Arabella…
Mason’s doing another sweep of our cabin, checking for listening devices.
I hold up my notepad.You checked the stateroom when we first boarded. Why again?
He looks at me disapprovingly, taking my pen.The nurse could have brought in a bug with the medical equipment.
Finally satisfied, he nods toward the bed, its dark wood carved to look like you’re resting on top of the ocean, like Poseidon. lt belongs in a nautical-themed issue ofArchitectural Digest.“I’ll sleep on the couch, why don’t you try to get some rest?”
“Well, I’m a lot shorter than you, Mason. I dinnae mind taking the couch.”
“I prefer my head where it is, thank you,” he says dryly. “Knowing your husband is circling us like a one-winged hawk is distraction enough. If he thinks you are the slightest bit uncomfortable, the man will go nuclear. You may think you’re seen him unhinged, but I assure you the reality ismuchworse.”
“You MacTavishes all act like Logan is a madman, but I dinnae agree with ye. He’s… competent.” I smile, thinking of all the ways he’s gotten us out of trouble. “He takes the shortest route in any circumstance and it works.”
“Sometimes, his ‘shortest route’ is stomping right over someone’s face. He’s clearly trying to take my father’s mantle as the most extra of the MacTavishes.”
“I dinnae know about that,” I laugh, taking the towel folded to look like a lotus blossom off the bed. “But on the bright side, it means ye can do something else with your life instead of being the one who brings a surface to air missile to Sunday dinner.”
“Ah, youhavemet my father, then.” His smile is brief and perfunctory. “Try to get some rest. Tomorrow’s plan relies mainly on us.”
“Well, that just guaranteed I’ll not sleep a wink, thank ye very much.” I toss and turn for a long time, looking out the glass doors leading to our balcony. This feels like I’m back in that soothing, bland room in Anselm’s hell compound. The gentle swells of the ocean glitter under the moon and it’s so beautiful that it’s hard to imagine anything bad could ever happen here.
But it will. Beginning tomorrow, if we can’t stop it. I think about Carol and hope she’s sleeping blissfully, maybe with her cute crew member. Sleeping like nothing but good things are ahead.
The next morning…
“Sei bellissima oggi, amore mio.”(You look beautiful today, my love.) Mason kisses the back of my hand over our diced potatoes and seven grain toast. The patient’s diet is a grim series of low fat, high-carb alternatives that even the cleverest chef can’t make tasty.
“Grazie, tesoro.”We’re in the patient’s dining room. A conversation yesterday with the “cruise director” had been horrifyingly educational.
“Mr. and Mrs. Bianchi, would you prefer to be completely separate from your donor?” Dressed in a pristine blue suit with her hair in a tidy bun, the cruise directionradiatedcare and concern.
“Non so cosa intendi?Ah, I do not know what you mean?” I really dinnae know.
We were sitting in our stateroom, but she leaned forward as if someone could overhear us. “Some of our guests prefer to never see their donor, they find it…” she put her hand delicately on her chest, “distasteful. Others enjoy getting to know their matches, perhaps just passing them in the hall, or even having dinner together.”
You, lady, are an impressively evil piece of shite. I mean, that takes some real effort.
“That isn’t really necessary, is it, darling?” Mason stepped in for me because I couldn’t stop staring at this pleasant-looking woman who just invited me to have dinner with the person they were going to murder for the kidneys they’d intended to put in my body.
“Non, non,” I smiled weakly.
After breakfast, we strolled along the upper desk, pretending to enjoy the view. “We have an hour before your appointment, my angel.” He raises his voice slightly as the ship’s first officer walks by, greeting us with a wide smile. “Would you like to return to the stateroom, or sit up here and enjoy the sun?”
Just below us on the second deck, I see Logan chatting with one of the older patients, draping a blanket over her lap. He glances up, meets my eye for just a second, but it’s enough.
“I think I’d like to sit here, please.”
Ten minutes later, a tray is proffered in front of me, holding a virgin daiquiri. “Ma’am, your drink?”
Hearing his deep voice makes something glow in me, like I’m shining from the inside out. “Yes, thank you.”
Logan bends over to hand me the cold glass, contrasting with the warmth of his finger, the barest brush against mine. In a movement so quick that I barely catch it, his finger subtly points to his chest, his palms cross over his heart and then he points to me before he walks away.
I love you.
Chapter Thirty-Three
