Honeymoons are bliss. They just are. From dawn to dusk, dinner to breakfast, and all the time in between, you actually do feel like the Eternity couple. Unlike attempted Honeymoon #1, Honeymoon #2 was dreamy. In late January, Hunter and I left a snow-covered New York, and about seven hours later (it seemed like seven minutes-which everything does when you're on honeymoon; it all goes far too quickly) we kicked off our shoes and stepped onto the teak deck of a very beautiful, truly immaculate, sailing sloop, named-very appropriately, I thought-Happiness. It was moored in Gustavia Harbor in St. Bart's, a pretty little bay surrounded by lush green hills dotted with pink and yellow beach houses.

A wind-burned Italian captain, Antonino, greeted us. He was dressed in tan Bermuda shorts, an immaculate white polo shirt, and tortoisesh.e.l.l sungla.s.ses. He matched the boat exactly, as did the six crew members. Every chair and lounger was upholstered in the same tan as Antonino's shorts, and the woodwork was either lacquered a glossy white or polished to a deep walnut. You literally couldn't move for tan and white on that boat: it was like being inside a coffee ice cream. There were tan terry toweling robes, monogrammed with a white H, matching striped Bernardaud china and even custom swimming shoes in the same colors.

We spent the next couple of days sailing lazily around the bays and coves of St. Bart's. We did the same things every day: swim, smooch, and sunbathe. Seriously, that's all we did. It wasn't like we needed any variety. We'd anchor in a charming cove, get off the boat, stroll around the little village, and then drink citron presses in an outdoor cafe while reading the Herald Tribune. In the afternoon we would sail to a secluded bay for swimming and waterskiing.

Occasionally, another boat would glide into the bay and anchor far enough away to not disturb us, but close enough to be observed through binoculars. Spending hours peering through long lenses at someone else's deck is considered, on boats, an acceptable sport. It's endlessly fascinating speculating who the black specks on the far-off deck are, and what they're up to.

Other activities included an awful lot of eating, frequent mid-afternoon honeymoon s.e.x, which, I can confirm, is way better than non-honeymoon s.e.x, and-G.o.d, how delicious-freshly baked cakes for tea. I think tea and cake was my favorite honeymoon meal. There is something comfortingly old-fashioned-yet glamorous-about throwing an emerald green Allegra Hicks kaftan over a hot pink bikini and sitting in the shade drinking tea and eating fresh ginger cake while on board. The cakes were accompanied by silly, romantic, honeymoon-ish chats. Our teatime conversations mainly consisted of me veering from how much I loved Hunter in his new Villebrequins to what type of cake I could get tomorrow, and Hunter telling me I looked cuter fatter.

Then, one afternoon, something happened. We'd anch.o.r.ed in a small bay close to a quaint fishing village called Corossol. The cliffs surrounding the bay were thick with hummingbird trees and frangipani, and the water below looked as though it was almost glowing a neon blue-a perfect spot. On the far side of the bay was a completely empty rocky beach. After lunch I lay on a soft lounger on the deck and shut my eyes while Hunter read a book. Apart from the lap-lap-lap of the water against the sides of the boat, and the faint buzzing of the cicadas on sh.o.r.e, it was quiet. We had the whole bay to ourselves-the most private beach you could ever find. Occasionally a seagull would flap by, swerving as though peering at our deck. The only sound was the pleasing voice of an occasional crew member asking, "Would you like a drink?"

"Oh, h.e.l.lo?" said Hunter suddenly.

"What?" I said lazily. I couldn't possibly make the effort to open my eyes. It was too delicious, lying there half asleep in the heat.

"You might want to see this," said Hunter.

Reluctantly I cracked open my eyes and put on my sungla.s.ses. I sat up. A little way off, in the direction of the beach, we could see a very large sailing yacht sweeping silently into the bay.

"Aren't they a little close?" I said, as I heard the sound of the other boat's anchor and chain unraveling into the sea. One gets very protective about one's bay: about five minutes after entering it, it somehow becomes your own private property.

"It's a beautiful boat," said Hunter, picking up a pair of binoculars and looking through them. "Have a look." He handed the goggles over.

