Just till the end of the trip, she thought, and closed her eyes. Didn’t she deserve some joy, however short-lived it might be?
* * *
Delysia waited with a mixture of excitement and dread for another grand gesture from Alexander, but she needn’t have worried. None was forthcoming. The night before, Alexander had slept on his sofa bed, same as he always did. They breakfasted together in front of the window, traded sections of the paper, lingered over strong cups of tea. If it wasn’t for the intensity burning in his dark eyes, she’d have sworn nothing had changed between them.
Still, that intensity was there, and that tender, vulnerable bit of herself she’d kept locked down since Nicky was a palpable ache now, struggling to surface. She’d felt it the first time they’d kissed, just a flicker that she’d ignored. It came back again with each encounter, each touch, each conversation, reaching up with warm fingers to encircle her throat, push emotions she’d buried back to the surface. And now that she’d finally submitted to her growing feelings, it threatened to break through, envelop her with a want she wasn’t sure he’d be able to satisfy. Sleeping with him was one thing, but giving him the opportunity to disappoint her was another. If he did, after all his kindness...
Let it. It’s all right.
Startled, Delysia looked up. Alexander’s voice was so vivid in her head that she was surprised to see his head still buried in the arts section. She played with a piece of toast until he lowered it, looked at her.
“Are you all right?” he said simply.
She took a breath. “No,” she said.
To her surprise, he laughed out loud. “I’m not either. This is very strange.”
His admission eased a little of her anxiety, but only a little. There were so many things he didn’t know—that he was only the second guy she’d been with, that she’d never actually dated anyone without the lens of artifice behind it. She didn’t have words for that, not now, so she inhaled instead, and said the one thing she was sure about sharing.
“I’d like to try.”
His face lit up then, though all he did was smile.
Delysia smiled back, inhaled a bit shakily. “So what happens today?”
“Well—” Alexander picked up his phone, scrolled. “Faye’s got us visiting a model UN meeting, but after that we’ve got a rest day, provided we ‘post suitable content,’” he said in a dead-on imitation of Delysia’s publicist. “Any ideas?”
She shook her head, still toying with that same piece of bread. “None.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
* * *
As the day went on, things felt a little easier. Outside the walls of the Gilded Express, away from the weight of their obligations, they could concentrate on each other, let the realities melt away. It was unhurried, calm, languid, unstructured; they ate, drank, talked, were silent. They took their laptops to a coffee shop and worked on their various projects: Delysia on content creation, Alexander on one of the research articles that were a constant part of his life. They went to a natural foods grocery, bought some of the little luxuries they didn’t have on the train—mixed nuts in a brand that Delysia loved, Alexander’s coffee, a package of toffees. It felt very domestic; they argued over who would pay, shared a cup of steaming soup that reminded Delysia of that first night in Southampton.
She felt drawn to him by some indescribable force. Any awkwardness was surpassed by a need for touch, and she spent most of the afternoon nestled into his side as they walked or where they sat, kissing him when she could, feeling as if she’d never be sated. She’d been that way with Nicky, and he’d accommodated her, but he’d always been looking for the next photo angle, or to see if other people were checking them out.
Alexander did look back at her, though, and he did so with a tenderness that she felt in her core. It was good that they were outside, she thought, with that familiar heat prickling over her skin. When they did kiss—in dark, quiet corners, shielded from view on the street—it only stoked the flame. It was startling to see that time had passed, later on, when it was time to return to the train, where they would be back at their duties.
“What are you thinking?” he asked her, once they were walking back.
She was thinking about how wonderfully solid his body felt against hers, and other much more sensual things that she didn’t want to say out loud.
“This was nice,” was all she said, and she felt his hand seek hers out, squeeze once.
“Two more days,” he reminded her, and she laughed, a short, ragged sound.
“What?” he asked.
“Putting a deadline on it just seems so cynical,” she said, softly.
“Don’t think about that.”
“How can I not?”
“You’ll just have to try.” He looked so at peace that for just a second, Delysia wondered if this might be all right after all. “And,” he added teasingly, “keep an open mind, no matter how dumb my ideas seem.”
“Why, what are you planning?”
“Oh, everything.” His grin was terrifying, but it was also pretty funny. “Don’t worry, it’s all been vetted by Faye. Even if we—” He paused, bit his lip. “Listen. I want you to enjoy it, okay? This means nothing beyond the next couple of days, unless you want it to.”
You’ll want it to. The warning bubbled up, quick and urgent, but Delysia lifted her chin, tamped it down.
“Do your best,” she said, light and sweet for the first time that day, and Alexander chuckled.
* * *
This was a problem. A major problem. A one-night problem that had turned into a two-day problem, that had turned into a three-day problem. She’d told him to do his best. Alexander had been true to his word, and planned something special for every night they’d been there. There had been lavish meals both on and off the train, a delivery of hothouse flowers that filled their entire suite in every shade of purple found in nature, dancing and drinking and awkward-as-hell videos that Alexander insisted on posting (she’d doubled her viewership in two days; she supposed Faye was right about the public loving a love story).
