She had a problem.
“... Delysia?”
She blinked and came back down to earth. The din outside the train had quieted, finally; the influencers on board had gone to their suites to check in.
“It’s starting to snow,” Alexander said, and went to draw back the heavy velvet curtains shielding their little cocoon of luxury from prying eyes. It was an ideal post to make for their launch, but for once Delysia didn’t feel like snapping a photo with her phone.
“Let’s sit,” she said, indicating the two damask chairs in front of the fire. Alexander looked surprised but pleased, and the two settled themselves into their seats. Delysia eased her feet out of her tight shoes. Alexander stared out the window, a little dreamily. This was a good place to dream, she thought.
After a moment she rummaged in her handbag, pulled out a tiny flask and uncapped it. Alexander lifted his brows.
“Don’t judge me, it was sent as a gift,” she said with a laugh. “I think...maybe we can have a drink for your dad?”
He looked shocked, then touched. “Delysia—”
“He sort of started this off, didn’t he?”
“He did.” Alexander smiled, a little tremulously, and Delysia tipped the little bottle back against her lips, then handed it to him. Alexander did the same, and returned it to her. When their fingers touched he held hers fast, for a fraction of a second.
“Thank you,” he said, and the words were heavy with things unsaid. Delysia felt that now-familiar surge of emotion that seemed to come whenever he looked at her like that; now it was her turn to clear her throat. She didn’t know whether it was the ridiculously romantic setting, or the legacy of the man whose essence almost seemed to linger in this tiny space, the legacy he’d left them, or Alexander himself, but...
“It was nothing,” she whispered, and bit her lip.
* * *
The Gilded Express pulled off exactly on schedule in a flurry of thick white flakes, its passengers giddy with excitement, ready for a week of play-acting at the highest level. There was something infinitely exciting about wandering from car to car at barely half past two, dressed in evening finery, in surroundings as luxurious as any of the finest hotels. Servers circulated the lounge cars holding trays of canapés obtained from Boston’s Plaza Hotel. Brandy, whisky, and mulled wine were passed around in heavy crystal-cut goblets of Romanov glass borrowed from a private collection Alexander had sourced. It was opulence at the highest level (carefully tempered with nods to sustainability, to the environment, of course).
Later that night guests would have towels and soap laid out and have their eiderdown quilts turned down, with chocolates and tea and cherry brandy and whisky offered before bed. They didn’t feel like they were in the real world anymore; this felt as if they’d been transported to some faraway land, making the din outside irrelevant. It was audacious. And for the moment, it was a roaring success.
Delysia had spent years building an image of herself online—she knew how to craft a narrative of beauty, of richness, of a life that would inspire envy, or awe, or at the very least spark a curiosity that would keep followers hitting that little heart-shaped “like” button. However, she’d never been the driving force behind something this big.
She hung back a little when she reached the lounge car. She and Alexander had agreed to arrive separately, to mingle a little, and he was already there. She could see Faye across the room as well, her thin shoulders enveloped in black feathers, looking incredibly smug.
Alexander, resplendent in a black tuxedo, a glass of barely touched Hibiki in his left hand, was perched on a high barstool by the south windows, gesturing to three influencers that she recognized immediately. She was pretty sure Alexander didn’t, though.
He’d started the night off with a touching acknowledgment of the history of the lands they would pass through on the journey, of their legacy, their beauty, their strength. He then gave a brief overview of the night’s activities, and invited them to “laugh, love, and delight” to their heart’s content that night.
Delysia waited for a lull in conversation, then snuggled into his side and put her lips to his ear. “Very well done.”
His smile was slight. “I’m a professor. Rhetoric is virtually our only useful quality.”
“You two are charming,” Aya Trent, an influencer who’d made her name hawking lip-plumping gloss, said indulgently. She patted her date on the hand, kissed both of them, then winced. “Dear God, Eden Kim is staring right at us. Get me out of here,” she hissed to her date, then turned to Delysia as she prepared to flee. “She hasn’t stopped grilling me about you since her birthday party.” She was gone in an instant.