Framed by the large black circle of the binoculars, the boat came into sharp focus: it must have been 150 feet long, with two huge masts at the front. Super-elegant, the sleek hull had a navy mirror finish that reflected the glistening ocean as clearly as a looking gla.s.s.

"I don't mind sharing our bay with this boat. It's gorgeous," I decided on viewing it.

I looked a little closer. The boat was immaculate, with two decks, its furniture upholstered in crisp navy and white cotton. I pointed the binoculars at the stern. There, I could just make out her name.

"Au Bout de Souffle," I said out loud. "Breathless! What a cool name for a boat."

"Isn't it?" said Hunter. "What else is going on over there?"

"Well, I can see a ton of crew shammying the upper deck," I said, squinting.

"And then, oh, that looks like a man wandering about on the lower deck...and here's his wife...she looks incredibly glamorous...She's wearing the most incredible mini kaftan with gold embroidery...wow, her legs are so brown, and her bottom's perfect."

I moved the binoculars up the girl's body. She was wearing enormous black sungla.s.ses that hid most of her face, and she had a turquoise silk scarf wound tightly around her head like a turban. She looked even more glamorous than Lee Radziwill on holiday in Capri in the sixties. I continued with my fashion commentary for Hunter, who seemed very amused by all the details.

"Oh, look, she's lighting a cigarette. Gosh, what gorgeous gold bangles she's wearing. I love girls who wear jewelry on the beach. It's so decadent. That's funny...she's got the most beautiful pearls around her neck...wait! Hunter!" I yelled, pa.s.sing the binoculars over to him. "Is that Lauren over there? With Monterey? I'm sure it's her."

Hunter smiled and took the binoculars.

"Hmm. That's definitely her with some sort of husband in tow," he said.

He didn't seem in the slightest bit surprised. I, on the other hand, was bursting with over-excitement.

"Come on," said Hunter taking my hand. "Let's get in the tender and go over and say hi."

Twenty minutes later the French skipper of Au Bout de Souffle was helping us on board. Lauren and Giles were standing arm in arm on the deck waiting for us. It was unbelievable: Lauren, married! The newlyweds seemed to be literally glowing with happiness. Giles was incredibly tan, and wearing pastel pink swimming shorts; Lauren had already changed outfits-and jewelry. She was now wearing a chocolate brown and white zebra-striped bathing suit that was completely backless. She had a huge ebony and topaz c.o.c.ktail ring on her wedding finger, and her hair was swept into a sleek pony tail. Marriage obviously agreed with Lauren. She looked more dazzling than ever, particularly against the backdrop of one of the most glamorous boats I'd ever seen.

"Hiiii!" exclaimed Lauren, giving me a huge hug. Then she turned to Hunter and said, "Hunter, you star."

Meanwhile, Hunter and Giles hugged like old friends. How peculiar, I thought.

"Good to see you again, Hunter," said Giles.

"It's been far too long," said Hunter, giving Giles a manly pat on the back.

That was odd. These two weren't supposed to be friends. They weren't even acquainted, as far as I knew. I looked at Hunter quizzically.

"Wait a minute, do you two know each other?" I asked suspiciously.

Hunter had an unspeakably mischievous smile on his face.

"Darling, I've got something funny to tell you." Hunter looked at me and winked. "Giles is that old college friend I was telling you about."

"What?!" I cried.

"Best college friends," added Lauren with a grin. "They're so into each other sometimes I worry...didn't he tell you yet?"

I looked at Lauren. Then I looked at Giles, then back at Hunter. I was completely out of the loop. Seeing the look on my face, Giles and Hunter were immediately in fits of laughter.

"I told you I'd set them up and they'd get married, didn't I?" said Hunter.

Giles Monterey was that mysterious college friend? I couldn't believe I hadn't figured it out ages ago.

"But Hunter, at Christmas, when you said your old college friend was in town again and I suggested bringing Lauren to meet him, I distinctly remember you saying no," I remarked, piqued.

That was during the height of my Sophia paranoia. I remember thinking Hunter must be seeing her. I'd obviously completely misread the situation.

