“Delysia...” She hesitated again. “We’ve known each other for quite a few years, and let me tell you—Delysia loves hard, Alexander. Very hard. It isn’t difficult for her to fall for someone, and when she does she means it wholeheartedly. Nicky Kim devastated her. So if this is because you like her and want to make a...gesture, I’ll help you. But if this is about just business, I’ll send her a thank-you card and a succulent for her apartment in your name. Don’t muddy the waters.”
For a long moment all they could hear was the rocking of the train and clicking of the wheels on the tracks, along with the quiet murmurs of the two or so couples that were seated in the lounge.
Alexander bit the inside of his cheek, hard. It was stupid, but for a moment he felt as he had in that awful story he’d told Delysia, approaching the parent of a girl he liked. Still, this wasn’t freshman year, and when he spoke his voice was steady and clear. “I want to make a gesture. And...thank you for telling me that, Faye.”
She smiled her small, brittle smile, then reached out to grab her phone. She still wasn’t typing, though. “So. Tell me what you’re envisioning, then.”
Alexander took a deep breath. “I want her to be comfortable. I want her to have fun. I want her to know that I’m...honored to be with her.”
A glimmer of respect came into Faye’s eyes. “Budget?”
“Well...do let’s be reasonable. I am a professor, after all.”
“And an Abbott-Hill.”
“The name didn’t come with an endowment.”
Faye laughed, a short, barking sound.
“I do know quite a few people in DC...” His voice trailed off. “What does she like, Faye? I know she loves food, and parties, and that Audrey Hepburn film...”
“You’ve learned quite a lot about her in the past few weeks,” Faye said dryly.
Alexander reddened, but then he sat up abruptly.
“What?” demanded Faye.
“I’ve got it,” Alexander said, almost in wonder. “You’ll just have to get her to show up, if you can. At the harbor. She’ll need warm clothes and sturdy shoes, nonslip ones. I’ll look at her shoes in our room, get her size—”
“I can get you that.”
“Thank you, Faye. And here’s what we’ll need, also...”
* * *
It was afternoon when the Gilded Express pulled into DC, twenty minutes ahead of schedule, and Alexander, Delysia thought, had been uncommonly jittery all morning. He kept looking at his watch, rushing off to make mysterious calls behind doors, jumped practically a foot whenever she spoke to him. It was amusing and irritating at the same time, and she was grateful for it, in a way. It prevented her from having to be anxious about...well, whatever it was he had planned.
Their date.
Even the thought of it produced a tingle of anticipation that went from her heart to the very tips of her toes. She couldn’t look at him without her heart hammering in that odd manner that was both new and familiar, and she kept finding excuses to talk to him, as casually as possible of course, or to touch him just as casually, on his arm, his shoulder, his back. When she did he would give her one of those small smiles that were almost breathtaking in their intensity.
“Will you still have time for me in DC?” was all he’d said about their date, and when she nodded, somewhat dumbly: “Okay, we’ll go together at one. Dress warmly and bring an evening gown and shoes.”
At that, she managed a smile. “Not white tie?”
He winced. “I deserved that. No, bring whatever you’d like.”
That, of course, had resulted in Delysia’s emptying out her entire wardrobe onto the bed and picking, dissatisfied, at her clothing. Too bad she couldn’t get a delivery to a moving train! She called Faye, barking reproachfully about men who wanted to drive her crazy by trying to be mysterious, and where the hell did they get those ideas?
Faye, in rare form, actually showed up in person ten minutes later. She looked at the piles of fabric draped over chairs, bed, and sofa.
“Some of them are gifts,” Delysia said defensively. “I haven’t endorsed some of them yet.”
