by Alexa Donne
I hadn’t set foot in my father’s study in ages, it seemed like. This was one of the rooms I’d left to the Orlovs and we’d not used during our few occasions on board since their arrival. It was as I remembered it, but somehow it was made warmer by the company and by the fact that I wasn’t sitting in my usual chair, worrying over sums while my father and sister schemed up ways to spend money we didn’t have.
Row after row of antique books, untouched by my family for decades, crowded the towering wooden bookshelves that lined the walls. Their smell always brought me comfort, the light musk of the binding and paper, my nerves soothed by the color-coded and alphabetized arrangement one of my ancestors had long ago decided on. My practical side knew that if I touched them, I’d hasten their demise, so I read exclusively on a tab, but I remained thankful that our family had valued books enough to bring them with us all those years ago.
As Carina and I waltzed in, Elliot and someone I assumed to be Ben halted their conversation immediately—it looked serious, tense. They stood up from the bottle-green overstuffed leather couch that was my favorite and offered both of us the slightest bow. They played the role of gentlemen, an antiquated gesture I found both flattering and jarring. We curtsied, elevating the whole thing to ridiculous levels.
“Should I call you two Your Royal Highnesses, like the other one?” Ben joked, offering a wink. I understood Carina’s rapidly developed crush. Ben was tall, gorgeous, and charming. I guessed he was twenty, maybe twenty-one. Warm brown eyes peered out from behind rectangular spectacles, his skin medium dark, hair curly but close-cropped. When he smiled, my eyes were drawn to his strong jawline and high cheekbones. I could stare at him all day.
And he was staring at my sister.
“I’m Leo,” I offered, along with my best and firmest handshake—a point of family pride. “No royal titles required.” I moved off to the sideboard to pour my sister and me each a glass of wine. I checked the bottle—not one of ours, thankfully. This was a premium brand from the Versailles, more than we could afford.
“And of course I’m just Carina,” my sister said. “Royal titles are so stuffy, and silly, given we don’t rule over anything anymore.”
Now my sister just sounded like me. I snorted a laugh, but they didn’t notice with my back to them. I turned to walk the glasses over to the love seat, where Carina had taken up residency across from Ben. I wondered if the reason for her sudden practical turn was to impress our guest, who hailed from an egalitarian American ship and was second-in-command in the sanitation department. Regardless, I was pleased.
The sound of someone loudly clearing her throat came from behind me. I turned to find Klara, decked out in a glittering floor-length silver-and-white number, one of her many tiaras sitting upon her golden head; she paused on the threshold as if she expected a trumpet to announce her arrival. Nora did it instead.
“Her Royal Highness, Princess Klara Lind.” Nora’s soft voice barely carried as far as the love seat, not even ten feet from the door, but it was enough. The gentlemen jumped to their feet again, bowing and simpering a greeting, and both of them took Klara’s gloved hand in turn and kissed the back of it.
Elliot caught my eye as he rose from his bow, comically widening his eyes, and I suppressed a giggle behind my cousin’s back.
During all this pomp and circumstance, Nora scurried over to the sideboard and poured a glass of wine for Klara, which she pressed into her hand before retreating from the room. She had likely been instructed by Klara to take over things in the kitchen and serve us at dinner. Shame shot through me as I observed Ben watching her retreat. For all my posturing about royal titles, equality, and inequities in the fleet, I allowed my cousin to treat another human being like an accessory in my own home.
I resolved to invite Nora to join us for dinner, damn the consequences. And I didn’t have to wait long—after a few minutes of painful small talk, Evgenia arrived, breathless and beautiful as always, announcing that dinner was ready and we’d best move off to the dining room before it grew cold. Nora hovered on the sidelines, ready to spring into action.
“Tonight, I bring you a taste of Mother Russia,” Evgenia said with a flourish over the spread. “A variety of pelmeni, or ‘dumplings’ to the uninitiated, as well as stuffed cabbage—a bunch of dishes with cabbage, really—and everything drowning in butter.”
