Through the Maelstrom

by Rebekah Lewis

  Mrs. Baker nodded. "And what happened afterward?"

  "The water glowed. The boat shifted like it bumped something. A few minutes later, I found Christophe surrounded by a crowd of people." Looking totally bewildered and...out of place. Then, when she'd dragged him away and he'd followed her to her room, he'd thought she was an eighteenth-century prostitute who'd come on to him. Serena frowned. When thinking of it in a historical context, she could see how it had happened. It made it less hurtful, that understanding.

  Except it was a trick. Complete play acting, but to what end?

  The old lady nodded again. "I know there is no evidence to back it up, but your wish has come true—all you have to do is believe."

  Nothing was that simple. Fairytales didn't exist and pirates did not cross time to court twenty-first-century women because they think they are soulmates. "That seems awfully convenient."

  Mrs. Baker shrugged. "Well, what would you prefer?" she drawled in her Southern accent. "To see him fight a sea serpent for you?"

  "Now who's being sarcastic?"

  She cackled. "Let Josiah and me worry about the paperwork. I know a man in the government, a friend of my husband's. I'll see to it that Christophe has an identity when you get home. Take this time to know him, see if you can come to love him, even if not right away. You'll never forgive yourself if you avoid it out of fear." With a kind smile she added, "When will you ever get a chance like this again?"

  Becky Ann had said almost the exact same thing. It seemed too easy. Like there was an obstacle she couldn't see. "What if he goes back?" And why was Serena considering it like she was starting to believe it?

  "I wish I had a definitive answer on how the vortexes work," the older lady continued. " But the stories tell of soulmates coming together, crossing time. They do not, however, lay out the details or what happens after."

  So he could stay, but he could also return home as soon as she opens up to him. Why risk her heart for indefinites?

  Mrs. Baker's voice cut into her thoughts. "I can see by your expression that you're considering writing him off because there's nothing set in stone, but I ask you this: what is? There is no handbook for love, even for those who didn't cross time. Look at the divorce rate? Mortality rate? If you never take a risk in fear of a broken heart you will never, I repeat, never find a love worth fighting for."

  The words hit her with such force she had to gulp in air. Mrs. Baker was right. Serena hadn't even attempted to date again after her previous relationship went up in flames. The heartbreak was too hard, so she avoided opening herself up to it again. Being introverted, while challenging, had become a convenient excuse to hide behind.

  "Why would you help me?"

  "Because I see the way he looks at you. The way his expression grows wistful. I've also known women who spend their entire life alone because they are too worried about consequences to live a little."

  Serena swallowed and took a deep breath. Ending up alone scared her, but she'd grown so accustomed to living her own way, depending on herself, that she'd given up on the dream.

  Spending time with Christophe didn't mean she had to believe his farfetched story or commit to him. She glanced out the window to the stars twinkling merrily above the island. What would it hurt to befriend the man and see how that went?

  Chapter Seven

  The grand staircase had been decorated with strings of fairy lights trailing below where the ballrooms and dining areas were located. Serena shivered when she spotted Christophe awaiting her at the bottom of the stairs, dressed in his pirate clothes, fresh from his shift of photo taking. People stopped and stared at him, but she didn't pay them any mind as she hesitated on the top step.

  Bystanders were looking at her too. Becky Ann had forced her into wearing the slinky club dress she'd brought and hadn't needed. Since Serena wore the same size, it was difficult to find the proper excuse not to accept it. It was modest enough for a dinner, but far too short and low cut for a first date. She felt exposed. The crimson color made her stand out. All she wanted to do was fade into the wall and escape the intrigued glances from strangers and from Christophe, who placed a palm upon the bannister like he would climb up to retrieve her if she dared run.

  What an intriguing notion, running. Providing the chase. He'd catch her without a doubt. Serena wasn't ready for his hands on her. He'd kiss her, she'd melt again while tangling her fingers in his blond hair, and God help her, but she didn't know if she could tamp down her own desire if that happened.

