Fluttery, happy feelings. Electrical current or lightning bolts or something whenever you and your romantic companion touched. Feeling comfortable, maybe, like a broken-in shoe.
Surely Cassian Penn Livingston could manage to feel those things.
Slowly, Cassian inched his hand toward Ethel’s. After attempting to steady himself with a long, cleansing breath, he touched his fingers to hers on the sofa cushion.
But nothing happened.
So, instead, he covered her hand with his—a little scandalous, maybe, since they were only engaged and they were in public—and then concentrated on the feel of her hand beneath his.
But there was nothing.
“Cassian, what—”
“Just . . . let me try something.”
After retracting his hand, Cassian scooted closer, intentionally pressing his and Ethel’s thighs together. And then, in one fantastically ungentlemanly show of impropriety, he put his arm around her.
And kissed her.
He kissed her long and hard, right on the corner of her lips. And then, even though he felt nothing, he kept his nose pressed to her cheek for a moment more, once again waiting for flutters orelectrical shocks or other illogical things to happen as his fiancée stayed frozen, the poor woman seemingly in a state of shock.
But there was nothing.
Dear God, there wasnothing.
He had kissed her. He had kissed her luscious lips, had felt the softness of her skin, had smelled the sweet smell that was so uniquely her, andstillhe’d feltnothing.
“Cassian,” Ethel finally whispered, her voice small and strained. “Please.” Her breath shook, and the sound seemed to rattle and reverberate in the very core of Cassian’s soul as he realized what he’d done. “We’re in public.”
Cassian recoiled.
“Oh, God, Ethel, I...” But Cassian had no explanation for his behavior. Not one that he could share. Hand trembling, Cassian set his snifter on the floor and then stood. “Forgive me.”
He left the lounge.
Chapter Twelve
James
James’s heart was still heavy by the time he needed to change clothes in between his shift in the First-Class Dining Saloon and his shift in the First-Class Smoking Room. Even though James hadn’t spoken to Cassian since visiting the man’s stateroom that morning, hehadmanaged to catch glimpses of him throughout the day.
At breakfast, Cassian had looked lost, barely participating in conversations with those around him at the table. His face had looked practically pain-stricken, his beautiful chocolate-brown eyes filled with unmistakable melancholy. And James had wanted nothing more than to rush over and comfort him. But he’d resisted.
In the afternoon, Cassian had seemed a bit better, maybe, at least at a brief glance. James had seen him for a fleeting moment, walking into the lounge with his fiancée. James had experienced a flicker of hope, then, that maybe seeing the man with whom he’d fallen so hopelessly in love looking more relaxed might have helped ease his own heartache over losing him. But it hadn’t.
Now James was walking to his bedroom on E-Deck with the knowledge that he’d fall apart the moment he was alone.
When James reached his room, he found it empty—no other stewards were relaxing or changing or snoozing in the cramped space. Shutting his eyes, James braced himself for impact.
Even though losing Cassian was, on the surface, not at all the same as losing George—one of these, the loss of a man who was never meant to be his; the other, the loss of a man whom James had foolishly assumed would be his forever—the resultant emptiness felt strikingly similar.
Sorrow engulfed him like a wave, immediately pulling him beneath the current, and he struggled to breathe as he staggered over to the bed. His eyes began to fill with tears. And this time, he had no shoulder to cry on. No warm embrace of a friend to hold him together while he crumbled to pieces.
Without these things, James could only sit there in silence, heartache constricting his chest, the weight of Cassian’s absence making him feel as though he was submerged beneath the ocean current.
After some time, James finally managed to pull in a short breath, but then he released a choked sob with his exhale. Heat flooded his cheeks. Oh, God, hownonsensicalit was for him to feel like this right now. He’d only known Cassian for a short while before the man had broken his heart. Or, perhaps, more accurately, before James had broken his own.
Contrarily, James had known George foryears—hell, he’dlovedGeorgefor years—before losing him forever. George had been James’s everything. Meanwhile, Cassian hadn’t been hisanything.Ever. Not even for one minute. Always,always, Cassian had belonged to someone else. Ever since James had met Cassian on the boat train, that had been their reality. Cassian had never belonged to James. And Jamesknewthis. He’dalwaysknown it. He knew now and had always known that whatever came to be between him and Cassian could have only ever been both temporary andsuperficial. So, then, why,why,was their forced parting proving to be so painful now? All along, James had knownexactlywhat he’d been getting himself into by letting himself fall for Cassian Penn Livingston.
