Chapter 28
The morning’s shore excursion took them to a historic fort in Saint John, New Brunswick. The sprawling stone fortification had guarded the harbor for centuries. Bert stood at the base of the accessible path, assessing the route with tactical precision, making sure it worked for Mary.
The path was technically accessible, meeting the minimum requirements for wheelchair navigation.
But “accessible” didn’t always mean easy, and Bert could see the challenges before they started.
The uneven pavement where centuries-old stones had shifted, a grade that was steeper than modern standards would allow, and rough patches where weather had taken its toll on the surface.
Mary studied the path with the same critical assessment, her jaw set in a way Bert had learned meant she was preparing to tackle something difficult. “It’s doable,” she said, more to herself than to him.
“It is,” Bert agreed, making no move to take over or suggest alternatives. “Want me behind you or beside you?”
Mary glanced at him, and the warmth in her eyes told him she understood what he was offering… support without hovering, assistance without taking over, presence without pressure. “Behind for the steep parts. I’ll need someone to help both with the ascent and to control the descent.”
They moved up the path together, Mary’s arms strong as she propelled herself over the uneven surface.
Other passengers were scattered ahead and behind them, the group spreading out as people moved at their own pace.
Diane and Colin were somewhere behind, and Bert had made sure to note their location before starting, but for now, his attention focused on Mary.
The grade increased, and Bert positioned himself behind her chair, his hands ready on the handles but not taking over.
Mary’s breathing grew slightly labored as she worked against gravity and rough terrain, but she didn’t ask for help, didn’t slow down, just kept pushing with determination that made Bert’s chest ache with pride and love.
When they reached a particularly rough patch where the stones had buckled, creating a treacherous surface, Mary paused. “This part might need—”
“I’ve got you,” Bert said quietly, his hands settling on the handles. “Just tell me what you need.”
“Steady pressure, keep the front wheels elevated slightly so they don’t catch.” Mary’s instructions were clear and confident. “I’ll tell you when to adjust.”
They worked together with fluid movements born of trust. Mary guided while Bert provided the muscle.
Neither of them did more than necessary, but both were essential to navigating over the difficult terrain.
When they cleared the rough patch and the path smoothed out again, Bert released the handles and let Mary take over, his hand settling on her shoulder instead.
“You’re incredible,” he said, meaning it.
“It’s just a hill,” Mary replied, but she was smiling.
“It’s more than that. The way you assess terrain, problem-solve, and communicate what you need without making it seem like a weakness. Mary, you’re amazing.”
Her cheeks flushed pink, and she reached up to squeeze his hand where it rested on her shoulder. “Having you here helps. Knowing you trust me to know my own capabilities, that you’re backup without being a savior—it makes all the difference.”
They reached the top of the path, where the fort spread out before them: gray stone walls, green lawns, and the spectacular view of the harbor beyond.
The accessible route continued through the fort’s interior, and Mary moved with confidence now, exploring exhibits and reading plaques while Bert stayed close but not hovering.
He watched her interact with other passengers and saw the way some people’s eyes skated past her wheelchair to focus on him instead, as if she weren’t the one they should be addressing.
And he watched Mary handle it with grace, redirecting conversations back to herself, asserting her presence without making it confrontational.
But he also saw the moments when people got it right.
When Eleanor asked Mary directly about her impressions of the fort’s history.
When Thomas engaged her in discussion about the strategic importance of the location.
When other passengers treated her like any other tourist rather than someone to be pitied or ignored.
And through it all, Bert was simply present. A hand on her shoulder when the terrain got rough. A steadying presence when crowds pressed too close. A partner who trusted her completely while being ready to provide support the moment she indicated she needed it.
This was what he’d promised her… partnership without patronizing, help without hovering, love that saw her completely and chose her anyway.
They found Diane and Colin near the fort’s main battlement, the older woman exclaiming over the view while Colin hovered close, controlling her position and movements with the same subtle manipulation Bert had observed for the past day.
George was there too, engaging Diane in conversation that Colin clearly didn’t appreciate.
