Christopher strode into the cabin, two glasses in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other. Shouldering open the door, he stopped and sighed. “Sick again, love?”
Katerina—who had been perched on the edge of the bed in her shift and bloomers, her head in both hands—flopped onto her back, groaning.
Christopher set the bottle and glasses on the table and joined his wife, shifting her so her cheek lay on his shoulder. She nuzzled into his neck.
“In planning this trip, it seems we forgot to take the possibility of seasickness into account.”
“I suppose so,” she said in a thin, uncomfortable voice.
“Lie still, then. Doesn"t that help?”
“It does.” Already, she sounded stronger. “As long as I"m prone, I feel normal, but the second I get up…”
“Your belly begins churning?” he suggested.
He fel
