She looks around the room, eyes all twitchy. “Look, this isn’t ideal. I never expected to see you again. Nothing can happen—between us, I mean.”
I clutch my chest in mock despair. “But…I thought we had something special.”
Her eyes grow so much bigger, and I can’t keep the snort inside. Is she for real? Of course she is. River absolutely expects me to be pining after her.
“Sweet Jesus, relax. I have zero desire to revisit this.” I wave between us. “We had one night of sex, that’s it. I’m more than happy to pretend it never happened.”
“Did you know who I was last night?” she whispers.
I want to fuck with her some more, but that would mean I have to stay in this conversation longer. “You mean, did I purposefully take you home knowing I’d be on your ship for eight weeks?”
She nods.
“No, River. I had no idea you were a crew member on the HMS Queen Elizabeth. I did figure out you were a sailor, for clarity’s sake.”
She eyes me suspiciously. “So, this is a coincidence.”
“Yes. Sleeping together was a mistake. I think we can both agree on that.”
She shrugs. “I think we had a pretty decent time.”
Ah, her ego is still in need of stroking. “It was fine. Very nice—”
“Nice?”
Okay, her voice just got weirdly higher. Her face is doing something complicated. Confusion, offence, and what might be genuine distress are all battling for dominance. I’d feel bad if it wasn’t so bloody entertaining.
“Yes. Nice. Um, that’s a good thing, River.”
“Nice?”
Okay, this is getting awkward. I’m not going to say nice again.
“Cleo, I gave you like four orgasms.”
“Yes, and they werenice.” Shit, I said it again.
She pushes up and slams both hands on her hips. “Can you stop using that word?”
Whoa.
“What’s the issue?” I don’t know why I’m asking. I should just leave.
“What’s the issue?”
“Are you just going to keep repeating what I say? Jesus, I haven’t got time for this. Look, we forget last night. I’ll get on with my life, and you get on with yours. Okay? Great. I have things to do.”
She’s still standing there gaping as I make a quick exit. I could have been kinder, I suppose, but I’m feeling on edge. I’ve only been on board for a couple of hours and am already feeling trapped. How can I get through two months without going nuts?
It takes me several minutes of climbing through rounded doors and scaling steep as fuck steps before I get to my cabin, which is barely bigger than a cupboard. The bed is the size of a single KitKat bar, and the mattress is thinner than my dad’s hair. There’s a narrow desk bolted to the wall, a locker that might fit half my clothes if I’m lucky, and a porthole the size of a dinner plate. The air smells like metal and industrial cleaner.
Two months. Two months in this floating sardine tin.
Oh well. It will do, and I need sleep.
One issue. I can’t lay on my paper-thin bed because there’s a giant box with a bow sitting proudly on it. Dear Dad strikes again. I should have expected it. He’s bought me a bloody dress for tonight, I just know it.
My head hurts.
