Chapter 57
The Open Deck
Dane gave them space after that.
He returned to the helm, though the boat barely moved, and busied himself with instruments that probably required no attention.
Nathan recognized the courtesy for what it was.
The captain could dominate a silence simply by remaining in it, but he could also step back with enough confidence to make his absence another kind of presence.
Marissa stood at the rail in the green dress, coat abandoned, shawl loose over her arms. The wind shaped the fabric against her, then released it. Nathan stood behind her, not touching yet.
"You are quiet," she said.
"I am looking."
"At me?"
"At you looking like you finally believe the mirror."
Her shoulders moved with a small breath.
"I don't know if I believe it."
"You looked like you did for a second."
She turned from the rail.
"What did that do to you?"
The question was not coy. It was brave. It asked him not to retreat into vague approval.
Nathan moved closer.
"It made me want to keep watching until you believed it longer."
Marissa closed her eyes.
He touched her waist with both hands. She leaned back into him, and this time the memory of Dane kissing her did not feel like an enemy in the space between them.
It was there, yes. A spark. A witness. A possibility.
But Nathan's hands were also there. Her body knew them. Her breathing changed for him too.
"I need to tell you something," she whispered.
His fingers tightened.
"Tell me."
"When he said you were right, I wanted him to say more."
The jealousy came hot and immediate.
Nathan let it come.
He did not step away.
"What did you want him to say?"
Marissa's eyes opened. She stared out over the water, face flushed.
"That he saw me. That he wanted to keep looking. That I wasn't ridiculous for liking it."
Nathan breathed through the ache.
Part of him wanted to tell her that his seeing should be enough. Another part, deeper and harder to admit, wanted to hear those words said aloud by the other man, wanted the proof of her effect to become undeniable.
He turned his head toward the helm.
Dane was looking at the instruments, giving no sign he had heard.
Nathan knew he had.
"Captain," Nathan said.
Marissa went still.
Dane turned.
"Yes?"
Nathan felt absurdly formal. Terrified too. But the notebook in his pocket seemed to burn against his chest.
I want to watch you choose without feeling erased.
He could not demand Marissa choose. He could only stop erasing himself from the wanting.
"My wife asked for honesty," Nathan said.
Dane came down one step from the helm, no farther.
"Then ask the question."
Nathan looked at Marissa. Her face was full of alarm and longing.
"Do you want to keep looking at her?" Nathan asked.
The night held still.
Dane did not answer quickly. Nathan respected that too, though it made the waiting almost unbearable.
Finally, Dane said, "Yes."
Marissa exhaled.
Nathan's whole body answered the word in ways he would have denied a month ago.
Dane's gaze moved to Marissa then, direct but not careless.
"You are not ridiculous," he said. "You are a beautiful woman learning the cost of being seen after hiding from it. And yes, I want to keep looking."
Marissa's hand flew to Nathan's wrist.
He held her more firmly, not to restrain her, but to remain.
"Thank you," she said, voice barely audible.
Dane nodded once.
He did not come closer.
That restraint became its own kind of intensity. Nathan realized the captain understood pacing as well as water. He knew that some lines became more powerful when left uncrossed long enough for everyone to feel their shape.
Marissa turned in Nathan's arms, facing him.
"Are you all right?"
He almost laughed. The question had become their refrain, their rope thrown back and forth across dark water.
"No," he said honestly. "But I am not harmed."
Her eyes filled.
"Anchor?"
He shook his head.
"Not anchor."
She touched his cheek.
"Then what?"
Nathan looked over her shoulder at Dane, then back at his wife.
"Then I am learning."
Marissa kissed him.
It was not a kiss for Dane. Not a kiss to reassure him falsely. It was a kiss that brought him fully into the center of the thing they had made, a kiss that said his courage had not made him less her husband.
When she drew back, Dane had returned to the helm.
The open deck seemed larger now.
So did Nathan.