He left her breathless, always. She leaned up and kissed him again, still not quite her full self but trying to get there. She believed him when he said he'd be close.
So she smiled at him, her best winning smile, the one that always had him under her spell, and made her way to the bathroom. She left the door open behind her and ran a bath, sitting down on the edge of it for a long time.
Then she peeled off her ruined clothes and threw them into the trash.
The water was no more than tepid, because that was how Amphitrite liked it. Warm baths always seemed perverse - Amphitrite wanted a temperature that resembled the sea she loved.
Once in the water she began to scrub herself clean of death, dunking her head under and filling it with half a bottle of shampoo and conditioner to make it smooth again. She'd need to hit a salon to get it back to its luscious self, but this was better.
She stayed in the bath a long time, getting clean, resettling herself. And if she cried she did it silently and with her back to the open doorway.
When Amphitrite got out of the bath she didn't bother with a towel. She liked the feeling of wetness on her bare skin. It felt natural. She walked out to find her husband, looking like the ocean-beloved sea nymph she had always been.