“Nora, please join us. We’ll serve ourselves,” I said, biting the bullet quickly. Klara didn’t dare counter me in front of our guest, though I felt her glare on the back of my neck. But it was worth Ben’s look of relief. Oddly, from Elliot I caught a flicker of doubt. Uncertainty swooped at my insides—did he think I was doing it for brownie points?
We settled into our places, and I found myself at the head of the table, flanked by Ben and Nora, opposite Klara on the other end, who was next to Elliot and Evgenia. Nora made one person too many for the six-person arrangement, but Carina didn’t seem to mind at all squeezing in between Elliot and Ben on the left side of the table.
“I want to hear more about how you met, Elliot and Ben,” Klara said, throwing the first volley my way. As the highest-ranking person here, she saw herself as the hostess for this gathering. I didn’t mind—I was curious too and didn’t want Elliot to think I was overly interested in him or his time away from me.
“When I left the Sofi three years ago, I was accepted onto the Lady Liberty on a work-vacation visa,” Elliot started. “Which meant I could work for six months and enjoy the ship’s amenities, and I was provided free housing with a family who had room to spare.”
“My dad was fascinated to have a displaced Brit, who grew up on a German ship and spent a lot of time on the Scandinavian, living with us. He loved asking questions about life on other ships,” Ben chimed in. He and Elliot shared a grin, a brotherly affection bouncing unspoken between them. Did Elliot really identify as a displaced Brit? That had never come up with us. He’d been born on the Sofi, so it seemed strange.
“I started busing tables; then I waited on them, and eventually I became a line cook.”
“How did you end up in whiskey, then?” Klara asked.
Elliot shrugged. “An opportunity came up with the beverage industry, and I pivoted.”
“Elliot is good at everything he tries.” Ben laughed. “I think my dad preferred him to me.”
“Sounds about right.” Elliot played along.
“Where is your dad now?” Carina asked.
“Oh, he died last year,” Ben said. “There was an accident. Old ships, and all that.”
The mood turned unexpectedly somber. Soon, we broke off into our own little chat clusters, Klara conversing primarily with Elliot and Evgenia, while Ben held court with the rest of us. Carina, Nora, and I were rapt as he regaled us with jokes, ghost stories, and what had to be tall tales about the richest residents of the Lady Liberty. At least I hoped.
I did my best to wing-woman my sister, turning fully to Nora to engage her in conversation as we served ourselves dessert. I hoped it would leave Ben and Carina to have some one-on-one time, which I could sense she craved.
“Tell me more about yourself, Nora,” I said, attempting to sound casual. She shot me a skeptical look. I lowered my voice. “I wanted to give them a moment to themselves. So, just making conversation.” I indicated my sister and Ben, and Nora nodded knowingly.
“Love is in the air, it would seem.” Her words dripped with sarcasm as she shot a look at Klara batting her eyelashes at Elliot while he regaled her with some story. My eyes darted down the table, but I didn’t allow myself to linger. I wanted to watch Nora and her reaction.
“I don’t think she even likes him that much,” she said, keeping her voice conspiratorially low. No hint of jealousy. “But her mother has turned up the heat on the marriage conversation, and he stands to inherit a very useful ship.”
“And he’s a good match politically, as well,” I added. “Has she mentioned anything about challenging her mother for captainship?”
“If anyone s
hould be marrying Elliot and challenging the captain, it’s not your cousin.”
“Excuse me?”
Nora raised an eyebrow in judgment. “The thing about being invisible to most people is you observe a lot.” Then she frowned, leaned in very close, and husked into my ear. “But that said, do not under any circumstances challenge your aunt. She’ll cut you down where you stand. I’ve given your cousin the same advice, gentle as I could. Same with him. You do not want to get involved in what Elliot’s got going on.”
“What do you mean?”
But Nora was done speaking on the subject. She asked Ben an innocuous question, opening us up to group conversation again, and the moment passed. I, however, was stuck. Unsettled. What did she know about my family that I didn’t? What did Nora know about Elliot? The sweet cake I’d been chewing suddenly tasted like ash; the Versailles red was bitter as I washed it down.
“None of us are drunk enough!” Evgenia proclaimed, toasting us with an empty glass. Come to think of it, she’d been drinking a lot during dinner. “Shall we adjourn to the study for more drinks and deeper conversation? We came all the way here for nothing, so we might as well have fun.”