“No, no, tonight isn’t a night for endorsements.” Faye shifted gingerly through the mess on the bed, then pulled out a wad of pale fabric, a soft color that was something between a blush and a rose. Delysia had bought it on a whim while on a trip to Paris, in a no-name boutique on the Rue Saint-Honoré. She’d been drawn in by the delicacy of the design and the fineness of the fabric, but hadn’t worn it since. She was gifted so many clothes on a regular basis that she barely had time to wear the pieces she bought herself anymore.
“Your most delicate jewelry, soft makeup,” Faye said briskly.
“Oh Faye. It’s perfect,” she murmured.
“Well. You may not be thanking me later. It’s got a ton of buttons and straps, not too easy to get off.”
“Faye!”
The older woman smiled at Delysia’s blushing, then patted her on the shoulder. “I’m going to go. Have fun.”
“Faye...”
“Have you got condoms, though?”
“Faye!”
Faye gave a slow and rusty laugh. “He’s nervous, too.”
At that, Delysia’s jaw dropped. “So you—”
“Just call me your fairy godmother,” Faye said briskly. “Now get your bag packed. We pull into DC in twenty minutes.”
* * *
Miraculously, Delysia was ready at one, bag in hand, dressed in flannel-lined jeans, a windbreaker over a turtleneck, with gloves and boots firmly in place and an enormous, Cossack-guard-style fur hat angled on her curls. Alexander met her by the door as the influencers queued to get off. He looked her over once, very carefully.
“What?” Delysia said defensively. “You said to dress warmly. I don’t want to be cold.”
“No, indeed,” Alexander agreed, and placed a hand on her lower back, steering her along. She couldn’t feel it through her reasonably heavy clothing, but she was more than aware of every finger. “Actually, I rather like it.”
“You wouldn’t dare not to, not after the other night.” Delysia tossed her head and yanked her hat down over her ears to protect them from the wind as Alexander took her bag. “Is that the Williamsburg sweater?”
“Yes, it is.” He wore it under a fisherman’s vest, with a pair of tailored black jeans and boots. Delysia couldn’t recall when she’d ever seen him that casual, even when he’d been working on the train. The look suited him, but she wasn’t going to say that.
“Where are we going?”
Alexander’s eyes lit up, and he gave her one of his quiet smiles. “It’s a two-part date,” he said. “First one starts in this Uber—”
And he gestured to the black Mercedes waiting as they left the platform. The driver whisked away their bags and when they were settled in the cushy black leather seat, Alexander still refused to tell her where they were going. “It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I did now, would it?”
“Oh, dear Christ,” Delysia muttered, then sat back. She tried to maintain her exasperated expression, but her heart was actually beating in anticipation. Alexander peered into her face, and then laughed aloud.
“You look like you want to kill me,” he said, amused.
“That’s because I do,” she groused.
“Well, it’s not a secret. We’re going to the harbor.”
“The harbor.” Water, she presumed. Ships. Sailboats. Swimming? Surely not in winter? Did Alexander even like to swim? All the man cared about was trains and history.
They reached the boatyard and left the car. The driver handed Alexander a large insulated bag that she hadn’t noticed before; he must have brought it himself. Alexander slung the strap across his shoulder, picked up the duffel that presumably held his evening clothes.
“Let’s go,” he said mildly, and
set off in the direction of the boatyard.
They followed the water down a strip of concrete to get to the docks; there was some activity there, but not much. The cool weather had most boats already covered and locked tight for the cooler months. Some were up on racks; one was being lifted from the water by a groaning crane. Many, many boats, too many to count, were moored at short docks. There were a few people, dressed as warmly as Alexander and Delysia were, furling sails and locking hulls. A few boats were in view of the docks, bobbing in the misty gray water.
Alexander was scanning the lay of the land with purpose. Then his face cleared. “There it is,” he said, and set off quickly in the direction of one of the docks. A boat, as neatly locked down as the others, floated a few feet off the dock; Alexander grabbed her hand, went toward it almost at a run. He looked down at Delysia and grinned.
“Can you jump on board?” he asked. “I can definitely pull it in closer if you need.”
