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through the pampered crowd along Port Hercules’ southernmost pier.  
    “It’s open to anyone willing to plop down a hundred and fifty euros for the privilege. They were expecting over thirty thousand visitors this year, with the economy recovering. I haven’t heard how many actually showed.”
    “You talk as though it’s over.”
    “The show formally ended at six thirty this evening. This is the aftershow. With hoi polloi out of the way, the real players emerge, and the serious business gets done.”
    Emily wondered what qualified as the masses at the Monaco Yacht Show. Was it anyone with less than seven figures in their checking account, or eight?  
    With dusk approaching, the underwater lights on all of the yachts were illuminating, giving the sea an azure glow that complemented the orange horizon. It was nothing short of magical and a perfect time for pictures. If only she had her phone. Glancing behind as she tried to take it all in, Emily saw that the residents on the balconies adorning every square meter of real estate on the streets and cliffs above had the same idea. The privileged onlookers were drinking cocktails and taking selfies while reveling in one of the most spectacular combinations of natural and manmade beauty on Earth.  
    She read off the names of the superyachts they passed, pleased to make their acquaintance. Thumper , Perseus , 4 You , Flying Dragon — each illuminated like an exclusive club or five-star restaurant. Each represented a special place, a secret world, a life as different from the one she knew as the land was from the sea. While she marveled at the sight of luxury speedboats docked inside the belly garage of the nearest colossus, a thought struck her like a cold splash of ocean spray. She wondered how she was supposed to fit into Andreas’s world.
    Their whirlwind online romance had uncovered the things she thought were important, the little tells that revealed his soul. She knew that Andreas was raised catholic, read poetry when depressed, and became a vegetarian at age fourteen while volunteering at an animal shelter. She knew that he’d studied philosophy at the Sorbonne before earning a graduate degree from the London School of Economics. She knew that he had a niche consulting business that took him all over the world. And she knew that he collected refrigerator magnets wherever he went, although she hadn’t given any thought to the extravagance of the room his refrigerator might be in.
    They were only about midway along the Rainier III dock, but Emily realized that there was only one gangplank remaining ahead. The attached yacht looked to be about twice the size of Palace Place.  
    She stopped dead in her tracks.  
    “You’re kidding?”
    Michael halted as well and turned to her with a smile. “At 110 meters, the Anzhelika is one of the largest, and of course most expensive in the world.”
    “Do I even want to know?”
    “Over a quarter-billion euros, I believe.”
    “Who’s Anzhelika?”
    “The owner’s mother.”
    Emily wondered if the christening made his mother proud, or ashamed. She didn’t know how many schools or clinics could be operated with a quarter-billion dollar endowment, but her assumption was that it was double digits in most countries, and triple in some. Maybe that was what Andreas was doing here — seeking a donation for a worthy cause.  
    “You okay?” Michael asked.
    “Just a bit overwhelmed.”
    “I understand. Do you need a minute to collect yourself before meeting Andreas?”
    Her emotional overload had led to laughter a few minutes earlier. Now she was afraid that tears would start streaming if she didn’t keep moving. “No, I’m fine.”
    Michael put an arm on her shoulder. “Everyone on that yacht does the same things you do, and feels the same things you feel, eighty percent of the time. Keep that perspective in mind while you enjoy this twenty percent situation.”
    His words of wisdom struck home. “Thank you. Tell