  Attempting to rein in her hormones, Serena took the first step down. She prayed she didn't turn her ankle in the spiked, strappy heels and go careening down the stairs. She was almost certain the dress wouldn’t stay in place should that happen, and though she wore a pair of lace boyshorts and a strapless bra, she didn't trust the pirate not to cop any feels under the pretense of aiding her. The thought should bother her, yet she found it strangely arousing. His heated gaze wasn't helping matters any either.

  Christophe met her halfway up the stairs, placing her hand in the crook of his elbow. "You look..." he trailed off, seeming at a loss for words as sheer wonderment crossed his features. She was both delighted and mortified. She'd suspected the dress was overkill.

  "Uh...thank you. You look nice as well." God, I'm such a twit. He looked the same as he did earlier. Hot.

  He grinned as he assisted her down the stairs. "I'm much obliged that you wished to see me this eve." His left hand covered hers as she clung to his arm while he led her downstairs. She wouldn't have been able to pull away from him if she'd wanted to. In fact, her palm might have seared itself to him.

  Realizing she should reply, Serena refrained from retorting that he hadn't given her much choice since he wouldn't go away, and nodded instead. I'm so bad at this. No wonder I don't get asked on second dates.

  Hold on. When had she gone from humoring Becky Ann and Mrs. Baker to wondering about second dates? Clearly she was out of her mind, high on the pheromones he was shooting in her direction. Needing attention she'd gone far too long without.

  They were seated right away, being docked giving them an advantage since the majority of the guests were on the island. As Christophe pulled her chair out for her, she noticed Becky Ann taking a seat with Paul on the other side of the restaurant. She waved, but Serena glared. Her friend wore jeans and a T-shirt, having forced her to wear the skimpy dress. There would be retribution. Painful retribution.

  "I see your companion has found a gentleman of her own," Christophe said, taking his seat across a far too small table for two. His legs brushed hers. When she shifted, they did so again. He did it on purpose, keeping her out of her comfort zone. "I wager she's here to chaperone?" He arched a golden eyebrow and teased, "A little far away to do so properly. Besides, what if conversation needed to be course corrected?"

  "Perhaps." She licked her dry lips, ignoring how his gaze dropped, lids lowering. His nostrils flared. "Or maybe this is a really nice restaurant and they wanted to eat here too." Glasses of water had been placed for them when they arrived. Serena gulped hers, needing something to do with her hands before she started fidgeting. This is a bad idea. A really bad idea.

  The waiter approached before the conversation could go any further. Christophe ordered a pork chop with a baked potato and she asked for the filet mignon with a potato as well, but hers was mashed. She tried, and failed, to ignore the way he grinned with approval when she ordered meat instead of a salad. At least he wouldn't pressure her on her diet. Salads were great and all, but she did enjoy meat.

  Once the waiter left to put in their order, Christophe said, "It doesn't bother me if you insist on a chaperone. I know my story is a little odd, and I respect your caution. It's also no different than I'd expect where I'm from." It was interesting he'd said where and not when. Could this be a flaw in his story, or had he momentarily forgotten his circumstances?

  She folded her hands in her lap and stared at the table. "Really?" Maybe he was saying what he t
hought she wanted to hear.

  The creaking of the table shifting heralded his movements before she could comprehend what he was up to. Christophe leaned forward and tilted her chin up with two fingers, his sincere expression held her still. "Why do you shield your gaze from mine so often? Do I repulse you?"

  Is that what he believed? "N-no." The opposite was at fault. He was too good looking that she worried she would be caught staring.

  "Then why?" He dragged his fingers upward in a delicate stroke that tingled and gave her goosebumps. Then he cupped the side of her face, and before she realized what she was doing she leaned into it and sighed. A coconut scent lingered from the cruise line's signature soaps, but there was a masculine undertone to his skin that spoke to all within her that was feminine.

  The entire situation was embarrassing enough. Might as well confide in him. She pulled away, noting his hesitation before he set his arm on the edge of the table in front of him. "I don't do well in conversation with people I don't know well. Especially men."