Still, they were close to the end of their journey, and as the skyline loomed in the imaginary distance, so did the obligations she was going back to. Her bills. Her mother. The fact that she’d planned this so that she could eventually go back home, leave no ties behind. And she was terrified that Alexander would make a declaration, because she wasn’t sure that she would be able to do what she had to do when she did it.
Falling in love would be absolutely irresponsible; she hadn’t been kidding when she said she didn’t want a relationship, even if Alexander hadn’t been a snobby Long Islander with delusions of academic grandeur.
“Jesus, Delly, that’s cold even for you.”
Delysia blinked. She hadn’t realized she’d said that bit out loud. She was holed up with Faye in the observation car, ostensibly to go over her post–Gilded Express calendar. Alexander had waved her off good-naturedly for the meeting. They’d been inseparable for the past couple of days and even worse at nights, when they retreated to their suite and he fixed those calm eyes on her in a way only meant that her resolve shattered, lost somewhere in a hazy desire to have his dark head between her legs...
“You’re drifting again,” Faye snapped, and Delysia snapped back to attention.
“Sorry, Faye.”
“Not a problem. But if you want to reschedule, we can? Alexander has some events a couple weeks out from this, and I wondered if we would coordinate on—”
“Alexander has events?” If she was distracted before, she sure wasn’t anymore.
“Well, yes. Your little professor has amassed quite a following.” Faye pulled a calendar up. “He’s got a couple of appearances at lectures, the New York Public Library, the Smithsonian’s exhibition on nineteenth-century travel...”
Delysia skimmed the list.
“Excuse me—the SoHo Lounge?”
“Oh, yes. They’ve been looking for him nonstop since the first night. They’ve got me down as his de facto agent.” And here, Faye practically simpered. It wasn’t her best look. “I’ve got him booked up until next March.”
“God.”
“He’s actually rather good at it,” Faye admitted. “Handsome, self-deprecating, decent sense of style, if a little stereotypical. He’s awkward but well-spoken—something that actors try to do all the time but can’t quite pull off. It must be that English education.” She paused for a second before deciding to say what she wanted to say. “So, are you and he...?”
“No—no,” Delysia said, then cursed inwardly as Faye’s eyes narrowed.
The older woman pursed her lips. “Are you or aren’t you?”
“We’re not, but we—” She fumbled for words for a moment, and Faye’s eyes lit up in understanding.
“Oh dear God, you’re sleeping with him. Well, I should have known. You two were reeking of it in DC when you came back.”
Delysia didn’t bother to deny it. She just sank down in her chair, closed her eyes, covered them with her hands.
“Oh, dear. Was it that bad?”
“No.” Delysia rubbed her eyes and stood up. “I have to go.”
Faye’s eyes registered more compassion than Delysia had ever seen in her. “Delysia, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”
Yes, it would. Delysia stood up, and abruptly. “Are we done yet?”
“Sure, honey.”
She squared her shoulders and left. She had to find Alexander.
* * *
She found Alexander in the train galley, yukking it up with the train staff, phone set up on Delysia’s tripod. They were deep in discussion on how to make the New York–style cheesecake pudding that would be served with coffee and brandy that evening. He was at his most animated, wearing a tight black turtleneck and jeans, hair artfully arranged. A pair of tortoiseshells she hadn’t seen before were sliding down his nose.
“—and that’s how you do it, without setting the whole car afire,” he said dryly, directly to the camera, then motioned her over. “Delysia, honey!”
She mouthed not now, and he gave a little shrug, readdressing the camera. “She’s here, folks, just a little camera-shy...”
Oh, for God’s sake. “Hi, everyone,” she said cheerfully, then popped into frame. Alexander tugged her close and kissed her on the nose tenderly.
“Have one,” he invited, offering a plump strawberry, and Delysia took it from his hand, which was covered with powdered sugar.
“Delicious!” she said brightly, and took a spoon dipped in chocolate next. “I had no idea you were so talented,” she teased. “I thought all you do is teach.”
“She thinks I’m useless,” he said dryly, to their imaginary audience, and when Delysia peered at the screen, she blanched. Goodness. Alexander had as many attendees as she might for a clip of this length.
She dialed it up a notch then, hating herself a little for it. After all, she was planning to dump him right after. Could you dump someone you’ve only agreed to be in a relationship with for the next two days? Well, she’d find out. For the moment, she enjoyed Alexander’s closeness, despite herself, and his dry, droll voice narrating their actions. They stopped streaming when the gong rang for the dinner crew to start their preparations. Alexander collected his phone, and the two left the car.
The second they were alone, he stopped to look down at her, eyes sparkling. “I’ve been waiting all day to kiss you,” he said with his usual warmth, and to her horror Delysia let him. She even allowed her arms to lift to encircle his neck, taking the scents of clean linen, tweed, bay rum—all scents that seemed to cling to his skin even when he wasn’t wearing those stodgy blazers. She allowed him to explore her mouth with the leisure that was his trademark, and when he finally pulled back she felt a little dizzy.
“I’m sorry,” he said sheepishly, “that’s not really me. I’ll try not to jump on you like that again.”
