by Alexa Donne
Nora led the way down a dim corridor past a row of identical plain doors, which were spaced more closely together than those above decks. I’d been inside one once, when Klara and I visited her childhood nanny. I remembered marveling at how little space one of the most important people in Klara’s life got compared to what the royal family had. I wondered how small the bunks would feel now that I was four times the size I’d been at six.
We passed a shared kitchen-and-dining space on the right, but it was empty. A loud thumping sound reverberated down the hall and under our feet, signaling the party ahead. I knew exactly where we were headed. Elliot and I had crashed many a party down here, back when we were flush with love but had to hide it. The servant class was full of good people who didn’t give a shit about a princess “slumming it with the help.” I shivered despite the heat as my father’s words echoed through my mind.
“The decor down here is . . . interesting.” I caught Evgenia slowing briefly to squint at the walls.
“The servant decks are ABBA themed,” I said, barely suppressing a giggle. It was one of the more bizarre things on board the Scandinavian, though I found it oddly charming, too.
“Why?” Evgenia tilted her head like a confused puppy. She was staring at a floor-to-ceiling-size portrait of Benny done in an abstract, Warholian style.
“You have a problem with ABBA?” Klara rounded on her, eyes aflame.
“Uh, no? I like that one song . . .”
Klara rolled her eyes. “‘Dancing Queen’? So basic.” Okay, sometimes I really loved my cousin. I snorted a laugh, quickly turning it into a cough when Evgenia’s eyes flashed with hurt.
“All the words on the walls are lyrics,” I launched into an explanation. “ABBA is a huge part of our pop-culture history.”
“Miss Kolburg is right,” Nora piped in.
“Call me Leo!” I corrected her.
“Uh, yes, I mean Leo’s right. The decor is ridiculous, but we do quite like the music. You might hear some at the party tonight.”
Evgenia raised her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, it seems I am outnumbered!” She laughed, clearly not taking it too seriously. She hooked her arm through mine and mock-whispered conspiratorially into my ear, “You’ll have to teach me the finer points of ABBA appreciation so I can fit in with the crowd.”
We set off again, walking another minute down the long corridor until we arrived at the spot I remembered so well. They’d painted every possible surface black and lit everything with purple, pink, and blue strobes that washed over the central dance floor in alternating patterns. The old stage housed the DJ, who was sporting electric-blue hair and a shiny silver jacket that stood out among the crowd. Everyone was considerably dressed down, certainly compared to us, in sleek black with similar pops of metallic, neon, and bright. We looked ridiculous, like cream puffs and penguins in our finery. Accordingly, Elliot and Lukas shrugged out of their suit jackets, finding a clear table and an arrangement of seats on which to discard them.
I kicked off my shoes with a sigh, hearing a hiss beside me. Klara frowned at my bare feet, nose wrinkled with disdain. “Gross, Leo.” But I only shrugged.
“No one cares down here, and they clean the floors every day.” This much I remembered from my adventures with Elliot.
“How bizarre!” Evgenia burst out a laugh, though not one at my expense, I thought. She sounded delighted. Balancing herself with a hand on my shoulder, she stepped out of her shoes as well, losing several inches of height but gaining a more radiant smile. Luckily, she was already dressed for dancing, having chosen a magenta tea dress with a vibrant butterfly-patterned tulle overlay. Then she grabbed me by the hand and dragged me over to the dance floor.
“We’ll leave them to cluck about fashion faux pas over champagne while we have fun!” We wove through a sea of bodies to the center of the dance floor. Evgenia finally stopped and spun me around under her arm, like I was her date.
“Actually, they don’t serve champagne down here,” I shouted over the loud music. “And I’m surprised you’re so low-key about fashion, considering!”
She shrugged, though maybe it was just a dance move. “I like dressing up, but what’s the point if you can’t have fun? It’s good luck you chose the drop-waist silk, though, dear Leo. Not too frilly and perfect for dancing!”
I had to agree. Evgenia was earning more than a few looks in her fancy party frock. I glimpsed Klara, Carina, Lukas, and Elliot making their way onto the edges of the dance floor, and I saw many looks of confusion, as well as a choice few of consternation. I craned my neck to find Nora, who blended in easily in her black work clothes, and caught her making plaintive faces at those nearest her. A silent apology for bringing Klara below decks. Poor thing.