“Beautiful view,” Mary said, rolling up beside Diane with Bert close behind.
“Breathtaking!” Diane’s enthusiasm seemed genuine, more alert and engaged than Bert had seen her in days. “I’m so glad we came even though the path was challenging.”
“Mary handled it like a pro,” Bert said, his hand finding her shoulder. “She’s stronger than most people I know.”
“I can see that.” Diane’s smile was warm. “You two are lovely together. The way you work as a team is special.”
Bert felt Mary’s hand cover his where it rested on her shoulder, her fingers squeezing gently. “We are a team,” she agreed. “In every way that matters.”
“I think we’re special together, too, Aunt Diane,” Colin insisted, his expression pinched.
“Of course we are,” Diane agreed quickly.
By the time they returned to the ship, Bert’s phone was buzzing with an update from Logan.
He looked over at her and reported, “Sisco confirmed the medications. The pill bottles with Diane’s name on them are normal…
blood pressure, neuropathy, cholesterol, and a mild antidepressant.
But Colin has benzodiazepines in a vitamin bottle.
This would make her confused, especially with the antidepressants.
It could keep her compliant enough to sign documents but not alert enough to remember.
Combined with the financial evidence Sadie gathered, there is a pattern. ”
“Okay, but that’s conjecture, not proof,” Mary grumbled. She glanced toward the clock on the counter. “And we need to get ready for dinner. It’s more formal tonight.”
They showered again before dressing, but his mind kept drifting to Mary.
To the way she’d looked that morning in the bathroom, vulnerable and beautiful and trusting him with her scars.
To the promise they’d made to each other about figuring things out together.
To the knowledge that tonight, after dinner, they could finally explore where this heat between them led.
The thought made him nervous and excited in equal measure.
He’d enjoyed his sexual experiences in the past, but this was different.
This was Mary, who he loved more than he’d loved anyone.
This was a woman whose body was unique, who’d admitted she didn’t know what would work for her anymore, who’d been so afraid of disappointing him.
Bert was determined to make sure their first time was about pleasure and discovery and trust, not performance or expectations or fear. Whatever happened, however it went, the goal was connection and care and making sure Mary knew she was loved and wanted and cherished.
Mary emerged from the bathroom looking stunning in a deep blue blouse that brought out the gold in her blue eyes. Paired with black satin pants, she was gorgeous. She’d done her hair and makeup with more care than usual, and when she caught Bert staring, her cheeks flushed pink.
“You look beautiful,” Bert said, his voice rough.
“You look pretty good yourself,” Mary replied, taking in his suit with obvious appreciation. “Very dapper. Very James Bond.”
“I was going for ‘devoted fiancé at formal dinner,’ but I’ll take James Bond.”
The dining room had been transformed, candlelight glowing from every table and soft music playing from speakers positioned around the room. The atmosphere was elegant and refined. Bert and Mary were seated again with Diane and Colin, along with Eleanor and George.
The meal was a series of courses, served with wine pairings, each dish a work of art. But Bert barely tasted any of it, his attention divided between watching Colin and anticipating what would come later.
After dinner, the music shifted to something slower and more romantic. Several couples moved to the small dance floor that had been cleared near the windows, swaying together in the candlelight.
“Dance with me,” Bert said to Mary, the words coming without planning.
Mary’s eyes widened. “Bert, I can’t—”
“Yes, you can. Trust me.” He stood and moved behind her wheelchair, his hands settling on the handles. “I’ve been practicing.”
That was true. Over the past months, ever since Bert had admitted to himself how much he cared about Mary, he’d watched videos to learn techniques for dancing with a wheelchair user.
Not because he assumed Mary would want to dance with him, but because he wanted to be prepared if the opportunity ever arose.
He’d learned how to position the chair for optimal movement, how to guide without controlling, how to make the experience feel natural and romantic rather than awkward or forced.
He’d practiced the movements in his living room late at night, imagining Mary with him, hoping someday he’d get the chance to actually dance with her.
Tonight was that chance.