“He just doesn’t like anyone catching him being sweet.”

The main dining room on deck four smelled of roasted garlic and pan-seared snapper when the heavy glass doors opened at seven.

Our corner table sat right beside a wide round window where the Caribbean sky was turning a deep slate gray above the dark, swelling water.

Arnel Ramos, the head dining room steward, held his silver service tray with both hands against his vest while he laid down three hot porcelain plates.

“Fresh sea bass for the table tonight,” he said, touching the rim of my water glass with careful, formal precision.