Lights strobed over my face, momentarily blinding me; I closed my eyes to feel the bass throbbing up through my feet. It felt good to be back. I’d not dared come back without Elliot in the years since he left. This used to be our place, where we could have fun and be free without fear of censure from my family. He used to kiss me on this very dance floor, and in the dark corners, and in the corridors . . .
My lips tingled from phantom kisses, burned with memories and regrets. I needed to stop thinking about it, about him. I flung my head back and closed my eyes as my body swayed drunkenly to the music.
The night was young, which meant many of the residents of the deck were still on duty. It meant I could never quite lose Elliot on my periphery. I danced, tried to let myself go, jumping up and down like an idiot every time the beat dropped, clasping hands with Evgenia and taking turns with spins and dips. Lukas circled the two of us, sidling up to me whenever I accidentally gave him an opening, pulling up too close, hips drawn to my ass like a stubborn magnet, hands far too grabby for my liking. But Evgenia had the sense of a hawk and would quickly edge him back out from our circle of two every time. She was rapidly becoming my favorite person, not only for this, but because she was currently the only woman I knew who wasn’t trying to court Elliot.
. . . Unlike Carina and Klara, who were locked in the most awkward little dance circle with him, their frustration mounting to the point of palpability. I could feel it across the dance floor, ten feet away. My eyes betrayed my better sense, flicking over to the trio far too often, cataloging the unfolding of events: Klara edging Carina out of the circle, grabbing Elliot by the shoulders, and trying to force him into an intimate slow dance, counter to the beat of the music. Carina smartly used a song transition to grab him by the hand, spin under his arm, and restore the circle. Well, it was more of a triangle, really. Or a cluster.
Nora joined them, welcomed readily by Elliot, who opened up the circle for her and graced her with that smile, those dimples. Rightly distracted by the brilliance of Elliot’s affection, Nora missed Klara’s contemptuous glare. The music changed, to an ABBA song of all things, and the group dynamic shifted. The song was slower, though by no means a slow-dance kind of song, yet Elliot grabbed Nora by the arm and pulled her into a twosome, leaving Carina and Klara to dance awkwardly with each other.
But I scarcely noticed the drama with the two girls. Instead, I watched Elliot and Nora, rapt. Nora threw her arms up over his shoulders, and his arms whispered over her hips. Elliot leaned down close to her ear, and I watched his lips move like someone from a silent movie. Whatever he was saying was delivered with a half grin. Nora’s cheeks flushed, though maybe from the dancing?
My throat went tight. Here I was, forced to watch Elliot flirt with yet another girl, right in front of me. Dance with someone else, hold her the way he used to hold me, in this very place. Every second was torture. I could see them swaying to the music, Nora bouncing up onto her tiptoes to respond in kind, lips to Elliot’s ear, a matching smile on her face. What I wouldn’t give to hear what they were saying!
I felt someone jostle my side, and I whipped my head around to tell him off. Ugh, Lukas again. Evgenia the saint swooped in, giving him an uncharacteristic ice-cold look, and he finally
gave up, going over to join Klara and Carina. Both were dancing halfheartedly, as engrossed in The Elliot-and-Nora Show as I was. Lukas was poorly received. It became a pleasure to see him ignored by both my sister and my cousin. I almost felt bad for him.
Almost.
Laughter bubbled up my throat, my brain conjuring a sliver of humor from the depths of my misery. I threw my head back, guffawing, admittedly fueled by many more drinks than just the evening’s earlier whiskey, and spun myself around in a giddy circle. And caught Elliot staring at me. I stopped mid-spin, rendered frustratingly self-conscious. I fussed with my hair, elegant-curls-turned-tangled-mess, and tugged again at my slip, which had ridden up frustratingly high from all the dancing. Elliot’s gaze was assessing, of what, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t see Nora.
“Why did you stop?” Evgenia had to raise her voice high to be heard above the music.