“Her birthday...” Alexander looked bemused.
“Yes, it was her party at the club we went to that night.” That first night, when Alexander had surprised Delysia with a kiss that she still felt down to her toes. Delysia shifted from heel to heel. Her dress this evening, a flapper-inspired, heavily beaded number that she described to her followers as a “really chic lampshade” touched the floor round her feet but left her back completely bare. She should have been uncomfortable at the pressure of Alexander’s hand on her skin, but instead she felt warm. Safe. He was touching her more intimately than he had before. It was as if the lull of the swaying train, coupled by the warmth of food and alcohol and pleasantness, had blunted some of the chivalry he wrapped around himself like a shield.
“Ah,” Alexander said quietly, then grinned. “The tiara? The circus?”
“Yes. In more ways than one. That was pretty understated for her, actually.”
“She seemed pleasant enough that night.”
“She’s a vicious gossip on a good day and she’s constantly...” Delysia trailed off. When she was sharing these details with Alexander’s serious face, it all just seemed so sophomoric. “We live in the same town, have a similar aesthetic. Most of my followers follow her too, so I guess it’s a scramble for endorsements.”
“And you’ve just got a bunch of large ones, with this project.”
“Yes!” He got it, exactly. “Plus—” She hesitated.
Alexander raised an eyebrow.
“I dated her twin brother for a while,” Delysia stammered. “You met him. Nicky.”
“Ah.” At that, Alexander looked very interested, but now Eden was heading deliberately toward them, her dark brown eyes ringed heavily with kohl. She’d completely ignored the theme of the evening, choosing instead a tight sequined green number that made her look exactly, Delysia thought, like Poison Ivy. The supervillain, not the plant. In motion, catching the lights, the sequins made her feel a little nauseous, too. Or maybe that was just her natural reaction to Eden.
“Your window for escape is closing,” Alexander muttered.
“Then help me look busy,” Delysia said. It was as if some quick-moving alien had taken over her body, acting for her even against her better choices. She half-turned. “There,” she said, indicating a little alcove that led to the connecting door between cars; miraculously, it was empty. She took his hand, tugged it so he would move faster.
“Delysia?”
“Don’t talk,” she said quietly, once they were half-hidden, and still feeling as if she were moving outside her own body, rose on tiptoe and kissed him.
She knew she was in over her head the moment their lips touched—this was nothing like their kisses for the camera up until now, and Alexander wasn’t holding back. She realized in one startled moment that Alexander Abbott-Hill was a damned good kisser when he wasn’t trying to be as...gentleman-like. He took his time, smelled incredible, and his lips were deliciously warm and slow, flavored by the smoothest, smokiest whisky she’d ever tasted. The inches between them evaporated like smoke.
When they finally parted, both of them were breathing hard, and Alexander’s lips dropped to her neck. The touch was like a live wire to
all her senses. His hands dropped to her hips, and she gripped his lapels, suddenly feeling a little faint.
Oh, the Krug was a bad idea. Bad, bad, bad idea.
“I’m not sure this is the place, Delysia,” Alexander said softly against her neck. She clamped her thighs together in response—she couldn’t speak—but not tightly enough. Christ.
“Caught you!”
At the sound of Eden’s voice the two sprang apart, almost guiltily. Delysia managed to recover first, cleared her throat. “Eden!” she said brightly.
Eden wagged her finger in mock chastisement, then leaned in and air-kissed Delysia on both cheeks, eyes glittering insincerely. “Good to see you both again, and I’m glad Delysia kept you around! How cute you two are—like a couple of teenagers, no? What a triumph, Delly. Everyone seems to be blown away. Picture, darling?”
Delysia jabbed a slightly confused—and definitely still dazed—Alexander in the ribs and hissed “Smile” between her teeth before relaxing into her usual, practiced, post-ready pose.
