Chapter Seventeen
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
E VELYN C ROSS LOVED C ONEY I SLAND. I T WAS IMPOSSIBLE TO GO and escape un-delighted. Whenever she had more than a fifty-cent piece in her pocket and an afternoon to herself, she would grab anyone even mildly interested and head straight there. Both titillating and ephemeral, its mass entertainments appealed to her as a woman of the people.
Coney Island was her scene.
It was not Thomas Gallier’s.
One could only imagine her shock, then, when she mentioned the possibility of them sneaking out one afternoon to Steeplechase Park … and he immediately took charge of planning an outing for them.
“It’s purely for research purposes, you understand,” he reminded her as they stood at the end of the pier leading down to the park.
Protesting a bit too much, she thought.
“All of this Coney Island nonsense is competition for The Empire,” he explained for what felt like the thousandth time. “I’ve got to know how to beat them, and I’ll never know that if I don’t experience it for myself.”
“Certainly. And you’ve taken me along …?”
“It’s working hours. You’re obliged to join me. Just as I was obliged to join you at that costume fitting yesterday.”
Evelyn couldn’t help but laugh at the memory of his blush and hasty exit. She took the opportunity to tease him—just a little bit. “That reminds me. I must apologize. I didn’t realize those stitches were so tight. You can’t fathom my shock and horror when the skirt split as I bent over to collect that hatpin.” He’d been more amenable to her teasing over the last few days, ever since their great success at the elephant sale. She relished their newfound ease.
Still, if she hadn’t been doggedly watching for it, she might have missed his right cheek twitching in an almost-smile.
The bastard. He did still want her.
He was also, it seemed, still trying to deny that want.
But today promised a wealth of opportunities to break his resolve.
“You’re an expert in these cheap amusements, aren’t you? You’ll make a fine guide,” Thomas explained.
“And the disguises?”
He’d meticulously planned the afternoon’s excursion down to their clothing, and now, Thomas held his arms out and inspected them both. He’d exchanged Evelyn’s usual fading furs and finery for shabby, simple afternoon clothes, and as for himself? Well, she’d seen him in less than a full suit just once, and even then, he’d lost only the jacket and braces. In this workaday costume of his, with its thin material stretched over broad, muscular shoulders and a tailored jacket that drew her eye toward his tight belt and even tighter trousers, he looked …
Ordinary. Rugged and handsome. Absolutely perfect.
Although the dark-rimmed sunglasses and the oversized hat did much to conceal that fact.
“Is it all too much?” he asked.
“I think you should have asked Bea for costuming advice. These sunglasses—” She gestured toward them, resisting the urge to brush his cheek as she went. “They don’t suit you. And the hat has to go.”
“Why?”
Wasn’t it obvious?
“Because they hide your face.”
“That’s rather the point. We can’t be discovered doing this,” he said, his voice suddenly gripped by a note of genuine worry. “The papers will have a hot time if this gets out. Thomas Gallier, spying on the competition .”
“Or Thomas Gallier, caught with secret lover at Coney Island ,” she crooned.
All around them on the pier connecting the front gate of Steeplechase Park to the body of the fairground, couples strolled arm in arm, curling into one another oh-so-innocently to defend against the chill wind snapping off the Hudson. A thrum of jealousy battered Evelyn at the sight of these comfortable pairs.
But that jealousy quickly melted to surprise when Thomas spoke again.
“We’ll need to adopt new identities today. Naturally. We’re just a young couple of no ones passing a lovely day together on the shore.”
She blinked. Could it be that Thomas was teasing her ? This was a new development, unexpected but nevertheless welcome. “You never cease to surprise me.”
“I can assure you that’s not my intention.”
“I wouldn’t have imagined a man as controlled as you should like to play pretend.”
There was a moment of silence, and all at once, she became startlingly aware of her words, and how they cut deeper than this game they were playing. If her suspicions of him were right, then his life was a game of pretend. One that never ended.
He cleared his throat. “I don’t like it. It’s simply … necessary.”
“Why is it necessary?” she asked, though she shouldn’t have. Knowing the truth of him would just pull her deeper, and she certainly didn’t need that.
The wind whipped around them, drawing her a step closer to the warmth radiating off his body.
“Because the real me does nothing but hurt people.”
“Come now, Thomas.” She tutted. “I thought you were beginning to trust me.”
He ducked his head and offered her his arm. And just like that, the game of make-believe began.
“Very well, then, darling. What shall we do first?”
He’d never been to Steeplechase Park before. It was a place for sweethearts and saps and people all too willing to spend their meager wages irresponsibly. It was not a place a man of his station should be going.