“I’m going to grab another drink,” I shouted back, though I did not tear my eyes away from Elliot’s. I was a glutton for punishment. But then Elliot flinched, turned his focus back to Carina and Klara. Had I just won something? And where had Nora gone?
“Do you want one?” I asked Evgenia, making good on my story. I could use a break, anyway.
“No, I’m good!”
I made my way over to the bar and ordered water. It was time to reclaim my head and avoid a headache tomorrow morning. I turned, cooling my sweaty back against the ridge of the bar, scanning the room for Elliot’s familiar blond head. I scolded myself for my obsession, and again for the swoop of disappointment I felt when I couldn’t find him.
“Done dancing?”
Elliot snuck up on my left, startling me off-balance. I swayed drunkenly to my right, but his hand on my left arm steadied me upright. In the process, I lost half my water, which sloshed over my right hand and down my arm. I flipped around to lean frontward against the bar, gesturing with my hand and half-empty glass at the bartender to top me back up. Then I turned to Elliot.
“Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose,” I said.
“Since when do you speak French?”
“I don’t. But you do now,” I replied pointedly. “I looked it up.”
Elliot laughed. “I don’t speak French, Leo. Just that phrase. ‘The more things change, the more things stay the same,’” he quoted. “Ewan says it all the time. He’s the polyglot, not me. Don’t you know that, from your background check?”
It was a dig, but he didn’t say it with too much venom. Were we being playful now?
“I told you, the background checks weren’t for me. And the results aren’t in,” I grumbled. I could feel my cheeks reddening, not that Elliot could see it in the low light.
“You really think I’ve changed that much? You don’t trust me?”
“Lind doesn’t trust you,” I said. “And . . . yes, you’ve changed. You have your own ship, and money, and can hack apps. You drink whiskey.”
Elliot considered me a moment, expression carefully neutral. “I don’t think I’ve changed in the ways that matter,” he said.
I found that hard to believe. Even now, standing next to him, I felt stiff, unsure, on guard—things I had never felt with Elliot before. I hadn’t been the one to change, had I?
“Sprechen Sie noch Deutsch?” I asked, going for a bit of levity. My tongue always went more readily to German when I had been drinking, and I did wonder if he still remembered it.
“Ja, natürlich,” Elliot replied. “And why are you using Sie with me?” He switched back to English, pointing out my use of the formal you, typically used with elders, authority figures, and strangers. But the informal you felt wrong with him now. Bless German, with a whole system for putting distance between you and another person.
I shrugged, refusing to put into words the change in our relationship, and hoped he would drop it. I sucked down the rest of my water. Then I got a refill.
“Were you getting a drink too?”
“You’ve got the right idea, I think.” Elliot signaled the bartender and asked for his own water.
“It’s fun being back here,” I said after a minute of nicely awkward silence as we both sipped our waters.
Elliot grimaced. “Sure. But you, uh, didn’t think it was kind of inappropriate to come here?”
“What do you mean? We used to come all the time.”
“I brought you as my guest, because we were . . . you know. And they considered me one of them. But now I’m just some rich asshole, and half the royal family has descended on their private space. We’re putting Nora in a really uncomfortable position.”
“She said it was fine . . .” I offered anemically. Cold realization washed over and through me, the chill converting to acidic heat as it settled in the pit of my stomach. He was right.
“You usually read people better than that, Leo. I was hoping you’d understand, say no when Klara tried to rally us.”
“You’re saying this is my fault?” Guilt was replaced with indignation. I’d made a mistake, yes, but why was he putting all this on my shoulders? “It was Klara’s idea.”
“Carina follows your lead, and you could have outvoted Klara. I thought you’d get it when I suggested the Scandi Club.”
“I can’t read your mind!”
“It’s common sense. And asking Nora to call you Leo in front of everyone? You’re not her equal, not with the way things work here. Couldn’t you see it made her uncomfortable?”
My whole body burned with shame, mingled with the electric tingle of jealousy. Elliot was awfully concerned with Nora’s feelings all of a sudden.
“Fine, then I’ll leave, since it seems I’ve fucked up so unimaginably.” I pushed myself off from the bar, ready to flounce off in my embarrassment, but Elliot caught my arm.