Once Eden was done, she turned back to them, smiling that reptilian smile. “You look absolutely adorable. Very in love.”
“Oh, that’s merely the glow of exhaustion from all this planning,” Alexander said lightly.
Eden laughed. “She never looked like this while dating Nicky.”
Bitch, Delysia thought, and her stomach lurched violently. She didn’t know why she was so angry; after all, Nicky had been a long time ago, and Alexander hadn’t even known her then. All she knew was that it was vitally important that she not ever, ever look ridiculous in his eyes. And now, all she felt was shame. Shame.
Calm down. He doesn’t know. And he’d never know how hard she’d fallen for Nicky—and how utterly devastated she was when he’d cut her loose. Even Eden didn’t know. Only Faye did, and Delysia knew the woman would never tell a soul.
Eden was still talking. “I find your work fascinating, Dr. Abbott-Hill. I’m from Seoul, you know, and our travel systems there...”
Eden’s voice faded in and out as Delysia peeked over her shoulder at the party. She supposed she should thank Eden for killing her buzz. She’d been this close to dragging Alexander back to their suite and...
Her face heated at the thought. What was wrong with her? Alexander’s hand was resting on her hip now, making lazy circles on her fabric-covered skin. The only things that seemed to matter right now were warmth, and softness, and a serious surge of lust.
She looked at Alexander, and to her surprise, his expression was...amused? Eden finished her speech and headed back to the bar; the two watched her go.
“Interesting young lady,” Alexander said dryly, then patted Delysia absentmindedly on the hip he held, released her, and maneuvered round her to head back to the party. “Faye says there’s a man here who owns a small fleet of yachts, can you imagine? I wonder if he’d be interested in adding a luxury car to his collection. Oh, did you want me to refresh your drink, Delysia?”
“I—no,” she sputtered, feeling as if she’d been hit in the face by a dash of cold water. “No. Nothing at all.”
“All right then, I suppose we’ll run into each other later. Cheers. I’ll do my best to avoid your friend. Oh, and check your phone,” he added, pulling his out and typing as he walked away.
Bereft, Delysia stood in the passage for a moment, still feeling a bit stunned and clutching to her bag as if to dear life. When it vibrated, she opened it with all the focus of a sleepwalker. She held the screen up to her face, squinted. What she saw made a lump rise in her throat.
It was them, about an hour before they’d left, on the train platform. He’d sent it to her, with one of those little yellow emojis tipping its lips up into a half-smile. It was shot in the orange-tinted light of late dusk, on the train platform, Alexander in his usual brown tweeds, her in her Sabrina drag. They weren’t kissing; this must have been before or after that. His forehead was rested on hers, and their body language was unmistakable. His arms were wrapped around her waist, their noses were touching, and the expression on his face—
A text came through then. Faye thinks this is a good one.
Delysia slumped against the wall, welcoming the vibrations of the swaying train. Suddenly, inexplicably, she felt like she wanted to cry.
* * *
The launch party aboard the Gilded Express was absolutely exhausting, but it was far from their last obligation of the night. They were scheduled to attend an evening Red Sox game along with their fellow passengers. During the planning stages, both Delysia and Alexander had balked at the idea.
“I hate baseball,” she’d groused. “Bunch of men in ugly jumpsuits flailing around in the dirt.”
Alexander had been quick to agree. “I’ve only been to a game once, and I was hit by a foul ball. Never again. Besides, it’s not exactly in keeping with the theme of the trip, is it? There’s nothing luxurious about baseball—and isn’t baseball over in November?”
Faye had been immovable. “It’s a charity game, it’s against the Mets, and you have no idea what strings I had to pull to get us seen there at all. It’s a coup for all of you, really. You’ll go and you’ll shut up about it.”
She appeared at their suite once the train completed its short journey to Fenway Park, armed with jerseys, pennants, caps. “What side?” she demanded as soon as Alexander opened the door. Then her eyes bugged out of her head. “Why aren’t you ready?”
