Pippa
The door to our room is as adorned as the rest of the ship, engraved with stars, moons, and other visages of the night sky.
It’s difficult to appreciate, however, because its presence looms with possibility.
The door may be unassuming, but what lies beyond it isn’t.
An unknown room. An unspoken temptation.
“This is the Celestial Dreams Suite. One of the best on the ship.” The porter pushes open the door and allows us to enter before him.
I step forward and gasp.
The space can’t really be called large, but it’s bigger than I expected.
There are two armchairs in front of a wide window, and the small table between them holds a tower of treats.
Our luggage sits near a door that I assume leads to a washroom.
But the thing that makes my heart kick against my ribs is the bed.
One bed. One beautiful four-poster bed dressed in gold and white.
Flower petals are strewn across the surface, and there’s a chilled bottle of bubbly and two glass flutes in a standing bucket at its foot.
“Mr. Mallory—the cruise director—took the liberty of offering you some champagne to celebrate your nuptials.”
“Thank you,” I hear Shemaiah say.
“Thank you, Mr. Roan.” The porter’s voice pitches higher with what sounds like gratitude. Shemaiah must have given him a tip.
The door snaps shut, leaving us alone.
Shemaiah’s warmth heats my back. “I’m sorry about the bed. It was…”
“All they had. I know.” I walk deeper into the room, followed by Shemaiah, stopping in front of a full-length mirror.
It’s as if we’ve entered more than just a room but a new paradigm. I can see both of us in the reflection, and it feels as if I’m looking into an alternate reality. One where we aren’t just friends, but something more. Two people who share a room, a bed, and our lives.
My skin prickles with sensation as Shemaiah’s eyes meet mine in the glass. For a moment they flash as dark as the sea at night. Full and deep.
He glances away and moves to the coat rack. With his back to me, he takes off his jacket and hangs it on a hook. “I can sleep on a chair.”
My eye roll is accompanied by a nervous laugh as I pull a pin from my hat and remove it, setting it on the dresser. “You’ll do no such thing.”
“You’re sure?” He turns, facing me again.
I unbutton my jacket, and his gaze tracks my hands as I do. “I am. There’s no need for us to be uncomfortable.” I glance at the bed. “It’s large enough for both of us.”
Shemaiah moves behind me and helps me remove my jacket, then hangs it near his.
There’s comfort in the domestic moves we make.
We could be this couple so easily. But where would it take us?
I can see our path split. One way leads to a flash of heat that dies too quickly, leaving behind ruin, heartbreak, and the destruction of our friendship.
Maybe the destruction of Shemaiah’s promise to care for Toby, a risk I’m scared to take, even though he’s assured me he’ll honor his promise.
The other path leads to something even more terrifying. Hope.
Shemiah pours a glass of water from a pitcher at the table and brings it over to me.
“Thank you.” My hand brushes his as I take the glass, and I’m thankful I’m still wearing my gloves. Even with them, I’m too sensitive to his touch.
“Would you like to rest?” Shemaiah sits down in a seat by the window.
“I am tired,” I admit, removing my gloves. “But I’m not sure I can sleep.”
I join him in the sitting area, situating myself in the chair next to his. He takes out his pocket watch and glances at the time before tucking it away again. I stare at the window but see nothing, unable to focus my thoughts.
“Is there anyone you’d like to see while we’re in New Caldon?” he finally asks.
“Why would there be?”
“You said you lived there. I assume you had friends?” There’s a light teasing to his voice, but it’s also clear he’s fishing for more information about my past.
“You’re the first real friend I’ve had in a long time,” I answer quietly. There were a few servants I considered friends when I worked for the Ressmussens, but they all turned away when I found myself pregnant and in need.
Shemaiah’s quiet for a while. The sound of someone laughing carries through the thin walls. Out the window, the pasture below us paints a quilted tapestry.
“Pippa?” He cuts the silence with my name. His head hangs just enough for his hair to fall in his face. His elbows rest on his knees, hands clasped so tight they’re turning white.
