God Almighty, maybe he really was losing his mind.
“You’recertainthat you feel content with our engagement?” he asked for a second time.
“I’m certain, Cassian. I’m perfectly content to be marrying you.”
Cassian clenched his teeth. Dammit, what was this strange feeling he still had? And why, ohwhy, couldn’t he manage to shake it? No matter what Ethel said?
Light laughter from behind them reached Cassian ears. He recognized it as belonging to Ethel’s mother, Helena, and he knew, then, that their unconventional conversation had come to an end. For now.
Cassian pushed himself to stand.
“Good evening, Helena,” he said with a small bow of his head.
“Good evening, Cassian. Apologies for making you wait.”
Ingrid Calbot spoke up as she came over to the table. “Yes, it was our fault, Cassian. You see, Jacob and I were talking to Helena about the nursery that we set up back in New York.” Stopping in front of her chair, one of her hands found her stomach, and she smiled. “We’ve been so blessed.”
“Congratulations, Ingrid,” Cassian said.
It was the first time that the woman had acknowledged her pregnancy to them since the start of the voyage. Perhaps she wasfeeling more comfortable now, socially, thanks to the blossoming friendship between their families.
“Yes, congratulations, Ingrid. I’m thrilled for you,” Ethel echoed.
“Thank you,” Ingrid replied warmly.
Helena, Ingrid, and Jacob sat. Cassian began to search for a steward. How strange that no one had come by to at least take their beverage orders.
Just as Cassian began thinking to himself that their lackluster service clearly meant that James mustn’t have been their steward, James locked eyes with him from across the room, and Cassian’s heart nearly flew out of his chest. James started over to their table, his eyes finding the floor halfway.
“Good evening, everyone,” James said, his voice trembling slightly. He kept his eyes low, only flickering them up momentarily toward the table as a whole and not looking at Cassian individually. “Drinks?” he spluttered, his face reddening. “Sorry.” He blew out a long breath. “What kinds of beverages may I interest you in tonight?” He looked at Ethel. “For you, miss? Wine, perhaps?”
“Yes, please. White Burgundy would be wonderful,” she replied kindly.
Bit by bit, James moved around the table to take everyone’s beverage orders. He saved Cassian for last.
“And for you, sir?” he asked, coming up beside Cassian, his eyes fixed on a spot close to Cassian’s shoes.
Sympathy clutched at Cassian’s chest, and his heart began to ache. Cassian hadn’t really considered how him sending James away so suddenly might have made the poor man feel. Oh, James must have spent the rest of the afternoon thinking that their friendship had been ruined somehow. But that wasn’t the case at all.
Cassian wondered how he could communicate to James that everything was still fine between them. Or at least that everything was fine from Cassian’s perspective. No matter what strangeness had occurred between them earlier in the lounge.
“Are you speaking to my shoes, Mr. Morrow?” Cassian teased. “Or to me?”
“Sorry,” James blurted out softly. He lifted his eyes to meet Cassian’s, and his face reddened. “What would you like this evening, sir?”
“I’ll have a Bordeaux, same as last night,” Cassian replied. “After all, nothing has changed since then, has it?”
“N-no, sir,” James said. “I’ll, uhm, fetch that for you.”
Quickly, James turned and left. Cassian frowned at the spot on the floor where James had been standing. Had James really not caught the meaning behind his words? If not, then perhaps Cassian would have to be a bit more obvious (if such a thing could even be possible in these circumstances).
After James returned with everyone’s beverages, he proceeded to take people’s orders. Cassian had initially planned on ordering the chicken with bread sauce but reconsidered when he spotted a second opportunity to relay a message to James in secret.
“And for you, sir?” James asked, his eyes flickering up to Cassian’s face before falling to the floor again. “Which of the main courses would you like?”
“Well, Mr. Morrow, I’m afraid that I’m having trouble deciding. You see, I’m very particular about the cuts of meat that I enjoy, especially when it comes to beef. I really do like leaner cuts, like sirloin, but sometimes, if they’re not properly prepared, I find them to be too chewy, not to mention lacking in flavor. However, seeing as weareon one of the most luxurious ships in the world, I’m inclined to think that the chefs here would make the beef tomy liking.” Leaning back, Cassian steepled his hands and caught James’s eye. “What are your thoughts?”
“Uh . . . I . . . I mean, I . . .”
