Chapter Thirteen
Cassian
When Cassian’s and James’s fingers brushed, a bolt of electrical current shot up Cassian’s arm, and his breath caught.
For a fleeting moment, he was too stunned to even move.
Finally, though, when James began to retract his hand, Cassian came to his senses and caught it, the instinctual need he felt for continued contact overcoming every rational thought.
Cassian’s head was swimming as he helped curl James’s fingers around the pen with his own.
And then, in this intensely awkward manner, they picked up the pen together.
Every second of contact had Cassian’s heart thrumming while his mind reeled from a realization that he couldn’t yet consciously admit.
After James placed his pen back atop his notebook, Cassian realized that he had a choice to make.
Aware of the imminent and ever-looming peril that existed merely because of who they were, Cassian uncurled his fingers, but then, rather than pull back entirely, he left his hand there on the page overlaying James’s barely legible scribbles, the edge of his pinky finger resting against James’s thumb.
One long second passed, and then James moved his thumb ever so slightly, caressing Cassian’s finger. Cassian’s stomach swooped as ripples of fondness and care washed over him, and he found himself practically overwhelmed by the moment’s unparalleled beauty.
“Do you want to know more?” James asked in a whispered tone. “About the story?”
Cassian merely nodded.
“So, the, uhm, the pirate—who is wildly handsome, by the way—captures the sailor. Forces the man to be on his crew.” James’s voice was unsteady while he spoke, but still, the man continued, and even in his state of shock, Cassian couldn’t help but be impressed by James’s mental fortitude.
“He, uhm, he claims him. Eventually. Before or—or maybe after the sailor starts to like him. I, ah, well, I haven’t worked that part out yet.
Because I want the story to be romantic.
But still, I have the, uh, the fantasy that I wanted to weave into it somehow.
” He took a pause, and even in the low light on the promenade, Cassian could see him blushing. “Anyway, the sailor, he falls in love.”
Cassian shut his eyes as that one particular word—that one, miniscule, life-changing word—struck him in the chest. Its impact echoed in his soul, radiating outward and making his muscles tremble.
James continued, seemingly unaware of Cassian’s plight.
“I know that it’s not the most romantic story.
On the surface. But I think these two . .
. fulfill each other’s needs and wants and .
. .” Shrugging, James huffed a soft laugh.
“And, well, if no one else can ever read it, then I might as well take the opportunity to explore this strange fantasy of mine. Even if it’s not exactly a moral one. ”
Heat flooded Cassian’s cheeks. He liked James’s fantasy too. More than he wanted to admit.
“Still, I really want the men to love each other,” James said. “In the story.”
Cassian wet his lips and swallowed.
“H-how do they fall in love?” he asked, his head spinning.
“Just . . . spending time together, I think. I haven’t planned it out yet.
But I have a scene in my head where the sailor, he .
. . oh, he knows that he shouldn’t let himself fall for the pirate.
I mean, the pirate hurt him. Captured him.
Broke him. He’s a changed man now. Everything he’d set out for—the route he’d charted, the lands he’d hoped to see, the future he’d been poised to live—it’s ruined.
And, Cassian, he hates the man for it. He hates that these things were stolen from him.
But, then, one day, he realizes that . .
. well, maybe that he hadn’t ever wanted that other life.
Not in his heart. And I think maybe that’s when he realizes that he’s in love, too. ”
Cassian’s eyes began to fill with tears as the summary of James’s ridiculous, wicked, sordid fairy-tale cleared the last of the fog from his mind, permitting him to finally see the thing that he hadn’t let himself see before.
He was in love.
Fear slammed into him, the force so powerful it nearly caused him to faint, but he pulled in a breath, lightheaded, and somehow managed to keep himself upright in his chair.
James continued talking, continued painting pictures of the perverse fairy-tale that spat in the face of normalcy and propriety, every word working to unravel the fabric of social rightness and expectations by which Cassian had been implicitly taught to live.
And, to Cassian’s horror, he found himself feeling liberated by it, relieved to be released from the shackles that he hadn’t even known he was wearing.
But with that sense of newfound freedom, there were other things he felt as well.