Elliot shot her a look the meaning of which I couldn’t decipher, but then he rose from his seat. We followed him to the study, where in very short order a bottle of whiskey appeared and music was put on. An artificial fire roared in the decorative fireplace, and I calculated the energy cost. Then I chided myself for it, taking a hearty sip of my drink. This whole trip was beyond our means. I would never make the sums square.
The other girls started to dance, but I declined. With Carina vacating her spot on the couch, I plopped down next to Ben, who was the fun kind of drunk, chatty and easy. He fell into conversation with Elliot while I laid my head against the back curve of the couch, angling it toward them. At first they prattled on about silly things, like some movie Ben had seen recently that he thought Elliot would enjoy. Something with dancing and street gangs and star-crossed lovers. But then they shifted to far more interesting topics.
“How long have they been gone?” Ben lowered his voice so the dance party wouldn’t hear, but he didn’t consider my closeness.
“Three days now,” Elliot replied. “They were supposed to come here to pick up the shipment, then on to the Saint Petersburg. I messaged Dmitri. They aren’t there, either.”
“There aren’t many more possibilities.” Ben left something unspoken, something bleak and awful.
“I know,” Elliot said darkly.
“They” had to be Max and Ewan, who were supposed to be on a transport run, according to Evgenia. But it seemed they were missing, and that’s why we’d come here. It explained a lot—Evgenia’s nihilistic behavior, so unlike her, and both of them being cagey about the reason for this mini-break. This had been a missing-persons mission. Why hadn’t he just told me?
More importantly, what business were Max and Ewan involved in, exactly? People transporting normal cargo and passengers didn’t just disappear.
“Up, Elliot, now!” Klara appeared like a white witch, snapping her fingers until Elliot hopped to, like a puppet on a string. “I like this one,” she said. “But I need a proper dance partner.”
And with that, I was left with Ben on the couch. He made no move to join the revelers. Instead, I caught him watching me. I inched up to a proper sitting posture, considering him considering me.
“You’re not at all what I expected,” he said finally. The subject turning to me caught me off-guard. I’d been so wrapped up in Elliot and Max and Ewan.
“What does that mean?” I tried to keep the defensiveness in my tone to a minimum. It was hard. I imagined the worst.
“I don’t know.” He shrugged, eyes drifting over in the direction of Klara and Elliot, dancing. “If you hadn’t told me who was who, I would’ve pegged Klara for you. The illustrious Leo, the haughty princess.”
I bristled, opening my mouth to defend myself, but Ben was too quick.
“Either you’ve mellowed, or Elliot exaggerated. I suspect the latter.”
“Was it that bad?” I asked, voice small.
“He was pretty hurt,” was all Ben would offer. “But I like you. You’re tough, and smart, I can tell.”
“Can you, then?” Sarcasm crept back in, as it was wont to do, my vulnerability safely tucked back into my rib cage.
“I know you’re pretending to be drunker than you are. That’s only your third glass of wine.”
“You were counting?”
He took a drag of whiskey, smacking his lips wetly at the end, grimacing only slightly. “I like to pay attention to people, and things. I’m resourceful, and so are you.”
Here it came. He knew I’d been eavesdropping on their conversation. I readied my denials, but then Ben surprised me yet again.
“Elliot told me about your special water system. I checked out the bathroom, kitchen. I’m impressed.”
“Uh, thank you?”
“You’re welcome. He said you’re trying to sell your system to the Lady Liberty, but you’re having trouble getting hold of Miranda Fairfax.”
That perked me up. “Not ‘sell,’” I said. “But license. Like a business partnership. I want to be able to license it to other ships as well, but I need one large ship to be the guinea pig.”
“See? Resourceful and tough, like I said. I’ll talk to Miranda next week when she’s back, if you’d like. We have a standing quarterly meeting, so your timing is good.”
“Thank you. That would be amazing.” I couldn’t believe my luck, that it would be Elliot’s old friend—the person who replaced me, in a way—who would come to my family’s rescue. Ben was good people.
“So let’s talk about you and your intentions.” My gaze flitted over to my sister, and Ben’s eyes followed.
