Chapter Six #2
“Yes,” Cassian said. “And I stand firm in my point. Marriage isn’t about love. Truthfully, I’m not even sure that I believe in love. Not romantic love. Even familial love . . . it’s about obligations, isn’t it?”
James’s mouth fell agape. Cassian smiled a befuddled smile.
“What?”
“I’m . . . Jesus, Cassian, I’m at a loss for words.”
“Why?” Cassian asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Because of what you said. About love. Of course love is real. Romantic love. Familial love. Even love between friends.”
Cassian bellowed a laugh. “Now you’re really being ridiculous. No one loves their friends.”
Utterly ridiculous.
“Of course they do.”
“Not me,” Cassian said with a flippant shrug.
James narrowed his eyes. “You really haven’t loved anyone before?”
“I love my parents,” Cassian said. “Everyone loves their parents. I mean, they took care of me when I was a child. And in exchange, I’m taking care of them now.
I took over my father’s businesses so that he was able to stop working.
I visit them on occasion. Whenever I have some spare time.
And I pay for their staff who take care of their home.
So, see, I love my parents. I love them as much as anyone else loves theirs. ”
James’s brows pinched together, his forehead creasing.
“Do you really think that’s what love is?” he asked.
Cassian shook his head. “Isn’t it?”
Through a forceful exhale, James said, “Holy Jesus, wow.”
Cassian waited for James to counter somehow. He waited for him to argue his point or to tease Cassian about his or to even admit that Cassian was correct about love (because he obviously was).
Instead, though, James fell silent, and the little hint of a smile he’d had since practically the beginning of their conversation vanished completely as his eyes found the floor.
“What’s wrong? Why are you frowning like that?” Cassian asked.
James only shrugged.
“Are you trying to punish me for being honest with you?” Cassian made a sound in between a scoff and a sigh. “I was merely trying to explain my beliefs about romantic love. And you were the one to bring up love in the first place. Even though it’s not at all relevant to my problems with Ethel.”
Nothing.
Cassian’s muscles tensed. If James wasn’t going to talk to him, then he’d leave.
“Fine, be a child,” Cassian spat as he stood.
James caught the cuff of his jacket.
“I’m not punishing you,” he said softly.
Cassian sat back down beside him, and James let go.
“Why aren’t you talking to me, then?” Cassian asked.
“Because I’m not sure what to say, Cassian.
It feels like we can’t talk. Not about this.
It’s like we’re not even speaking the same language.
Anything I even think of saying with regard to love or marriage or your engagement .
. . I mean, what would be the point of it?
You’re obviously very set in what you believe about those things. ”
Cassian reached up to scrub his forehead with his fingertips. He hadn’t meant to make James feel as though the two of them couldn’t talk. Hell, he had paid that random steward God-only-knows how much money so that they could talk.
“Alright, fine, then,” Cassian said. “Obviously, you believe in love, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Romantic love?”
James rolled his eyes. “Yes.”
“Well, why?”
“Just . . . because.”
“Ah, but somehow my feelings are irrational.”
“I never said—”
“So, then, why?” Cassian asked, making his tone slightly playful, if only so this whole ordeal might be easier. “Do you believe in it because you yourself have been in love? Or is it because you’ve read about love? Or because you’ve secretly studied psychology?”
He nudged James with his elbow a couple of times, and James smiled a little.
“It’s . . .” James sighed. “It’s because I’ve been in love.”
Cassian’s stomach seized.
“You’ve been in love,” Cassian repeated. His pain worsened as he forced out the words, though he tried to keep his voice even when he said them. “Romantic love.”
Even though he still didn’t exactly believe in such a thing, to know that James not only believed in it but had experienced it himself . . .
Cassian’s muscles contracted as he experienced another stab of pain. He finally noticed that James’s pinchable cheeks had turned red. And the moment they then locked eyes, Cassian’s own face began to warm, too.
Both men looked at the carpet.
All of a sudden, Cassian wanted nothing more than to know every Goddamned thing about this woman whom James had previously loved while also wishing that he could unhear James’s confession entirely.
Scowling, Cassian began chewing on his fingernails as the notion of James Thomas Morrow in love burrowed into his skin.
“Do you want me to tell you about it?” James asked. “If only so that you can see that for some people, such a thing exists?”
Cassian shrugged. He bit off one of his fingernails and spat it onto the floor.
“I can’t tell if that’s a ‘yes’ or—”
“Yes, fine, tell me,” Cassian clipped.
James rolled his bottom lip between his teeth as though considering how to reply.
Cassian’s heart fluttered from the sight. Even through his current wave of upset, he wished that he could suck on that plump bottom lip.
One minute passed.
Finally, James let out a long breath and said, “Alright, well, being in love, it feels like . . . like flying. And falling. It’s like flying and falling at the same time.”
“Oh, please, that’s nonsensical,” Cassian said, his stomach churning at the thought of James feeling something so fantastical about someone.
James huffed a laugh. “Exactly. Being in love is nonsensical. It’s nonsensical, and it’s .
. . oh, God, it’s bloody wonderful. It’s like finding a lost piece of yourself.
Or like . . . like finding the perfect pair of shoes.
Ones that fit well even before you break them in.
And then they only feel better with time.
More comfortable and more perfect.” He smiled wistfully.
“It’s more than that, though. Falling in love is .
. . it’s experiencing fluttery, happy feelings whenever the person is nearby.
It’s feeling little lightning bolts whenever the two of you touch.
It’s wanting to be near them constantly, even when you want to be alone.