Guilt and shame and regret and a sense of wanting so all-encompassing that it frightened him beyond measure.
Good God, he was in love.
He was in love with James Thomas Morrow—a man and a steward and a writer of unpublishable romantic drivel—and yet, still, he was poised to marry Ethel, a beautiful, wealthy, wonderful woman whom he had kissed mere hours before, a woman for whom he felt nothing—nothing—and there wasn’t a Goddamned thing that he could do about it.
In only a matter of days, Titanic was scheduled to reach New York. And Cassian would then be expected to simply leave the ship and to continue on with his life as though nothing had changed. But everything had changed. Cassian’s entire world had been obliterated.
All because of James.
Anger flared in Cassian’s chest. How cruel of James Thomas Morrow to have forced on him these fantastical, illogical, nonsensical notions of love and romance, poisoning his mind and wrecking his future.
Muscles trembling, heart hammering, Cassian snatched the notebook off of James lap and leapt to his feet.
With fast, purposeful strides, he walked over to the boat’s edge and flung it into the ocean.
Cassian watched its pages flutter as it plummeted into the cold, unforgiving sea, and for one perfect instant, an incredible feeling of peace came over him, as though he had managed to fling his own feelings overboard too.
But then James’s voice reached his ears, and his heart sank with the realization of what he’d done.
“What in God’s name is wrong with you?” James practically screamed from his chair.
Cassian clenched his teeth, self-loathing coiling in his stomach. Curling his hands into fists, he turned back around to face James, and the moment that he saw the shock and hurt in James’s eyes, the pain worsened, spiraling and twisting inside him and making him want to retch.
“You shouldn’t be writing such filth,” Cassian hissed.
He flinched from the ire of his own words.
“Filth?! Not five minutes ago, you said—”
“I know what I said!” Cassian yelled. He walked back over to James and lowered his voice to a whisper.
“But now I’ve come to my senses. And you need to come to yours.
No good can come from indulging in fantasies such as those.
It’s foolish to let yourself entertain them.
” He let out a measured breath and smoothed his hands over the fabric of his overcoat. “You’ll thank me later.”
Even though Cassian knew that every Goddamned word of that statement had hurt his friend, he refused to take them back. Because he knew for certain now that he was in love.
And he hadn’t a clue how he was supposed to survive it.
“Goodnight, James.”
Cassian turned and left.
***
April 13, 1912
In the morning, Cassian awoke with a headache.
He’d slept a measly three hours that night, having spent the bulk of the night too frazzled to rest. He knew that he had to fix things with James somehow.
Or, perhaps, he knew that he shouldn’t, but he wanted to.
All that awaited him now was heartbreak, no matter how fervently he wished otherwise, and he wondered if he should at least spend his last days here on the ship being near the man he loved whenever he could.
It wasn’t as though Cassian could hope for more.
His engagement to Ethel was equally as binding as marriage, from a social perspective.
If Cassian broke off the engagement, he’d hurt himself and Ethel, both.
Mostly Ethel. Being a man and a Livingston to boot, Cassian knew that he’d eventually recover from such a scandal.
Ethel, on the other hand, very likely would not.
Because what man in his right mind would want her after she had been engaged for so many months?
And after she had traveled so extensively with the man who then became her ex-fiancé as well?
Cassian couldn’t condemn Ethel to such a bleak future.
Regardless of what he felt for her (or, more precisely, what he didn’t feel), he still cared about her.
Ethel Barrington wasn’t some random woman from Cassian’s social circle; she was a kind person with whom he had been cordial for what felt like forever.
Rolling onto his front, Cassian pressed his face into the pillow and let out a groan.
If only he could hide from the world for the rest of this Godforsaken voyage.
Lord help him, what was he supposed to do?
Move forward with marrying Ethel and subsequently spend the rest of his life heartbroken and sexually frustrated?
Or marry her, but then somehow spend the bulk of his time traveling to and from Europe, bedding James whenever he managed to secure a ticket on whatever ship the man happened to be working, thereby betraying Ethel more each and every time he left New York to sail across the Atlantic?
Both options seemed horrible. Utterly and completely horrible.