He ducked his head, as if embarrassed. “It’s a little too soon to be discussing intentions. We just met. Besides, I don’t think the likes of her would go for the likes of me.”
I shrugged. “The royalty thing is meaningless. We’re barely holding on to our ship by the skin of our teeth. And talk about fast. We have the Valg, where the results of a five-minute speed-dating conversation often determine who one will marry.”
“What about your father?”
“My father is an idiot.” I took a hard swig of wine. Then another, emptying my glass.
“On to glass number four!” Ben laughed.
I hauled myself up and breezed over to the sideboard to get a refill. When I turned back, Ben was on his feet, inching toward the dancers. I leaned against the fireplace and took another long drag of drink, watching the scene.
“Can’t we change the music?” he shouted above the current selection, some up-tempo synth-pop number. “Put on something more modern? Surely one of you has a playlist on your tab?”
I shook my head. “That thing’s a digital relic, the dongle reader many generations outdated. None of our tabs are compatible. That’s why it’s all power ballads and classical music. Whoever loaded it way back when had particular tastes. Mozart and Roxette. Very German.” I had a sense of humor about our family, at least.
“I don’t care what the music is. Dance with me, Ben!” Carina grabbed his hand, clearly delighted to finally get him in her clutches, and he obliged.
“I should put Her Royal Highness to bed,” Nora said, retrieving a near-catatonic Klara from the love seat, where she had collapsed and sprawled out, taking an impromptu nap. The girl demonstrated impressive strength, pulling Klara up by the arms, but she nearly toppled when Klara’s full weight came down on her.
“I’ll help you,” Evgenia offered with a giggle.
With their departure, instantly the mood in the room changed. The lights seemed to dim, the fire crackling lower, though I knew no one had changed the illumination settings, and the fire wasn’t real. Ben and Carina were half dancing, half carrying on deep conversation, alternating whispering something in the other’s ear and smiling wide at every shar
ed intimacy. It was cute, but it felt private, like I shouldn’t be here.
And then there was Elliot. He was without a dance partner now, which left him shuffling awkwardly to the side, taking frequent sips of his whiskey. I noticed a flush creeping up his collar, his skin telegraphing his drunkenness. He was adorable. No, I scolded myself. That kind of thinking was dangerous.
Elliot was keeping secrets and had been since he reentered my life. Every time I thought we had cleared the air, that I had pinned him down, I discovered another thing he’d kept from me. The purpose of this trip was one thing, and then I couldn’t forget the security permissions. He’d given me a neat answer, but could I trust he’d told me the truth?
He caught me watching him. His eyes locked with mine, and we played stare-down chicken, neither of us willing to break eye contact first. The room narrowed and blurred, my breathing suddenly heavy in my own ears, the seconds seeming to slow. There wasn’t a particular, easy emotion I could pin to his stare, like malice or desire. I studied him, sweat beginning to run down my brow.
Intensity. There it was, the best approximation of an emotion I could come up with. Elliot was thinking something that made his eyes burn like cold fire. Then, finally, he blinked and looked away, and I felt a surge of triumph. But then Elliot was moving, taking quick, confident strides across the room and heading straight for me.
“Dance with me,” he commanded, coming to a stop in front of me, offering me his hand.
“What?” I stammered out, sure I’d misheard him.
“I know you love to dance, so no excuses.” He struggled on the last word, replete with sibilant sounds that proved difficult to his drink-loosened tongue. But Elliot’s grip was strong as his fingers encircled my wrist, though he didn’t pull. No, he always let me take the lead, set the pace. And against my better judgment, I felt my feet move.
I longed for my glass of wine, left behind on the sideboard, as downing the rest of it might have inured me against my current panic.
Thankfully the music was upbeat enough that it didn’t warrant too much close contact. Elliot was doing an awkward yet endearing step-shuffle thing, while I was gently bobbing up and down to the beat. I would not allow my hips to loosen, my arms to flail. I was stiff with unease. I sent desperate pleas to the music player not to turn to a slow song and beg the question of a slow dance, though I glanced over at my sister and Ben, who were wrapped up in each other’s arms in spite of the tempo.