  "I gathered as much, but why avoid eye contact?" He shook his head. "That's a habit reserved for those who have been abused or horribly shamed."

  That observation punched her in the gut and she snapped, "No one's abused me."

  "Shamed you then? He leaned back and partially pulled the hilt of the sword up ever so much. “I can run them through for you, if you'd like. I'm told I'm not likely to appear in any criminal databases, whatever those are. Sounds suspicious though."

  "Ha ha." She crossed her arms, lowered them, and then clasped them in her lap. He joked so easily about his lies. Her old shame had been brought to the surface by his words, something she had kept buried for years. She found herself speaking before she could think better of it. "I was loner as a teen. A nerd. Some of the football players placed bets on who could rack up the most points sleeping with the girls in the school." She laughed bitterly, and his frown intensified. "Classic dick move that happens throughout the country, I suppose."

  He nodded for her to continue.

  "Brett Youngerman was our quarterback, and he was every girl's crush back then." She paused and sipped her water as the server returned with two glasses of red wine. Christophe's deepening scowl told her without words he already could see where this story was headed, and his indignation matched her own.

  She gave him the short version. "I thought he cared for me. We went on a few dates, and then he wanted to fool around. I was reserved, sure, but having never had a boyfriend before him... I-I let him talk me into it on the pretense that everyone was doing it. We were the posterchildren of the peer-pressure cliché. I didn't enjoy my first time. At all. The next day he wouldn't so much as speak to me, yet everyone else was shooting looks my way like they knew. Like I was this horrible loose woman and he was a saint among men."

  Blinking rapidly, she fought off the tears that painful memory brought her. The irrefutable damage it had done to her self-esteem and trust in men. "Everyone did know. Virgins were the highest points to score in their stupid game." And she'd become more closed off than she'd been before. In the back of her mind, all men thought the way Brett had. Everyone else who looked at her were determining if she was a slut or not. It didn't matter that she knew the majority of people glancing her way didn't think twice about her. Irrational fears were considered irrational for good reason.

  Fast-forward to a day ago, when Christophe had made her feel desirable, before he mistook her for a prostitute and then proceeded to tell her he was from the past. Three hundred years in the past. Perhaps fear was warranted. People took advantage of those who appeared meek. How did she know what was real and what was fantasy when the man had frowned at various words she'd used but looked at her like she was the most beautiful woman on the planet?

  Confusing was putting it mildly. She wished she could believe his story. How romantic that would be.

  ***

  He would gut the bastard who'd hurt her. Christophe doubted she'd point him in the direction to do so. Men like this Brett coward didn't deserve to breathe the same air as a gentle, beautiful woman, let alone touch them. He pushed his chair back and kneeled beside Serena, grasping her hands as she stared down at him. She seemed a bit stunned by his appearance there.

  Christ, no wonder she'd reacted as she had the first night when he'd been so out of sorts with where he was and with all that had changed. Had she relived that awful experience because of his error? All he could do to amend it was prove he wanted her beyond the intimacy they would eventually find in each other's arms. If he was anything at all, Christophe was a patient man. "I cannot right his wrong, but I can promise you this: I was drawn to you the moment you shoved your way into that crowd and placed your hand upon my arm. I am yours." What could he say to even begin to atone for his own actions?

  The corner of her lips tilted up and she rasped out a chuckle. "That's so cheesy."

  "There we are." He lifted his palm to her cheek and she trembled. "Give us a smile. That's all I wish to see lighting your face. Never sorrow, or pain, or distrust. Though you do say the strangest things sometimes."

  She pulled her other palm free of his and clasped her hands in her lap once more. Was she hiding her fidgeting, or did she long to touch him? He wished she would put her hands on him. "You're smooth. I'll give you that," she said.

  "Ooh, congratulations on the engagement!" her chaperone shouted from across the room.