“Hmm?” I tilt my head, studying him.
His leg bounces nervously in a way that’s entirely unfamiliar. “What if we were something more than friends?” He sits up straight and looks at me, dark eyes penetrating. “What if this wasn’t all pretend?”
Unable to hold his intense gaze, I look everywhere but at him.
Heart racing, I try to order my thoughts and determine a response.
This is what I wanted last night, and some part of me still wants to jump headfirst into something real with him.
To experience everything I can while I can.
But my fears keep me frozen, shocked that he’s even asking the question.
“I’m not offering to bite you on the Solstice,” he clarifies. “Just to…” His throat bobs on a swallow, and he shakes his head, beautiful hair swaying with the movement. “Never mind. It’s probably a bad idea.” He drops his head again, hiding behind the curtain of his hair.
I place a hand on his knee to get his attention, but pull away when he looks up. “Can I ask you… why won’t you consider biting me?”
“Pippa, I don’t—”
“No, let me finish. I’m not asking you to love me. I’m just asking why it’s such an impossibility.” The moisture in my eyes surprises me.
“I can’t watch someone I care about die like that again.” There’s steel in his voice, all the nervousness from a moment ago gone.
“I’m dying anyway,” I whisper.
He looks up, eyes meeting mine at last. What I see there is so raw it would make my knees buckle if I wasn’t already sitting down. “You may be dying, but to die from a Solstice bite is torture. I can’t—” He closes his eyes. “I can’t watch you suffer like that.”
I place my hand on his knee. “Shemaiah, why did you first invite me to Roan Island?”
He sighs and looks up at the ceiling. “To be bitten.” He huffs and rolls his head to look at me. “But, Pippa, that was—” He swallows thickly.
Shemaiah doesn’t love me—he doesn’t believe he can love or that someone else would choose to love him in return—but he cares about me. I can see it in every little shift of his expression right now.
I can also see that even if he grew to love me, he would never trust his feelings enough to believe I’d survive a Solstice bite. He’d never risk it.
So whatever we have, it’ll only be temporary. There’s no happy ending for us here.
Knowing that, is it worth starting something?
Shemaiah gets down on his knees in front of my chair and takes my hands. “Please, little flower, let me have you for just a little while. No promises. Just… pleasure. Just you and me, no longer fighting this attraction.” His thumb rubs along my bare wrist. “Tell me you feel it.”
I hold my breath, flames licking up my arm from his touch.
“I can’t stop thinking about last night.” He brings my hand to his lips and kisses the middle of my palm. His eyes are pitch black. “You tasted so good. And the way you called my name when I made you come. Goddess, Pippa, I want you so damn much.”
This is what I want, isn’t it? But what if it ruins everything? What if introducing sex diminishes us, ruins our friendship, makes things so messy in the end that Shemaiah no longer wants to take care of Tobias?
But those aren’t the questions that really hold me back. What really keeps me from responding is how similar his words sound to things Martin told me. He was constantly saying how much he wanted me. But when it came down to it, he didn’t really care about me or my son.
I know Shemaiah isn’t Martin. I know that. But right now I’m paralyzed by memories.
Shemaiah’s throat bobs. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“No.” I touch his cheek. “I’m just… surprised.” My hand moves up to his hair, and I let myself run my fingers through the soft strands for just a moment. “Let me think about it?”
He nods slowly, then stands, perusing my features like a caress. “I’ll go for a walk.”
“You don’t have to leave.”
“I do.” He bends forward, kisses the top of my head, then walks out of the room.
There’s a part of me that’s grateful. I need time to order my thoughts. He just suggested we cross a line we made for a reason. He’s proposing a short-term affair—one with an expiration date. One that could put everything at risk if things don’t go well and he decides he doesn’t like me after all.
It’s a lot to consider.
But at least this time, I’d be going into things with eyes wide open rather than with the na?ve hope of forever.