But as he and Evelyn wandered the fairgrounds, he couldn’t help regretting that reality. When he took her in hand, he felt the knots in his shoulders loosen. The pretensions he’d spent most of his life honing dropped away. Rather than thinking of himself—his responsibilities, his business, his secrets—he accounted for the world around him. A roaring mechanical amusement ride. Laughter from children. Whispered declarations of lovers. The scent of popping corn and sweet nuts. The illicit burn of cheap liquor in steel flasks. Warm sunshine and sharp river air on his cheek.
Thomas threw himself into the role of doting lover. It was an absurd exercise, to be sure. But if he was going to waste his time and potentially risk his reputation—and he was going to do so while wearing the borrowed, ill-fitting costume of a nobody—he might enjoy Evelyn Cross’s seductive closeness for a few hours.
She, too, had no trouble playing along with their fiction, cuddling up to him so brazenly he wondered briefly if they’d get thrown out for indecency. Her cheek brushed against his shoulder. The scent of her freshly washed hair encircled him. Her hand gripped his arm—why the devil didn’t this woman ever wear gloves? And her breasts … well, he did everything he could not to think about their spectacular weight teasing his side.
Yes, absurd indeed. But as they strolled around the various amusements, taking in the sights and sounds that the park had to offer, he couldn’t help but memorize every detail. Here, it felt like anything was possible.
And maybe it was.
In the guise of someone else, he glimpsed the freedom to finally be himself. To have everything he’d ever desired. If only for a day.
“You’re enjoying yourself.”
The gentle accusation pulled him from his thoughts and when he resurfaced, he did so to the sight of Evelyn holding out a box of Cracker Jack and a sarsaparilla bottle in his direction. He glanced at the latter curiously. She shrugged.
“I remembered you’re not one to drink. Couldn’t exactly come back with beer now, could I? As for the Cracker Jack, well, you simply haven’t lived until you’ve tried it. Coney Island delicacy.”
The thought she’d put into the sarsaparilla was too much to accept, so he took a few kernels of Cracker Jack in his hand, inspecting the sugared sweet.
When was the last time he’d had a sweet?
When was the last time he’d had anything just for the pleasure of it?
Indulgence was not his modus operandi. He popped the dessert into his mouth, biting back a groan so Evelyn wouldn’t know how good it tasted.
“I’m simply marveling at how much the common man will spend on amusements like this. And women, too. With so many young ladies leaving the home to pursue work—a trend we only expect to see increasing over the coming years—the days of pool halls and pubs cornering the entertainment market are over. Women will have their own money to spend, and as you can see here, they will spend it on safe, socially acceptable entertainments. I wish to be at the forefront of that movement. I intend to be a very rich man, Miss Cross.”
“Yes,” she said, calling his bluff by very much not calling it. “I’m sure it’s all about the money, Mr. Gallier.”
“Tom,” he said before he could think better of it. “Call me Tom today. Tom Gallagher. Just for now.”
“Alright, Tom.”
A shiver traveled down his spine. When was the last time anyone had called him that?
To ward off the feeling, he steered Evelyn toward one of the park’s signature attractions—a naphtha-driven “Venetian boat ride” through dark scenes of romantic Italy—and bought them tickets. It wasn’t until they were both in their little dinghy, puttering along a carved canal on a simple boat, their bodies tucked into one another for lack of space and their eyes adjusting as they traveled from the external bay into the show building, that she spoke again.
“Do you want to know what I think, Tom?”
“Always.”
A false Italy sprawled all around them. It was a bit rough at the edges, to be sure—nothing like the splendid craftsmanship of The Empire—but somehow, in the quiet, in the dark, it was too romantic for words. And so, they were silent. Their breathing matched. The boats to the bow and stern of them were mercifully empty, and Thomas could almost imagine that this was their own world. A world where Tom Gallagher and Evelyn Cross could be something.
Until, in the dark, she spoke truth to him.
“You’re a pretender,” she said. “Not just today, but always. And I don’t think you’re honest when you say you’re opening up The Empire for money. I don’t think you came here today to scope out the competition. Or to corner the market on women’s spending.”
“You’re right,” he conceded, honest as he was able, hoping the confession would end her probing. After weeks of practice now, he could just about handle her constant attempts at seduction. But when she acted like a person instead of a mattress, he didn’t know what to do with himself. He liked what he saw behind her walls. “I also wish to be recognized—not just in our time, but hereafter. I wish to be important. Undeniable.”
In the darkness, he felt her staring at him. Her legs even drew closer to his. Heat crept beneath his collar.
