Chapter 18 #2
Sebastien waits until I’ve showered and climbed into bed before going to the shared bathroom and brushing his teeth.
An everyday sound, but an intimate one. Intimacy and trust should go together.
I’m hurt because I was starting to trust him.
He was angry with himself for getting closer to me than he wanted to, for not maintaining the distance he’d been determined to create, but that hurt too.
My mind is scrambled but my body is tired.
He’s still brushing his teeth. The sound of the tap then water rushing down the sink. My lids close and I yawn again.
Considering it would have been Matt’s birthday today, was I too hard on my mother? Mum sometimes took us to the movies on our birthdays. More often, she’d put on a DVD we’d chosen. I turn onto my side with my back to the porthole.
It must have been Mum’s birthday when we watched Titanic.
I’m sitting between Mum and Matt on the red fabric sofa we took from house to house.
Mum must be enjoying the movie, because she keeps telling Matt to keep quiet.
He has a phone on his lap and is playing a game.
Unicorns, pink with silver horns, are embroidered on the sides of my runners.
Beau’s mum gave me those shoes the year I set the canary free, so I must be around eight years old and Matt would be sixteen.
I have my feet on the sofa and a school exercise book balanced on my knees.
I’m writing with a pencil. Mum shooshes Matt again.
In addition to doing my homework, I’m looking at the screen, because there’s a lot going on in the movie. A giant ship. An ocean and stars. Dancing. A flood. A fire. People are trapped in the ship when it sinks and—
‘Matt!’
I’m sitting bolt upright on the bed and Sebastien, the light from the bathroom behind him, is next to the bed. His hands go to my shoulders and then to my face. My cheeks are slippery when he wipes them with his thumbs.
I hiccough. Sniff. Hiccough again.
‘Lisse.’ He touches the edge of my lip. ‘Let it go so you can breathe.’
In and out. Out and in. It’s not so difficult.
‘I had a dream, but it wasn’t really a dream, it was a memory. I was watching Titanic with Mum and Matt and—’ I shudder and sniff.
‘Do you have a headache?’
‘No.’
When he kneels next to the bed, my heart jumps around. ‘It was wrong of me to be angry.’
‘You were angry with yourself.’
Do I fall into his arms or does he pull me into them? I’m not sure, but we’re both on the floor and in a tangle. As he stretches out his legs, I cling onto his shoulders.
‘Nothing happened, Sebastien.’
‘I disagree.’
‘Maybe a bit.’
His almost smile shoots arrows through my heart. He shifts my body so I’m sitting sideways on his lap and then he leans back against the bed.
‘I liked your questions.’
‘You did okay with your answers.’ As I study my pointed toes, he pulls me even closer.
‘Birds like nesting in Norway spruce because it’s tall and they can see predators.’
‘Are you telling me this to calm me down?’
‘Last night, you asked what birds live in a Norway spruce. I looked it up.’
I search his expression through the shadows. Serious. Sincere. ‘Which birds?’
‘Grankorsnebb, flaggspett …’
After he translates the common names for the species and describes what he remembers about them, I work out what they are and the similarities they’re likely to have to the birds I’m familiar with.
Grankorsnebb is a red crossbill and flaggspett is a great spotted woodpecker.
A robin is known as a r?dstrupe, nuthatches are spettmeis and a gr?nnfink is a type of finch.
Skjaere is a magpie. Kr?ke is a crow. There’s also a chiffchaff, known as a gransanger.
‘The name means singer,’ Sebastien says. ‘It was small.’
‘There are lots of different chiffchaffs. What colour was it?’
‘Dirty green.’
‘Olive green?’
‘Perhaps.’ His body is warm. When he dips his head, his breath is soft against my cheek. ‘A blackbird is a svarttrost. It mimics other birds. There are also r?dvingetrost. This translates to red-winged thrush.’
I’m comfortable with my head on his shoulder. Too comfortable? Even after this morning?
When I tense, his arms tighten.
‘What, Lisse?’
‘Are you going to regret this?’
‘I’ve given up.’
‘I don’t think you’d ever give up.’
‘I have to compromise.’
I feel the thump of his heart through my bones. ‘How?’
With a sound between a sigh and a groan, Sebastien pulls out the band at the end of my plait and unthreads the strands. He carefully runs his fingers through the ends.
‘Angelina has beautiful hair.’ I don’t know where the words come from and, from the look on his face, neither does he.
‘I don’t look at her.’
Do I ask what that means?
With a determined breath, I put my hands against his chest and push back.
‘I’m not like you think I am. Not usually. I don’t cry or pass out or do those other things. When we’re on Morrison Island, I’ll be like I usually am. I’m passionate about birdlife; I’m excited about working in a new environment. I can’t wait to get started.’
He considers that. And then, gently yet firmly, he shifts me off his lap.
Keeping hold of my hands, he gets to his feet, pulls me to mine, then takes a step back.
He methodically unfastens the buttons of his shirt at his wrists and then unfastens the buttons down his front. He’s wearing a black T-shirt but—
‘I won’t see you for two weeks.’ After throwing the shirt over the back of the upright chair, he threads our fingers together. ‘Can I sleep with you tonight?’
‘I don’t want you to think of me as vulnerable.’
He touches my cheek, pushes back my hair. ‘You’re beautiful.’
I lie on my side on the bed and he does the same so we’re facing each other. Given his size and the narrowness of the bed, it’s difficult not to touch, but just like a Regency hero, he does his best. When I put my hand on his chest, he puts his hand over mine.
‘You can’t kiss me goodnight, can you, because we have to keep our distance?’
‘When we’re off the ship, it will be easier.’
‘I won’t be vulnerable; is that what you mean?’
He sighs. ‘Perhaps.’
‘Can I kiss you goodnight?’
Sebastien thinks very seriously about my question. But then, after cursing under his breath, he says, ‘Yes.’
‘I’ll try not to make a mess of it.’
‘You couldn’t do that.’
‘If it were sex, I probably would.’
He frowns. ‘What do you—’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
He curses again. ‘You’ve been hurt.’
‘Maybe.’ I shrug like it doesn’t matter.
When I put a hand on his shoulder and push, he resists. But only for a moment. He lies on his back as I consider his handsome face. His eyes are bright but uncertain. With the tip of my finger, I stroke a line through his lips.
‘Are you sure you don’t mind if I kiss you? You don’t have to kiss me back if it’s against your moral code.’
‘I want you.’ His fists are clenched. He lifts a leg and puts it down again. ‘But not on the ship.’
I brush my lips across his. ‘I’m not scared now.’
His eyes are closed. ‘I am.’
‘Can you open your mouth?’
‘Lisse …’
I kiss him again, a sweet, tentative kiss. I touch the corner of his lip with my tongue and he groans low in his throat.
‘Is that okay?’
As his mutters are in Norwegian, I’m not exactly sure what he’s saying. He lifts a hand and drops it.
‘Again.’
When I pin down his legs with one of mine, he adjusts his position. My body is warm with not only need but something much more. I care about him. I want him to be happier than he is and—
‘Lisse?’
I take his bottom lip into my mouth and gently bite. I mumble against his mouth.
‘Good night, Sebastien.’
His expression a mix of desire and restraint, he pulls me into his arms. And when I lie across his body, he lifts my chin with the back of his hand and studies my mouth.
My breaths are short; my breasts and thighs are tingling.
His erection presses hard against my leg.
He wants to kiss me like I want to kiss him. But then …
‘Sleep.’
I take a deep breath, wrap an arm around his waist and find the dip beneath his shoulder where I can breathe him in. ‘Yes, Sebastien.’
He strokes my hair, kisses the top of my head and pulls me even closer.