Love is . . . it’s like coming home.” James paused.
His cheeks turned a more vibrant shade of red, and he let out a soft laugh.
“Or, well, that’s what it was like for me. I’m sure everyone is different.”
Cassian swallowed thickly. His stomach was still churning unpleasantly, as though they were traveling over rough seas, and he kept his mouth closed so that he wouldn’t retch.
Hearing about James’s experience with romantic love was .
. . Cassian had never experienced something so intensely uncomfortable.
He and James sat in silence for a while. Cassian continued to chew on his fingernails. And then James began to do the same.
“Sorry if that was too personal. But I wanted to be honest,” James said after another minute. “And I was only wondering whether you were in love because . . . well, I’m not really sure why.”
“Do you think that love—or, what you think of as love—is needed for a successful marriage, then?”
“Not necessarily.”
“Because plenty of marriages are based on the things that I said. And not . . . fanciful, nonsensical fluttery feelings.”
“I know.”
“Romantic love isn’t important to me. It’s not something that I’m interested in.”
James stayed silent. Cassian shifted on the cushion. James did the same. Another couple of seconds passed.
Finally, James’s eyes flickered over to him. “Is romantic love important to Ethel, though?”
Cassian took a moment to consider this. He’d never asked. But how could it be important? Cassian had never personally met someone whose marriage had been born from love. To Cassian’s knowledge, everyone in both his and Ethel’s circles had married for other reasons.
If romantic love was important to Ethel, though, then what was Cassian supposed to do?
“Are you implying that I should try to fall in love with Ethel?” he asked, making his voice as playful as possible (and perhaps slightly mocking as well). “Or that I should try to make her fall in love with me?”
Smiling sweetly, James looked back at the floor.
“I’m not sure if that’s how it works,” he replied quietly through an uneasy-sounding chuckle.
“How does it work, then?” Cassian asked in a singsong tone.
Despite Cassian’s unserious tone, James’s face suddenly became quite serious. His smile fell away as he furrowed his brow. After a brief pause, he looked up, and he and Cassian locked eyes. Cassian’s heart stuttered upon seeing the intensity in James’s blues.
“I think falling in love just . . . happens,” James said, his voice now barely above a whisper.
Warmth began to spread through Cassian’s chest, trickling upward and outward and moving over every other inch of him at once.
Cassian’s first thought was that he ought to turn away.
But he couldn’t. Instead, Cassian kept on looking into James’s eyes, and James kept looking at him, too, equally as intensely.
It was like the man was searching for something, though Cassian couldn’t fathom what that something might be.
“Sorry,” James said softly.
Cassian shook his head, still not breaking eye contact. “For what?”
Through a half-laugh, James said, “I’m not even sure. For not being helpful, I suppose. Or, for . . . middling service, maybe. Middling friend service.”
Cassian huffed a short laugh, too. “Incredibly middling.”
More time passed, and they continued to stare into each other’s eyes.
Skin still on fire with a wonderful warmth, Cassian couldn’t even begin to comprehend what was happening to him.
It was starting to feel like he wasn’t even connected to himself anymore, like he’d left himself back in Titanic’s First-Class Lounge and had floated up into the clouds and now who knew where he even was.
James’s tongue skirted out of his mouth, and he wet his lips.
“Cassian, I’m meant to be working.”
“But I want you here. With me,” Cassian said, so fucking intoxicated by whatever this something between them was that he couldn’t even control what words were coming out of his mouth anymore.
“And Cassian Penn Livingston always gets what he wants,” James said. “Doesn’t he?”
Cassian’s mouth twitched, his lips curling into a small, lopsided smile.
“He does.”
James let out a shaky laugh. He began to bounce one of his legs. But, still, he continued to hold Cassian’s gaze.
“Oh, God, I should leave,” he said.
Panic flooded Cassian’s veins. He couldn’t let James leave. Not yet. Oh God, not yet. Cassian began searching his mind for a solution. Anything that would make James Thomas Morrow continue to sit here with him.
“You promised me exceptional service, James,” he said slowly, finding the excuse as he spoke.
James’s next exhale came out with a tremble.
“And h-how am I meant to serve you?”
Cassian’s stomach swooped. He suddenly found himself imagining the most wonderful, beautiful things.
Like James on his knees in front of him, looking up at him through those lovely lashes, Cassian standing there with his pants around his ankles, his member hard and leaking and begging to be touched, to be serviced.
Oh, how he wanted that now. Heat pooled low in his belly, and his pants began to tighten.
Cassian shut his eyes. Fuck, they were in public. He and James were in public. They were in public and they were on the world’s most luxurious ship and—
Cassian’s eyes flew wide.
Ethel.
Dear Lord.
Cassian sprang to his feet, intending to flee, but then immediately remembered his erection and sat back down on the sofa.
“You need to leave.”
James blinked.
“I . . . need to leave?”
“Yes. Right now.”
James continued to stare.
“James!”
Scrambling to his feet, James spluttered, “Uhm. Yes. Right. Right now. I need to leave. And I will leave. I am leaving. Right now. Because that’s .
. . what you want.” He turned, raked his hand through his hair, and then whirled back around to face Cassian.
“Cassian, whatever you’re thinking right now, whatever it is that you think I was trying to say or trying to imply—”
“James,” Cassian said, very pointedly. “Leave. Now.”
“Leaving.”
And then James hurried off, back toward the Verandah Café.
Letting out a long breath, Cassian collapsed back against the cushion. Immediately, he began to massage his temples.
And he wondered what in God’s name was wrong with him.