Cassian smiled back, though much sorrow still remained, evident in both the enduring look of heaviness in his eyes and the hard lines on his face.
“I had a lot of fun, too.”
“I’ll see you at breakfast?”
Cassian nodded. “I should think so.”
Silence hung between them for thirty or forty seconds, seconds that passed so slowly that even the nearbytick-tick-tickof the clock was starting to sound sluggish and labored. James’s eyes fell to the floor for a moment before flitting up to one of Cassian’s hands, and then his chest ached even more. By God, how he yearnedto hold it, to intertwine their fingers and with them, somehow intertwine their hearts and futures and even the very core of who they were as well.
Unable to continue to be tortured by his wanting for even a moment more, James shut his eyes, only to then feel the warmth of Cassian’s fingers briefly brush his own. He opened his eyes again to see Cassian’s pain-stricken face. The man was looking at James with a longing that might have been equal to James’s own.
“Goodnight, James,” he said.
James swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Goodnight, Cassian.”
And then Cassian headed down the corridor. James watched him be let into his room, only turning to leave once he felt confident that Cassian was safe and warm inside, most likely settling in.
Afterward, James started back for Scotland Road, though the ghost of Cassian’s fleeting touch lingered, making the skin on his hand tingle as he traversed the ship.
***
April 12, 1912
In the morning, James was heading for Cassian’s room with a fresh cup of coffee in his hands. Gaze unfocused, he nearly tripped over his own two feet as he neared the corridor lined with the first-class staterooms, and his movement caused some coffee toslosh over the brim onto the saucer. Luckily, the floor was spared from his insomnia-induced ineptitude.
For the first chunk of the night, James had fallen into one of the heaviest sleeps he had ever experienced. Dreamless and still. But then, after some other steward had inadvertently woken him around four, he hadn’t been able to fall back asleep. Instead, he had kept on replaying the whole of everything that had happened ever since boarding the ship over and over in his mind, from the fast but thorough training he’d received to the time that he’d spent at the pool with Cassian.
And he wondered when and where, exactly, he had misplaced his sense of morality.
Bloody hell, Cassian wasengaged. Cassian was engaged, andstillJames had fallen in love with him. He’d fallen in love with Cassian and had let Cassian start to want him, too, either romantically or sexually or even only sensually. He’d promised himself that he’d keep things innocent, but then he had broken that promise mere hours later.
And now, he needed to fix things. James needed to tell Cassian that the physicality of their friendship needed to come to an end, for both of their sakes. Otherwise... oh, God, otherwise, he might not survive the rest of their voyage. Not to mention the rest of forever. Every single obviously-not-platonic moment between them brought James closer to complete ruination. Of his heart. Of his mind. Dammit, of his very soul.
“See, James, this is why you’re a writer. You’re prone to these overwrought, overly emotional patterns of thinking,”Maggie would have said, had she been there.
And, in response, James would have countered by saying that she was completely and incontrovertibly correct, only to then continue on to say that she was simultaneously completely and incontrovertiblyincorrectas well.
“You’re being nonsensical,”the ever-pragmatic, ever-logical Maggie Byrne would have then countered.
To which James would have said,“Of course I’m being nonsensical! I’m in love!”
James shut his eyes and shook his head once, forcing the strange fantasy out of his mind. Good God, he needed more sleep.
“Excuse me, may I help you?” someone asked from behind him.
James turned to see the steward in charge of the keys.
“Yes. I think so.” James lifted the cup of coffee a little higher. “Someone named Mr. Livingston requested that I bring him coffee this morning.” He smiled. “Can you show me to his room?”
James braced himself to be refused, but the man only nodded and then turned to head down the corridor. James followed. Once they reached what must have been Cassian’s room, the man rapped his knuckles on the door a couple of times. Each knock sent a bolt of unease shooting through James’s veins, making his heart beat faster and his palms sweat. He prayed that Cassian wouldn’t be irritated by his early impromptu visit.
After a minute, Cassian answered, cracking the door open only a smidge.
“Yes?” he said, his voice slightly raspy.
“Your coffee is here,” the cabin steward said.
“Coffee?” Cassian pulled the door open a bit more. “What—”
