She approaches slowly before weaving her arms around her friends. “You do have me,” she says into Lottie’s neck. The three of them separate and regather their belongings. Once they are all safely seated, Mr. Benny drives them farther into the night.
The carriage ride to the port is shorter than Marigold remembers. They arrive as the sun creeps into the sea, and their ship comes into view when they get close to the dock. It is the same one that carried her from Bardshire when she left. It’s all the same, just as she last saw it. They say their thanks and goodbyes to Mr. Benny as he starts his return. Everything feels more real when his carriage is out of sight. Before, she could pretend they were all simply going into town, picking up baubles and coming back to the cottage. But now he’s gone, and the only place to go is aboard the ship. This ruthless anxiety from leaving the isle will all be worth it when she sees her family.
Right?
Her foot catches on the dock before she steps onto the ship, and she wonders if it is a sign, wonders if she should turn back now and go back to the only place that has ever felt like home. Lottie and August step past her, boarding the ship and waiting for her to come along. So much of her does not want to follow, but she does. She must. Crew members carry their belongings behind them and lead them to their rooms. August is reluctant to stay alone, but Marigold reminds him that they are high society travelers now, and high society members of any kind are very strict. Boys stay in their own rooms, away from the girls without a chaperone.
Of course, it is not entirely devastating to have a full night alone with Lottie. The night after they all swam in the moon pool was fun, but it was just an evening of silly stories and games. This is different.
The walls of their room are decorated with damask wallpaper and brass sconces. There are two small beds across from each other, each with a small nightstand at their side. A velvet chaise sits next to the door that leads to their private balcony.
Lottie seems absolutely exhausted, which does not bode well for the evening. The woman is sour at the best of times, but she is lethal when she is tired. Without a word, she begins removing her modest black dress that hides her scars and tattoos. When she starts to remove her chemise, Marigold stops her with a gasp.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting ready for bed,” Lottie says, her tone indicating that she does not understand Marigold’s surprise.
“And you must undress completely for that?”
Lottie shrugs. “It’s not like I have anything to hide now. You saw everything when we swam in that moon pool.”
“Not everything,” she protests. Her blush warms her cheek.
“It’s burning hot. I can’t sleep in this heap of fabric,” Lottie says as she wrestles with her skirt. “Close your eyes if you’re so squeamish.” She tosses the chemise over her head and falls into bed on her front, leaving Marigold no time to avert her gaze. Her pale skin looks impossibly soft under the golden glow of candlelight.
“You don’t have any tattoos on your back,” Marigold says.
“Well, I can’t exactly reach back there, can I?”
“Right. I forgot you do them all yourself. You’re very talented.”
Lottie laughs into her pillow like she does not believe a word she hears. “Am I?”
“I think so.”
“I think,” Lottie groans as she rolls over, keeping the blankets pressed to her front while looking up at her, “that you are merely trying to be polite, Mari. Tattoos aren’t for everyone, and that’s okay.”
“Why would you think that I couldn’t like tattoos?”
“Because you can barely look at my body right now without wincing. Or is that because of my scars?”
Marigold clenches her jaw tightly, so hard that her teeth could turn to powder beneath the weight of her bite. It’s true that she won’t look at Lottie’s body, but not because of the scars or tattoos. She fears that if she looks too long, if she wants too much, she will break her own heart.
Lottie is not hers to admire.
Lottie is not hers to love.
Lottie is not hers at all.
And yet, she cannot stop herself from saying, “I think you are amazing.”
At that, Lottie smiles. “For what?”
“For everything. Your talent, your skill, your ability to turn pain into something beautiful. You are an amazing person, Lottie. Even if you are always sour.”
The two of them sit in a warm silence for a moment until Marigold sits on the edge of Lottie’s bed. “You, your scars, and your tattoos are perfect as they are.”
Lottie chews on her lip. “Why are you being so kind?”