Delysia was dumbfounded. “We’re going out on a boat?”
“That’s how we’re getting where we’re going for dinner.” Alexander laughed at the look on her face. “Don’t give me that. I’ve seen you on boats on your Instagram page, and Faye says you love the water.”
“That was in August! In Dubai!” Delysia sputtered. “And you own a boat?”
“No, but I’ve got a friend who does. One of the benefits of going to prep school. C’mon—” he said, and jumped first, then held out his hand.
“You’ll catch me if I fall?” Delysia said, half-jokingly.
“That, or we’ll go down together.”
Delysia landed safely and by the time she did, the exercise had eliminated much of the cold. The boat—“she” as Alexander insisted on calling her—wasn’t big at all.
“But she’s got everything,” Alexander said excitedly. “God, I’d completely forgotten. We used to practically live on this thing in the summer. Ridiculously efficient,” he bragged. He showed Delysia a mini-fridge that ran on solar power, and a table that swung down on heavy hinges in front of a sofa that could double as a sleeping space once it was tugged out from the wall.
“So you sail, too,” Delysia said softly, after he had settled her on the couch and poured her a cup of hot chocolate. The cooler, it turned out, was packed with food and drink—coffee, hot chocolate, sandwiches, chips, deviled eggs, half of a chocolate cake.
Alexander lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I guess I’ve always been sort of fascinated with the way people travel. Not airplanes, though,” he said quickly. “Flying tin cans. I would rather take a train any day, even if it takes twice as long. And boats can be just as nice.”
The two sat side by side for a long moment, drinking. The rich, creamy blend was made from real chocolate, sugar, and hot milk; Delysia found it absolutely decadent.
“It’s about a forty-minute trip across the bay,” he said. “We’ll continue on the other side.”
“And you’re going to sail this?”
“Her,” he corrected. “The Maureen, to be exact. After a grandmother, or an ex-lover. I can’t remember which.” He launched into a long and detailed explanation about jibs and masts and sails and tacking and keels and riding flat. When he finished, he took a deep breath. “Got all that?”
Delysia grinned. “I know that the boat will rotate, and I’m supposed to look out for the boom when it does. And I suspect that’s all I need to know. And now I also have an idea of what your students go through in your lectures.”
Offended, Alexander opened his mouth to retort, but was cut off when a man—presumably one who came with the boat—stomped on board, gnawing on half of a ham sandwich. He selected a beer from the stuffed cooler and greeted them briefly.
“Tiller or sails?” he barked.
“Tiller is fine.” Alexander motioned to Delysia to come near him, where he was guiding the tiller. Their nameless captain was fidgeting with the sails; after several minutes he shouted that he was going below deck. When his head disappeared below the ladder, Alexander smiled at her. “He’s supposed to be the one to sail us over, but I wanted to show off.”
“Don’t capsize us,” Delysia teased, and he laughed.
“Not much danger of that, which is why I decided I’d risk showing off. It isn’t a very windy day.”
“The Maureen seems pretty laid-back, yes.” She offered him a little smile. Alexander’s lean body moved easily, at one with the ship; his hands looked strong and capable. “So you learned this in school?”
“There are a lot of little rich boys who learn how to sail,” he said dryly. “It was over two summers, mostly. I would come out here and spend at least a month with Tim and his family. It was nice.” He hesitated. “I was pretty short on close friends in high school. Tim was a notable exception.”
Delysia could imagine how nice it was. She was tense at first, afraid she would lose her footing because of the choppy water, but it wasn’t so. It took only a bit of time before she was accustomed to the rocking of the boat, her body adjusting to the rhythm, becoming a part of it. She drank her hot chocolate, watched Alexander, and peered up at the brilliant blue sky.
“Freeing, isn’t it?” Alexander said.