“And?”
“And what?”
As the boat traveled past a poorly plastered mock-up of the Doge’s Palace, Thomas caught sight of two young lovers tucked behind the scenae , having abandoned their boat to take advantage of the dark seclusion of the ride. He envied them their freedom.
“And I believe the reason you chose vaudeville, the reason you chose cheap entertainments , the reason you spend your time surrounded by fairy tales and frippery and foolishness is that some part of you—a small part, maybe, but one you can’t ignore—wants the magic to be real. The illusion.”
The truth of her words was nearly enough to shatter him.
“You want this to be real,” she breathed, practically against his lips. Once again straying from her honesty in favor of something carnal. Although maybe that was real too—he certainly felt it in in his body as her soft hands rose up to his collar, drawing him closer, as she situated herself nearly in his lap.
Here in the darkness, under a name from a lifetime ago, in this sprawling fake world all around them, he had the strength to tell one small, impossible truth.
One that might make her understand. One that might end this torment of their mutual desire.
“Miss Cross. In the spirit of being real … I do feel I owe you a confession. It might help things along in our”—he paused, catching himself before he said something even sillier than he was about to—“professional relationship.”
“I’m listening.”
She was listening and brushing a stray curl from his forehead.
“I have a great many character flaws,” he began, “but chief amongst them—”
“You’re controlling. You’re a liar. You’re a masochist who won’t give in to my irresistible charms.”
“I am controlling. But I don’t have a choice. I have to manage everything, keep myself in perfect order, because if I don’t, my desires get the better of me. They always have—and with disastrous consequences for me and those I have cared about. It’s my worst flaw.”
He took a shallow breath. Even that was a paragon of understatement.
The truth was that he wanted everything. Everything . He wanted everything so deeply sometimes he thought it would smother him. He wanted friends and alcohol and wealth and acceptance and a future and status and control and power and love, love, love, love, and—
“It’s why I don’t allow myself indulgences like … this. I don’t drink. I don’t smoke. I don’t let my true self show—not to anyone. If I begin, and if I like it, I have no way to stop myself from spiraling out of control. And I must be in control. Always.”
“Why?”
Why? What sort of question was that?
Oh, yes. The question of a woman who hadn’t seen what his losing control looked like. Or what disasters such behavior wrought.
He continued. He needed her to understand so that she would let him go.
Not to the arms of Constance Alban. It wasn’t about her now or even about his business prospects. It was about the gale force winds of his desire to ravish Evelyn in this dangerously flimsy boat, his desire to tell her all his secrets—and his knowledge that he couldn’t, not without bringing them both to ruin.
“We both have too much at stake. Even the smallest slip-up could destroy everything I’ve worked to build, including your show. This is for both of us.”
“And that’s why … you and I …” she breathed, the words dancing on his lips as her hand rose to cup his cheek.
Thomas leaned in, despite himself. The businessman in him bargained, offering a deal he couldn’t resist. “We can have today,” he said. “Today, I’ll play at what I think we both desire. But that’s all I can give you.” Today, he told himself, would have to sate this hunger he had for her. It would be his one chance to play-act at giving in.
He took another calculated risk.
With a deliberate gentleness, he brought his lips to hers … and kissed her as if he had been put on this earth to do nothing else. Her body awoke at his touch, surprised at first by the contact and then enthusiastic in its reply to him. The kiss was not a promise. It was a greeting and a farewell. She held him as though he were real, as though, perhaps, he was the only real thing in her world—and he held her just as resolutely, sharing her breath until they became one body.
He wanted more. No, not just more. All of her.
And if he had only one day to treasure her, he could not let himself stop at just a kiss.
He pulled away for a breath, instantly regretting the loss of her taste—lingering salt and caramel. “Have you ever wished to visit Florence?”
She blinked for a moment. Then, she understood his meaning. Their boat was approaching the Florentine section of the ride—a ride that he did not want to end.
Carefully but quickly as they were able, the two of them stepped out of their boat, leaving it to drift, riderless, down the watery track.
Tom knew how the boat felt. Out of control. Drifting without any guidance.
Totally free.
Evelyn took his hand and guided him, giddily. Her hand squeezed his with just the right pressure—a reassuring kind of want. The heat of this interaction buzzed beneath his skin, desperate to be loosed on the woman he’d been lusting after since the first moment he saw her. Behind the towering papier-maché Duomo, its soaring arches giving enough cover to hide two lovers in the dark, they slipped into the shadows.
Once they were safely ensconced, they pounced on each other once more, threading themselves into each other’s bodies like they were afraid coming up for air would shatter the illusion. Like this moment was no more real than the fake Italy all around them.