"Darling, it was too late. They'd already met in Moscow. I'm afraid Giles and I had been plotting away for months by that time," replied Hunter. "It would have ruined our strategy if she'd come out that night."

"It's true," giggled Lauren. "They've been absolutely terrible to us!" She started heading off toward a spiral staircase in the middle of the deck. "Come on up to the top deck. There's the most fabulous hammock up there."

We all followed. The top deck was slightly more bohemian, with a huge tented area under which were low white sofas. The hammock rocked gently in the wind a little way toward the bow. It was almost as romantic as the Happiness, although I secrectly decided that Au Bout de Souffle was too large to be truly intimate. We all sat around on the sofas except Giles, who remained standing, asking, "Drinks for anyone?"

"I'd love a mojito," I said.

"Homemade lemonade, please, darling," said Lauren, blowing him a kiss.

With that, Giles disappeared off to get the drinks, and I was left with Hunter and Lauren.

"I can't believe you, Hunter!" I protested. "Why didn't you tell me? How could you have let me worry about Lauren and this whole thing with Giles for so long? And what about his fiancee? What happened to her? It's too much!"

As pleased as I was for Lauren, I was slightly annoyed about being duped.

"Sylvie, I conjured that fiancee out of nowhere," said Lauren.

"What do you mean you conjured her?" I asked.

"Don't you remember? That day at the polo, when I asked Giles who Princess Letizia's heart was for, he said, 'Let's just say it would be an engagement present.' He didn't actually say he had a specific fiancee in mind," explained Lauren. "I just started imagining he had the most gorgeous wife-to-be, but he didn't. He told me later that he'd decided to marry me when he saw me walking toward him in the polo tent. Isn't that so romantic? It doesn't even sound real, does it?"

"But, Hunter, all those times when I told you about Lauren being in love with this man who was engaged, why didn't you tell me that he was available?" I asked.

Hunter didn't reply immediately. He looked out to the ocean as he contemplated his answer. Everything was quiet, except for the occasional ripple of a crystalline wave against the boat.

"If I'd set you straight, you would have run right back and told Lauren everything, and we wouldn't have this beautiful love story," said Hunter finally with a chuckle. "Giles swore me to secrecy. He was mad about her. He was always going to give her the blue heart, but he knew if he seemed too interested she'd bolt. Plus, you gave me marvelous information about the state of your friend's heart, which of course went straight back to Giles. I'm sure you wouldn't have told me so much if you had known what we were planning."

I couldn't quite believe what I was hearing. If I was not mistaken, Hunter had allowed Lauren and me to think that Giles Monterey was engaged, while he was quietly reporting Lauren's pa.s.sionate feelings back to him, so that Monterey had a better chance of marrying her.

"Your husband has me figured out, and I'm very grateful to him," nodded Lauren resignedly. "An engaged man is far more attractive than a single one, I always say. And it was so romantic when Giles said the blue heart was for his future wife and I thought, that won't be me. I fell for him immediately."

Hunter was right. It was a beautiful love story. Just then Giles reappeared with a tray of drinks.

"The lemons are local, you know," said Lauren, taking a gla.s.s of lemonade. As Giles handed around the drinks, she said, "I never would have married you if I thought you were actually available for marrying, would I, darling?"

Giles smiled and smoothed his hand over his wife's hair. He genuinely adored her. Then he said, "I owe all my happiness to Hunter. He planned the whole thing. It's amazing. Your husband is our cupid."

"Agreed. My husband is a saint," I said. "OK, enough."

Just then Lauren turned and looked right at me. Her ponytail fluttered about her shoulders in the ocean breeze.

"You see, Sylvie, when your husband says you must trust him that everything is OK, you can," she said.

I glanced over at Hunter. He gazed back at me, with a very gentle look in his eyes. In that short moment, it was suddenly as though we understood each other perfectly. I had never trusted my husband more.

"I know," I said, feeling happiness glide across my face. I was so joyful, so truly content, that I could feel delight stretching into every fingertip.

Lauren drained her gla.s.s of lemonade. "Now, who feels like a four o'clock tequila?" she said, looking around for a crew member.

What a relief: despite being married, Lauren hadn't changed a bit.

