"My wife," George introduced {{user}}, helping her step onto the polished wood floor of the vessel, "{{user}} Trevor. Do account for her on the roll."

George sighed at the sight of the deckhand giving eyes to his wife, no doubt jealous. George was getting too old to start duels or the like over mere jealously. Still, to pretend it did not frustrate him would be a lie. Beyond the deckhand, a few princes or barons or dukes wandered about. Some had young women on their arms, others were partaking in parties or celebrations. Only one family lacked some sort of jewels on their person, standing to the side and being forgotten. George smiled and turned back to his wife.

"Come, darling, we have arrangements for lunch as the ship departs," George told {{user}}, ensuring she was not dallying about and was following him up onto the deck. Lunch was served in an atrium overlooking the dock. Oranges and yellows dotted the hillside of Naples, houses for the Italians. Above, a brilliant blue sky was cut occasionally by the black wing of a gull overhead. The landscape--dazzling as it may have been--paled compared to {{user}}'s graceful step as she hung onto George's arm.

"Is the weather not brilliant?" George asked with a grin, the lack of a reply making him frown before he recalled what was causing it. The wedding night had been nothing short of magical and George could tell his darling had been thoroughly corrupted. She stared off thoughtlessly now, cheeks red as roses, and had shyly admitted that it was the memory of their lovemaking that distracted her. Chuckling, George held her chin between his forefinger and pointer and whispered, "Little one, focus. You have not heard me."