Chapter Five
Cassian
Seated next to Ethel in the saloon, Cassian raked a hand through his still-wet hair as he surveyed the breakfast menu.
Across from him, Jacob Calbot and his wife, Ingrid, were chatting with Ethel’s mother.
Meanwhile, Ethel was happily chatting with Mr. Quinn.
Cassian, though, was still mentally stuck at the swimming bath.
He continued to think back on the time that he’d spent with James.
Remembering the lustful look on James’s face when the man had first laid eyes on him in his swimsuit, heat flooded Cassian’s veins, and he began to blush, warmth moving over what felt like every inch of his body.
Soon, he needed to shift in his seat to adjust his pants. And he prayed that no one noticed.
Never had Cassian experienced such intense arousal when merely fantasizing about another person before.
And Cassian had fantasized plenty over the years.
About men and women both. But there was something more to these fantasies that he was having about James.
Oddly, Cassian found himself not only thinking about James’s physical traits (which were exciting enough on their own) but about the whole of who the man was.
Or, well, the whole of who James seemed to be, based on the limited information that Cassian had about him so far.
Still, it was thrilling. Wholly and completely unexpected. Wholly and completely new.
Cassian let out a long breath and pushed these thoughts out of his mind. He’d have time to linger on them later in private if he so chose, but right now, he needed to make the most of the morning meal with his fiancée.
“Ethel, sweetheart, what are you having?” he asked in what he hoped was a happy enough tone, his question interrupting whatever she and Mr. Quinn were talking about.
“Oh, uhm, I was thinking of the salmon, perhaps, or the tomato omelet,” Ethel replied, her hands finding her necklace as she spoke.
Cassian’s eyes flickered to the necklace and then back to Ethel’s face. Even though he hadn’t meant to silently chastise her, she still lowered her hands to her lap.
“Have the salmon,” Cassian suggested, the words coming out more like a command.
And maybe it was, a little. It might behoove him, though, to explain himself.
“Eggs keep longer than fish, I’d think. Longer or better or both.
And I’m certain that they’ll still offer omelets later in our voyage. You can enjoy one then.”
Ethel hummed. “Alright, I’ll have the salmon.”
Mr. Quinn leaned forward, clearly trying to catch Ethel’s eye.
“I was thinking of ordering the omelet myself. I could . . . I mean, i-if it wouldn’t be offensive to you, Miss Barrington, or—or to you, Mr. Livingston, I could share. I’d be happy to.”
Ethel’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink.
“Oh, Mr. Quinn, that’s so kind of you,” she said. “Yes, I would love that.”
Cassian rolled his eyes. “Ethel, if you want an omelet, then order an omelet. Don’t put that on Mr. Quinn. Let the man eat a proper meal.”
“Yes. Right.” Ethel nodded. “Omelet. I shall order that, then.”
“I could order the salmon instead?” Mr. Quinn said.
Raising his hand to his forehead, Cassian closed his eyes and muttered a few choice words to himself.
“Everyone please just order the exact food that you yourself want to eat,” he said.
After a beat of silence, Mr. Quinn whispered to Ethel, “Am I to order the salmon or the omelet?”
Cassian smacked the table halfheartedly with his open palm, causing the silverware to clatter. Everyone, even the poor Calbots, flinched and then stilled. Before Cassian could recover from the blunder, their steward came over, and Cassian’s face caught fire.
“Good morning. Is everyone ready to order?” the steward who wasn’t the lovely James Thomas Morrow asked.
Cassian forced what felt like a strained smile. “Yes, we are. I would like for you to bring one of every single item on the menu. And we’ll all share. Since that seems to be what’s fashionable.”
Jacob fucking Calbot spoke up. “Actually, I thought I might order my own plate?”
“Fine,” Cassian said through a false laugh. He flicked his wrist in the direction of the Calbots and Helena in a mildly flippant manner. “Those three will have their own plates, but the three of us over here will be sharing.”
Furrowing his brow, the steward passed his tongue over his lips before replying, “You want one of everything on the breakfast menu for only three people?”
Mr. Calbot laughed heartily. “Well, Mr. Livingston here did have an entire platter of potatoes by himself last night.”
Cassian’s muscles tensed, and he laughed a bit more, though he couldn’t manage to keep the ire he felt from seeping in.
“Yes, I did, didn’t I?” He looked up at the poor steward. “So, you see, this sort of thing is obviously very normal for me. I would like one of everything. An exorbitant amount of food.”
“Apologies, sir, but I’m not entirely sure that’s possible,” the steward replied. “I believe the cost of your tickets only covers—”
“Charge me whatever you want,” Cassian clipped. “Just bring me what I ask for.”
Ethel touched his forearm. “Cassian, I’m happy to have the salmon. Truly.”
“And I can have the salmon as well,” Mr. Quinn said, smiling brightly before his expression faltered a little. “Or the eggs. Or—”
“You know what?” Cassian removed his napkin from his lap. He stood and flung it onto the table. “I’m not hungry. I’ll be on the promenade, enjoying the weather.”
Without even waiting to see or hear anyone’s reaction, Cassian left.
***
Wind whipped through Cassian’s hair as he looked out at the ocean. He could feel the chill in the air, but he was still much too flustered for it to bother him. In fact, the cold breeze was probably the only thing keeping him from boiling over.
He wasn’t mad at Ethel, though. Or at Mr. Quinn.
Or even at Jacob for his snide little remark about the potatoes (which, he now realized, was probably supposed to have been a friendly bit of banter, rather than a hostile jab in the first place).