“Because we don’t want to go,” Delysia drawled from the place on the sofa where she’d been lost in a vintage copy of Life magazine with Diana Ross on the cover. She’d been quiet since the afternoon party, saying little. Alexander had put aside the concern that nagged at him, choosing to bury his nose in a book of his own. Thinking meant ruminating over their passionate encounter earlier, not to mention the train platform itself, and the fact that the start of this journey seemed to have unleashed something in both of them that neither was ready to admit was there.
It was almost a relief to have Faye burst in on them like that.
“You will go,” she said, dumping the lot into Alexander’s arms, “and you’ll cheer and laugh and eat hot dogs and drink beer and do whatever else they do at baseball games.”
“Are you coming?” Alexander said, and a bit acidly.
“I wouldn’t be caught dead. Twenty minutes,” Faye warned, and was gone.
Their eyes met and they both sighed, simultaneously. Then they began to laugh.
“Please tell me you’re taking one of those enormous handbags,” he said, gesturing to the Balenciaga Delysia had carried aboard. “I’m putting a book in it.”
“It’d better be a small one,” Delysia said darkly. She stood and began rooting through the pile of...stuff Faye had brought. “Mets or Red Sox? I think you look better in blue.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Alexander found himself fighting a smile, despite himself; Delysia saw it and raised her brows. “What?”
“I think we finally found something in common,” he said with a laugh. “A decided lack of enthusiasm for baseball.” Inwardly, he was grateful.
Perhaps a baseball game would be exactly what they needed to get rid of the weirdness that had followed them since that kiss on the platform—and the kisses that had followed during the lounge party, kisses that still lit up something warm and low in his abdomen when he thought of them. He could say categorically that the platform kiss was for the cameras, no matter how good it’d felt. He couldn’t say the same for the party, though, and Delysia certainly wasn’t keen to clarify anything.
He sneaked a look at her. She was preoccupied with poking one arm, then the other, through the arms of a Mets hoodie rendered in an aggressive shade of orange.
He sighed inwardly.
* * *
Once he’d gotten over his initial moans and groans, Alexander had to admit that the outing was kind of fun. He’d never
been to Fenway Park, and the energy of the crowds pouring into the stadium was infectious. Faye had arranged for them all to move in a group that night, and all ten couples laughed, passed around a covert bottle of Krug, and posed for photographs on the sidewalk. Nicky and Eden, to his relief, were friendly but kept their distance.
Alexander felt absolutely out of place, although he tried his best to hide it. He smiled at the jokes whether he got them or not, made himself de facto photographer whenever the group wanted to pose, and was sure to give Delysia plenty of space. When the group finally was in line to enter one of Fenway Park’s luxury suites, he hung back a little, closed his eyes, and took a breath. God. The game hadn’t even started yet. There would be cheering and jumping and even more posing, with Miller Lite beers and with foot-long hot dogs, and Faye had hinted, terrifyingly, at a stint on the kiss cam.
He jumped a little when he felt Delysia’s hand on his arm. “You okay?” Her face was enveloped completely by that massive orange Mets hoodie; it definitely wasn’t her color.
“Fine!” His voice sounded a little odd, even to him, and he cleared his throat before continuing. “A little tired.”
Delysia smiled, just a little. “You look like you did at Eden’s birthday party.”
“How was that?”
“Like you wanted to run.”
He laughed, just a little, and rubbed his eyes. “It actually wasn’t as bad then,” he admitted. “Big parties are...” He paused, trying to find the words. “You can kind of melt into the crowd, be an observer. Here—” He gestured, took a breath. “In about a half hour I’ve taken about a hundred pictures, heard about Aya’s wedding, FaceTimed with Elliot and Dean’s one-year-old, agreed to be featured in Kaylee’s music video, playing a bartender...”
The Sweetest Charade Page 10