"G.o.d, I love being on my second honeymoon. It's sooo much better than my divorce honeymoon," sighed Lauren.

It was sunset, and we were both lying in the huge hammock, being rocked gently by the soft evening wind. Giles and Hunter were taking advantage of the flat water of early evening and had gone wakeboarding out in the bay. At one point, Hunter skimmed by on the wakeboard and somehow managed to blow me a kiss while jumping a wave.

"What a show-off," I said, secretly proud.

"You know, Sylvie, Hunter is the best husband ever-after my own, of course. You shouldn't be annoyed with him," said Lauren. "All that time he knew exactly what was going on, but he didn't say a word, so as not to spoil things for anyone. I'm a much better friend for you now that I'm married."

"I couldn't understand it when you were suddenly married and he didn't seem surprised. He's such a dark horse."

"Do you feel like a mille-feuille? You know, we have a French pastry chef on board."

"I think I'm too hot for a patisserie now," I answered sipping at my cool mojito. "Your wedding dress was divine."

Lauren closed her eyes for a moment as if remembering the bliss of the gown. "It was a shame no one got to see it for real," she sighed. "Thack is a genius. He texted me. He's had zillions of new orders from that picture in the Post."

"And get this, Nina Chlore wants to wear a blue version of it to the Oscars. You don't mind, do you?" I asked.

"I'm flattered that a fashion icon like Nina is inspired by someone as shabby as myself," she said wryly. "Shall we go up to the front of the boat and look for dolphins?"

With that, Lauren launched herself out of the hammock, and I followed. We strolled up to the bow, where we hung over the edge of the boat, staring down at the blue depths, silent. Suddenly Lauren pointed to a gray shadow moving through the water to her left.

"Look," she whispered. "It's a turtle. I love turtles. They're so ugly and cute. Do you think I'd wreck this Thomas Maier bathing suit if I did a back flip off the front of the boat?"

Just then a dolphin's nose splashed powerfully out of the water as it came up for air. Just as suddenly, it disappeared into the distance.

"Oh, it's gone," said Lauren. "Did I tell you about Salome?"

"What?" I said, lifting myself from the edge of the boat and looking at Lauren.

"She's getting married."

"Stop it! Who to?"

"Angus McConnell, that Scottish guy. It turns out he is an actual prince. He's, like, one of the Macbeths or something. The whole made-up name thing was just made up. Her family is totally talking to him. Her father said she could definitely marry an infidel if he was royal. She'll be 'Princess Angus' from now on."

"No!"

"It's true. And Tinsley's eloped with the FreshDirect guy, while engaged to her doorman, who is devastated. He picked her up from her building in a white limo that stretched from here to next week. Tinsley loves him so much that she's pretending not to be embarra.s.sed. Oh! Another dolphin, look!" said Lauren craning her neck downward.

"Did you hear that Marci is thinking of getting back with Christopher?" I asked.

"Really?" said Lauren.

She seemed pensive suddenly and looked out to sea for a moment. Then she looked back at me and said, "I hope she does. Whatever anyone says, being married is a million times s.e.xier than being divorced. It's the intimacy. Now I know what I was missing, I feel like all those parties, all those vacations, all those...o.r.g.a.s.ms"-here Lauren couldn't help but burst out laughing-"as I was saying, all those o.r.g.a.s.ms weren't so great after all, even the multiple ones. There's nothing better, you know, than being a former Debutante Divorcee. Of course, I'm a little disappointed in myself."

"Why?" I asked.

Lauren fiddled with the c.o.c.ktail ring on her wedding finger, sliding it back and forth before she answered me. She had a mischievous look in her eye. Then she said, deadpan. "I totally failed at the Make Out Challenge."

I looked at her quizically.

"What do you mean you failed?"

"I wasn't planning to land a new husband..." she said. "And be madly in love with it."

"I wouldn't exactly call that a failure," I told her.

"And I still can't fix the surround sound," insisted Lauren stubbornly. "It's so inconvenient."

Lauren was completely and utterly, madly, whatever you want to call it, in love with her husband. It was a shock. I never thought I'd say this, but it's true. Divorced girls in New York these days put almost as much effort into finding husbands as they once did into losing them.

The End.