But it was real to Tom. The sensation of her cheeks between his hands was perhaps the most real thing he’d ever felt. It grounded him to the very Earth after a lifetime of merely suspending above it.
He traveled the expanses of her body with his hands, trying to memorize it, relishing this touch after so long denying himself.
Without unspooling themselves, they sunk to the floor, kneeling together as they kissed.
But when she reached for his trousers, he finally pulled back.
“No, Evelyn.”
Yes, he wanted all of her . But he could not let her have all of him .
It was a line he couldn’t cross. He knew that the moment she touched him, he would be hers—irretrievably emigrated to the country of her heart.
For the first time, she didn’t push him. Instead, she returned her hands to his shoulders and asked, “What do you want then, Tom?”
The truth was … he hadn’t gone into this with a plan. No endgame. Just the pleasure of his hands upon her, the brief indulgence of letting himself have this moment.
He considered this strange woman who’d blown into his life like a nor’easter. As much as she proclaimed she loved sex—and he firmly believed that she did—he’d gotten the sense that sex hadn’t always been easy for her. She’d been used more times than she’d used, and she’d learned that the fastest way to avoid that was to strike first.
He didn’t want that for her. He wanted her to feel adored. To be the center of someone else’s world—even if just for a few moments.
“Come here,” he murmured, maneuvering her until she was cradled in his lap, sprawled between his legs. Her back to his chest, he couldn’t see her face, but he could sense every breath and every movement she made.
“What are you—”
He hushed her, bringing one hand to cup beneath her breast. She took in a sharp breath.
Then, with the other hand, he reached around her and began moving her skirts up slowly. Up and up her body until they rested at her waist, he dragged the fabric to reveal her stockings and knickers.
He kissed the well of her neck, hand drifting down to the simple material covering her sex. She moaned, finally realizing what he was doing to her.
That small sound drove him nearly to surrender his goal. His cock hardened against her back. She arched against it, adding pressure to his already throbbing member. Sex with her would be heaven, he knew, and every fiber of his being wanted it.
But he’d had a lot of practice at self-denial. And besides, how could he resist this ? The perfect woman writhing beneath his touch.
One by one, he slipped her buttons open. Her hips rolled, desperate for him to dive between her legs.
He moved slowly, relishing each sensation. His hand lowering down her mound, running along her slit.
“Please,” she breathed.
And he could not deny her.
When he dipped his fingers between her lips, it was his turn to moan. She was dripping wet for him. Her bud hard and aching for him.
Holding her closer with his free hand, wishing the corset wasn’t separating her perfect breasts from him, he focused his attentions on her center, circling as she panted with every touch.
There were so many things he wanted to tell her. That he hadn’t done this in years. That he wanted more of her. That she was so beautiful in his arms. But all that came out was,
“I have dreamed about this moment, and those dreams could never compare to this.”
She shattered into pleasure against his hands, warbling out his name. His real name.
“Tom!”
He clung to her through the shockwaves, gritting his teeth against the pride and the want coursing through his veins. Her hips shuddered. Her breathing went erratic, and she gripped his thighs like they were the only thing keeping her from soaring up into the heavens.
“And now, is it your turn?”
“We can’t. We just can’t.”
She was immediately crestfallen. But he couldn’t relent. No matter how much he wanted to.
She knew why. He’d explained as much before this whole escapade. Offering her his arm, he shot her a sad smile.
“We should get back to the amusements. I’m sure we don’t want to be found.”
He helped her back into her clothing, righting her and then guiding her to one of the many empty boats. They slipped into and, for a moment, silently bobbed through the ride’s final scenes.
She brushed her hand against his. He wanted to take it.
He didn’t.
The final scene of the boat ride slipped away from them. The doors at the far end of the ride cranked open, flooding Thomas’s vision with bitter sunlight.
“If my life weren’t what I’ve made it, we would have a lifetime of days like this one, I think.” He tried to make his voice light, joking, but his attempt at a laugh just echoed in the last of the dark.
If anyone had seen him blinking away tears, it was because of that. The shock from the sudden blast of sunshine. Nothing else.
They left the ride without exchanging any further words or, more importantly, any further embraces. Thomas’s legs were unsteady beneath him, but he couldn’t be certain if that was from the boat ride or something more internal.
“Are you quite alright, Evelyn?” he asked when he could stand it no longer.
“You know how they always say be careful what you wish for?”
“Of course.”
Her smile was watery. “I wish I hadn’t wished for you to be honest. I suddenly can’t bear it.”