No, Cassian was only mad at himself. Dear God, why had he reacted so strongly to the prospect of his valet and his fiancée sharing a bit of food?
What in heaven’s name was wrong with him?
For the next hour, Cassian continued to watch the waves. Slowly, his simmering irritation began to cool, and then he was only left with regret. Cassian closed his eyes and sighed. Seconds later, he heard Ethel’s voice from behind him.
“Cassian?”
He looked over his shoulder and smiled a barely there, tight-lipped smile.
“How was breakfast?” he asked.
“Lovely. I had the salmon.”
“And what did Mr. Quinn have?”
After a brief pause, Ethel said, “Oatmeal.”
Cassian immediately barked a laugh. “Oatmeal?!”
“I think he was confused about what to order and chose something at random,” Ethel said through a chuckle as she came up beside him.
“Poor man,” Cassian said, still laughing.
Together, he and Ethel watched the waves.
“If you still want eggs, we could venture over to the café,” he offered.
“Oh, no, I’m fine. Thank you, though.”
“Of course.”
Minutes of too-familiar silence followed.
Cassian frowned at the horizon. He wondered what he should talk to her about.
He half-considered bringing up his behavior at breakfast, but he wasn’t obligated to explain himself, really.
Besides, reliving it would likely only serve to upset both of them. Cassian continued to think.
“I went to the swimming bath this morning,” he eventually tried. “It was pleasant, temperature-wise.”
“Did you like it?” Ethel asked.
“Yes. I did.” Cassian’s cheeks prickled with warmth as the brief thought of James popped into his head, but he swiftly forced it away. “It’s an experience for sure, thanks to the rolling waves caused by the ship’s movements. I really do recommend it.”
“I shall have to try it, then, before we reach New York.”
“Good,” Cassian replied with an approving nod.
And then they fell back into silence again.
Cassian strummed his fingers on the railing, only barely overcoming the urge to bite his nails.
Once again, he found himself thinking about James, about the habit that they both shared, and his stomach tumbled as he recalled how wonderful it had felt to hold James’s hand in his.
James’s hand had felt so . . . not smooth, exactly, since his skin had been slightly workworn, but oh, overall, it really had felt perfect.
Perfectly soft in its own way. Perfectly warm, too.
Perfectly perfect. Just . . . the perfect contrast to his own in some respects and a perfect equivalent in others.
Cassian couldn’t have even explained it better had he been asked.
But it felt as though his and James’s hands had simply fit together.
In truth, Cassian was starting to feel as though he and James fit together as a whole. James was incredibly easy to talk to. Easy to chat with and to laugh with and to even be silent next to.
Cassian rubbed his chin as he pondered this.
Why were these things so easy with James?
It made no sense. He barely knew James. More perplexingly, though, he and James weren’t even of the same background.
Cassian was from one of the wealthiest families in New York.
He had been educated in some of the nation’s best schools.
He owned several successful businesses. And James .
. . well, he was only a boat steward. Nothing about the two of them should fit together.
Not like how Cassian fit together with Ethel.
Or, like he ought to have fit together with Ethel.
Ethel was from Cassian’s world. Having come from a line of wealthy financiers and industrialists, she had been raised in a similar manner as him.
Dammit, he and Ethel should have been the ones connecting with each other, conversing and laughing and being playful.
After all, soon enough, they’d be married.
And Cassian was starting to loathe the possibility of what their marriage might be like.
Endless uneasy silences. Painfully boring mealtimes.
Mechanical, routine, lackluster nights in the bedroom.
Cassian’s stomach roiled. He could barely even tolerate the thought.
While Cassian was busy trying not to retch, Mr. Quinn came over to meet them.
“Excuse me, Mr. Livingston?” he said. “I brought you and Miss Barrington some refreshments.” He held up two cocktails, both Punch à la Romaine.
“I know it’s early, but I thought they might be nice with the sunshine and the breeze.
” He handed Cassian one of the drinks. “And I wanted to extend my sincerest apologies for how everything transpired back there in the saloon. I shouldn’t have overstepped with regard to my breakfast choices. It won’t happen again.”
Guilt coiled in Cassian’s stomach, and he fought back a wince as his nausea increased ten-fold. Mr. Quinn hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d only been trying to please Ethel, that was all.
“Apology not necessary,” Cassian said. “But I will take the beverage. Thank you.”
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Quinn,” Ethel said warmly, taking her cocktail as well.
Mr. Quinn bowed his head. “I’ll be nearby if you need me.”
He turned and left.
Cassian looked at the mound of shaved ice in his glass. Despite himself, he began to smile as memories of his evening with James flitted into his mind and he recalled the watery brandy that he had shared with the man.
“You look happy,” Ethel suddenly said.
Once again, Cassian thought of James’s sweet face and of how strangely happy it made him to see it.
He bit the inside of his cheek a little in an attempt to rein in the accidental smile that accompanied his thought.
After a moment, he shook his head slightly to bring himself back to the present, though that made much of his smile fall away, too.
With effort, he forced it to return, no matter how false he knew it was.
“I am happy,” Cassian said, keeping his tone light. “How could I not be? It’s lovely to be here with you, Ethel.”
Ethel’s smile broadened, but not in a particularly convincing way, her brown eyes still missing that special sparkle that Cassian had only ever glimpsed on occasion.
It seemed to him that, at that moment, even though Ethel wasn’t entirely miserable, she wasn’t entirely happy, either. Not in a real sense.
And, Cassian supposed, neither was he.