing, and enjoying the dark corners.

"Miss Clifford," James calls out as he chases after her.

Jessica stumbles, and James' strong hand grabs her arm and supports her. She jerks her arm away and stumbles again. I knew I shouldn't have worn such high heels, she thinks. Probably shouldn't have had all that wine either.

"Get your hands off me," she snaps. "If Jackson sees you, you're as good as dead. I don't think he knows that you're the man who took my virginity, but it wouldn't be hard for him to find out."

She stumbles away from James, pushing past sweaty couples grinding on each other. The flashing lights make her feel dizzy, and the booming music hurts her ears. She can't decide if she wants to sit down and cry or punch James in the face. He ruined everything, but he acts so calm, she thinks angrily. I never cared about my virginity that much, but Jackson did. And James just took it. If I can't get Jackson back, I swear I'll find a way to make James pay.

"Miss Clifford, wait," James shouts, shoving dancers aside. "It's not a good idea to go looking for Jackson like this. He might not want to see you."

Jessica spins around to glare at him. He stares at her with perfect calm. I wish I could slap that look off of his face, she thinks. How dare he tell me about Jackson!

James raises his eyebrows and says, "I'm sorry I didn't mean to cause offense."

She raises her rand to slap him but lets it fall at her side. He nods slightly and turns to leave.

"Wait, James, where are you going?" she asks.

James narrows his eyes and says, "I thought you were worried that Jackson would see me."

Jessica stamps her foot and her ankle throbs. I must have twisted it when I stumbled, she thinks. She looks at the sweaty dancers on the dance floor and suddenly feels exhausted. Her headaches and the room has started to go fuzzy.

She points at her ankle and says, "I hurt my ankle. I need your help caring for it."

"Miss Clifford, there are so many people here. What if Jackson sees me?" James asks. "Let me take you to one of the private rooms, and then I'll look at your ankle."

Jessica sighs and starts to limp toward the private rooms. Men try to grab her as she passes, but she glares at them, and they immediately apologize and back away. By the time she makes it to the private room, she feels hot, sweaty, and angrier than before.

She collapses onto the velvet sofa, and James scoops ice from the champagne bucket and holds it against her ankle. She leans back on the sofa and pillows her head on her arms. Her eyes start to droop, but she snaps them back open. She fights back a yawn and stares at James.

His face is intent, and his fingers linger on her skin as he adjusts the ice. Though he seems cold, he has a strong sexual appetite. He had sex with her five separate times the night he took her virginity. He probably would have tried for six, but it was already getting light outside. She glares down at him.

"I'm sorry, is it too cold?" he asks.

She ignores him and closes her eyes, trying to ignore the pain in her ankle.