“Don’t be so dramatic.” He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, under the frontispiece of his glasses. “We’re already here, so leaving is pointless.”
I wrenched my arm free. “I’m not being dramatic,” I scolded him for scolding me. Even though I was, indeed, being dramatic. But he was being patronizing.
“I should get back to Evgenia,” I said, finishing my drink. Really, despite his reassurances, I still wanted to leave. But I felt duty bound to ensure that Carina got home without incident. I’d let her drink tonight only because I was supervising, which in hindsight was a huge mistake, given her apparent goal of making Elliot notice her. Dangerous when young and drunk.
He gave me a parting salute as I careened back onto the dance floor, keen to lose myself again to dancing and waste away the hours until I could leave. My bed called to me, but I pushed myself on. I found Evgenia dancing close with a gorgeous redhead and couldn’t bear to interrupt. Like a shark sensing blood in the water, Lukas appeared.
“Hey, Princess!” he shouted into my ear.
“Don’t call me that!” I shouted back.
“Okay, okay.” His hands went up in a defensive position in front of his chest, as if I’d brandished a weapon. Then he balled his hands into fists, doing a little maraca shake with them and rolling his shoulders along to the music, clearly blitzed and dancing like an idiot without care. It almost endeared him to me. Then Lukas offered his hand and actually waited for me to take it, like a gentleman. After a moment’s hesitation, I did, letting him spin me under his arm, then back out, and in, ending up flush against his chest. But his free hand didn’t grab my waist or hips or butt as I had expected him to. Had I misjudged him?
Lukas sidled close, nudging his nose close to my ear. “Imma kish you, ’kay?” he slurred, and with that, I was officially done.
“No, thanks!” I pushed back hard against his chest, and he stumbled back into two girls who toppled over in their too-high heels, who then shoved him back in my direction. He deflated like a punctured tent, flopping himself against me and leaning into my side for support.
“Leo, don’t be such a tease!” I could smell the alcohol on his breath, his face uncomfortably close to mine. If he went in for a kiss,
I could elbow him in the ribs. Or knee him in the groin? Before I could decide, he jerked away as if from an invisible force. “Frex you!” he shouted, but not at me, I realized. At Elliot. Who had pulled him off me.
The scene came to me in flashes as the strobe lights fanned down over the crowd. Lukas struggling against Elliot’s grip on his arms. Elliot shouting something at him as he pulled him farther away from me. Lukas breaking free, slamming his fists into Elliot’s chest, barely moving El an inch. He was taller and stronger.
The crowd fell back, putting us in the middle of a circle none of us cared to be in. Electricity crackled in the air with the anticipation of a fight. But even though Lukas squared off, fists raised to chest level, feet bouncing like a boxer, Elliot refused to take that bait. I held my breath as he gave Lukas one last appraising look, shook his head, and turned to leave.
I inched back, equal parts glad they didn’t come to blows and crestfallen that Elliot had left me with Lukas. What had that been? If the point was saving me, why not finish the job properly? Whisk me away, like a knight in shining armor, and make sure I was okay?
Because he didn’t care about me anymore, not like that, I realized. I craned my neck above the crowd, falling back into their messy dance clusters, seeing Elliot go over to Carina, duck his head to say something close to her ear. He must have come over at Carina’s urging. It was my sister who had watched out for me. I felt a surge of sisterly love, replacing the sour tinge of bitter disappointment.
“Leo, what just happened?” Evgenia appeared beside me, eyeing Lukas accusingly. He was still standing several feet away, pouting like a five-year-old, but not coming any closer. I allowed myself to be led off the dance floor, Evgenia going into mother-hen mode. “I’m sorry. I was caught up with a . . . new friend, and I heard the commotion . . .”
Once we made our way to the sidelines, I took note of her smudged lipstick. Good for her. I leaned against the wall and craned my neck back, letting a cool stream of air from the vents wash over me.
“It’s nothing,” I said. “Lukas was too drunk and tried to kiss me. Well, wanted to. I shut it down.” Now I was feeling a bit defensive. Had I really needed saving? I’d been doing just fine. “Elliot misunderstood.”