  Serena's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets as she held his gaze. "Oh. My. God." She whirled around. "We're not engaged! Who shouts that across a restaurant?"

  Her friend, Becky Ann he believed her name was, brought a hand to her cheek. "Oops. My bad." She blew a curled strand of blonde hair from her eye and grinned. The dark-haired man she was with appeared ready to sneak away. The few other diners were staring at Serena, who'd gone silent and still after her outburst. She covered her face in her hands and swore colorfully.

  He tried, he really did, but in keeping his lips pressed together, a great snort escaped when he inhaled again. Hearing a gentle woman use such language was so absurd on its own, then given the situation...

  "Shut up." Serena slowly twisted back in her seat to face him. Her cheeks were flushed, as well as her chest. Suddenly he wasn't laughing anymore as he imagined what else would cause that color to appear there. "It's not funny."

  "No." He gulped down wine, barely tasting it and returning to his seat before the evidence of his arousal became apparent. "No, it isn't." When she realized he wasn't going to carry on and tease her, the tension left her shoulders and she slumped. "Tell me about this movie you are taking me to see." He hoped to distract her back to being at ease with him again.

  "You've never seen Pirates of the Caribbean? Oh, that's right. You're from 'the past.'" She wiggled the first two fingers on each of her hands in the air. "You probably lived it."

  "Pirates, eh?"

  She giggled. "It was scheduled already. I didn't pick it, but I do own the films on DVD."

  Christophe had no idea what she was talking about, but he smiled as she continued to talk to him about movies, which he gathered were like moving photographs that told a story, like a play. It would be interesting to see, if anything. One day, perhaps he would understand all the changes in the world. At the moment, the only thing that mattered was what made her happy. Her smile warmed him. One day, perhaps she'll talk about me with such affection.

  Before long, their food arrived and Christophe was riveted to her tales of some notorious Captain Jack Sparrow he would see in the movie. Aye, if she admired this other pirate, there was hope for him.

  Chapter Eight

  Serena found a set of upright wooden chairs with cushions on the upper deck overlooking where the screen was set up. They were on a step up from the walkway so the railing wouldn't obscure their view, and far enough to the end that there wouldn't be too many people passing in front of them. More passengers were returning from dinner on the island and settling in around them to watch the mov
ie. Christophe scooted his chair closer to hers and sat back, his arm brushing hers. Would he try to hold her hand? Would she let him?

  When he didn't make a move to do so, she absolutely wasn't disappointed. Well, mostly. She occupied herself with fussing over whether or not her skirt would ride up and flash everyone.

  There was no telling where Becky Ann had sneaked off to, but Serena had a feeling she'd be close by if needed. Just...out of striking range. Engagement? Really? She'd gone to dinner with him, "playing along" with the whole time travel shenanigans. She had to admit, though, the way some of her pop culture and modernizations made him scrunch his forehead in contemplation was pretty good acting. Of course, he was an actor. Authenticity and all that. And he was completely method with it, never breaking character.

  The lights on deck dimmed, leaving enough illumination in walkways to not be hazardous. He started to say something, but the music in the opening scene pulled his attention to the screen. The title appeared, faded, and then the film revealed the smoke-covered sea and a young girl singing the song made famous by the theme park ride the movie was based on.

  Christophe's eyes were wide. He sat up and leaned forward. Serena could not tear her gaze away from him, almost wanting to reach out and clutch his hand to share in the wonderment crossing his features. If he was play acting, he deserved an Oscar for the performance. "This is...amazing!" He turned to her, a huge grin across his handsome features like a child on Christmas morning. "Thank you for sharing it with me."

  "Oh, well, the ship decided to show it," she rambled. "I can't really take the cre—"

  "Take the compliment, love." This time he did capture her hand in his, twining their fingers together. Warmth flooded through her, but not from embarrassment. She stared at their fingers clasped together, considered pulling her hand free, but didn't. What would it serve to break contact she craved but couldn't find it in her to ask for? Hand holding never hurt anyone, and it was...nice.