“No, it was fine,” she whispered, and touched her lips with a finger. They were soft and smooth to the touch, but to her they felt swollen, bruised, as they had been last night. “You...recorded a live video?”
“Yeah, I’ve been uploading them all day,” he said, and laughed. “Faye was right, the public seems to love them. Although I can’t imagine who had the time to sit and watch them all day.” He slipped an arm around her; she couldn’t hear a word he was saying, not anymore, but she felt the warmth of him through her clothes. She felt sleepy and safe and just...home.
Two days.
She’d never been so tempted in her life. But it wouldn’t be honest, not when she knew he was trying his best to persuade her into a relationship. He wouldn’t say, but he was hoping. She could see it in his eyes, in his voice, in the way he touched her. And something, despite herself, made her want, desperately, to respond.
No.
She cleared her throat, breaking the spell. Alexander paused himself, and she was able to see that they were almost to the sleeper cars, in a quiet lounge car meant for yoga, or meditating. “What is it, Delysia?”
She took a deep breath. “Alexander, you knew this was coming. I can’t do this.”
“Do what?” He was maintaining his composure, but she could already tell he knew what she was referring to. She immediately recognized the posture—the stiff shoulders, the carefully blank expression. “Delysia—”
“I didn’t want to. You knew I didn’t want to, and you used that against me in DC.”
Alexander reeled as if she’d punched him in the gut. She knew it wasn’t fair, but it also was the only way she’d get him to shut up, to not talk, not contradict her, not talk her into what she wanted more than anything else right now, so she forged ahead. “You knew I wanted you, and you used that against me to make that dumb promise. But we’ve got two more days on this thing, and we’re not going to be together, Alexander. Not ever. We’re just not, and it wasn’t fair for me to make you feel like maybe we could.”
She was making less sense with every word she said, she knew. Alexander opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but she didn’t allow him to. “Don’t feel bad. I know this is about you making good after the opera night, and—look. You don’t have to make it up to me. We’re just different, okay?”
At that, Alexander’s face darkened. He stepped toward her and Delysia flinched—not because she was afraid he would hurt her, but because he was close, so close, and her body remembered just how much she’d wanted him, almost since the beginning. However, the look of horror on his face now told her that he interpreted her shrinking back as something quite the opposite.
“Delysia. I never intended—” He swallowed hard, held his hands out as if beseeching her. “I’m so very, very sorry.”
Again, not his fault—and he was apologizing for it. God. She felt like a murderess, at best.
“I didn’t intend—I don’t intend to hurt you, Delysia. Never. I simply can’t fathom how stupid I—”
“You weren’t stupid.” She felt it leak out of her, felt her body sag with the exhaustion of all that mental fighting. It was me, she wanted to say, and I’m terrified of any good thing. But she couldn’t tell him that, could she? Not when she was trying to get rid of him.
He took a full step back, and Delysia felt the chasm between them as acutely as if the ground had opened. But she’d told herself then, and she would now—she’d never give a man an opportunity to treat her as second best. Not ever again. Not even if he’d said what Alexander said, done what he’d done...
She could love him, if she let him in. And she simply hadn’t the mental capacity for that. Not anymore. Not to mention that this wasn’t her home. Everything she’d built here was temporary, and that included relationships.
They were interr
upted by a buzz; both of them reached for their phones. It was a gesture that had become almost automatic to Alexander now, Delysia thought a little sadly.
“It’s for me,” he said, almost apologetically. Then, he looked down. “Channel 12 New York. They want us to do Good Morning America the day we get back.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously.
Delysia smiled a little sadly. “They’re calling you instead of me now.”
Alexander did not smile back; he looked grave and unhappy. He slid his phone in his pocket, then lowered his head. “I never meant to manipulate you.” His face was definitely closed off now. “I see now how wrong it was. I hope you can forgive my behavior.”
Overwhelmed, Delysia pressed her hands to her face. She wouldn’t cry, she thought. Not now, not ever. Even when she felt water trickling down her face, she refused to acknowledge it. She refused to acknowledge the fact that she wanted nothing more than to have him tug her into his chest, hold her, kiss her, let their bodies melt into each other—
A shrill ring shattered the silence. Delysia’s phone, this time. She pulled it out of her pocket, gasped, held it up to her ear. She knew her face must look absolutely ravaged—all flushed and tear-streaked—but she didn’t care. It was the number of the head doctor on her mother’s case, the one who never called unless something serious happened.
“Mama?” she gasped out.
Alexander must have immediately grasped the gravity of the situation, because his eyes narrowed immediately, and he didn’t move.
“I—yes. Yes. Yes.” As the doctor spoke, Delysia let the words wash over her, taking them in, understanding but not really comprehending. When she ended the call, Alexander reached out and touched her arm. She jumped as if he’d prodded her with something hot.
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
“They’ve cleared her for surgery,” Delysia blurted out, then immediately burst into a flood of noisy tears. She managed to get out the rest, gasping and choking in the most undignified manner as she did so.
The Sweetest Charade Page 20