“It is. My mother would love this. She loves the water.” Delysia lowered herself to the deck, crossed her legs beneath her. It was cold, but she was so warmly dressed it didn’t matter. Plus, the way Alexander was looking at her—well. It warmed her from somewhere deep inside, made her think of roaring fires and soft couches and the heat of bare skin on hers.
“How is she?”
“The same.” Delysia tugged off a glove and chewed nervously at her thumbnail. “But when someone’s that sick, no news is actually good news, I suppose.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be,” Delysia said, simply. “She’ll get better. Maybe not soon, but eventually. And I have the means to take care of her.”
Alexander nodded, and for once, Delysia didn’t feel like he was making fun of what she did. “It’s given a lot of people an opportunity they wouldn’t have, otherwise.”
“Yes.”
They were quiet for a few minutes; Alexander offered to let her sail, but she shook her head. She was content to watch him, to look at the gradually disappearing shore, to daydream.
“Are you enjoying yourself?”
“I am.”
“I’m glad.” He hesitated, then smiled one of those quick bashful smiles of his. “I’m surprised you haven’t made the connection yet.”
“What connection?”
Alexander laughed out loud. “One point for Faye. She said you wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t get what?”
“Sabrina.” Alexander was still smiling. “The sailing scene. Oh, it’s so far off, it’s a disaster. This boat’s bigger, and it’s not summer, and I’m certainly no Bogart. But when I asked what you might like, Faye said, ‘Anything from that damned movie,’ and I knew Tim kept his boat here, starting in the fall, and—oh, stop laughing,” he said impatiently. Delysia was shaking at this point. “I know. I know.”
“Would you like me to sing ‘We Have No Bananas’?”
“Oh, dear God no. No. Certainly not,” but he was smiling. Delysia managed to wipe her eyes and took a deep breath, finally escaping her giggles.
“You’re so incredibly sweet,” she said softly. Then she navigated around the tiller, enough to bend and kiss him full on the mouth. Alexander was so startled he nearly let go, and when she skittered back, he looked quite awkwardly pleased.
“No, you’re not Bogie, but you’re terribly nice,” Delysia said, and laughed again. “I’m never going to forget this.”
“Good—that’s the idea.” He smiled, then frowned. “Why Sabrina? I’ve always meant to ask that.”
She looked surprised, then she laughed. “It’s the ultimate love story. Plus,
my mother loved it. Same as yours.”
“I see.”
She raised her hand to shield her eyes, peered out over the water. “I’ve never actually sailed before. I’ve been on yachts or rowboats, but never a proper boat like this one.”
“Enjoy it. We make land in about an hour.”
Delysia extended her legs, gazed out over the water.
“You should probably get your phone out,” he suggested. “I mean...”
He was right; this would make an epically funny post. She could hear it already in her head: a gripe about her boyfriend dragging her out in the cold, perhaps followed by an admission that yes, the water was beautiful, perhaps followed by a picture of the two of them, snuggled close beside the till. She didn’t want to do that, though; this felt private somehow, like a memory she wanted to share with only him in months to come.
The thought made her shift uncomfortably, made her cheeks warm a little. She was surprised at the feeling it gave her, of a happiness that crept up with warm fingers to her heart. It would be easy to fall in love with Alexander, even easier than it had been in the past. He was just—he was nowhere near perfect, but he just felt so absolutely right sometimes.
She wished with a sudden burst of longing that surprised even her that he wasn’t on the tiller, so she could press herself to his side. Kiss him, maybe.
“Delysia,” he said gently.
She looked up.
“We’ll be there soon. And then we have all night.”
The words hung in the air like words sometimes do, and Delysia forced a smile against the sudden flip her stomach made. “All night? What are you hinting at, Alexander?”
“What—no. No,” he said forcefully, and actually let go of the till for a moment. The look on his face—“Oh. Very funny, Delysia Daniels.”
She laughed out loud, throwing her head back to the sky. Suddenly, she felt more lighthearted, more joyful than she had in ages.
The Sweetest Charade Page 18