“She’s got a kidney—finally strong enough for them to operate—need to go to Dubai, now—my passport isn’t here—”
“We leave for New York later tonight,” said Alexander, glancing at his watch. “Check if there’s a flight. Early afternoon’s probably best.”
“Okay,” Delysia gasped. Tears were falling faster than she could wipe them away. “The flight’s twelve hours direct, I won’t get there till tomorrow. They have to do the surgery quickly. I might not make it. God, I want to be there,” she managed, and burst into a round of fresh tears. “I’m just so scared and so happy.”
She felt the warmth of Alexander’s arms creeping round her shoulders and she clung to him, grateful that he was there.
“Listen,” he said, “get online. Book your ticket, get packed. I’ll take care of everything else.”
“Okay,” she croaked.
“And Delysia?”
She looked up; his face was uncharacteristically soft.
“This is good, okay? This is very good. Keep the faith, your mum is going to be fine.”
Tears were still running down her chin, meeting the moisture coming from her nose, but she was smiling, now. God, she must look like a mess. “I know.”
When Alexander produced another one of those absurdly giant handkerchiefs, she was even able to laugh.
* * *
The grandfather clock in the corner of their suite chimed twice before Delysia admitted to herself that sleep was likely not to happen, not this night. Her mother was taking her final hours of rest before going in for surgery, and Delysia didn’t want to bother her. She switched off her phone to prevent any temptation, and told herself she’d wait for updates in the morning.
Alexander, with his usual tact, had retreated back to their usual sleeping arrangements, without a word of reproach to her. She’d seen his face when she’d told him she couldn’t start anything with him; it was something deeper than disappointment, something she could not explore, not at this time. She was set to go home, and the thought of engaging her heart fully with anyone, no matter how right it felt, and at a time like this...it was simply terrifying.
Still, she could not sleep. She could hear Alexander’s steady breathing from the sofa bed, only a few feet away. The clacking of the wheels on the tracks should have soothed her to sleep as it did him, but her body was taut with tension. She ached. It was as if every cell that made her up was aware that Alexander wasn’t sleeping next to her, and was arching, reaching out for him.
Impatiently she kicked off the covers; the satin-lined eiderdown and Egyptian cotton seemed more stifling than anything at the moment. She stood to her feet, marveling for a moment that the swaying of the train no longer disturbed her balance, and looked over at where Alexander was sprawled on the sofa bed, a vague shape beneath his blankets.
Desire coiled low in her stomach, a not-so-unpleasant shock of heat. She stood helplessly, arms dangling at her sides. This was hopeless. She’d come into this with no intention to do anything but grow her platform, but she’d met someone so far out of her usual scope that every encounter with him felt like a new segment of an episodic, very hallucinatory dream.
Quickly, Delysia shucked off the threadbare sweatshirt she wore, stood shivering in thin lace underwear, crossing her arms over her breasts. In a moment she’d hooked her thumbs in the waistband and shucked them too, and before she could think about it, could talk herself out of it, she pulled back the covers, slid into bed with him.
Her first thought was that the sofa bed mattress was atrociously thin. The second was that she’d absolutely die if he rejected her. She did not press her body to his, not yet. Instead she let her lips hover over his ear.
“Alexander?” she said quietly.
He stirred, turned over on his side, murmured something, and to her relief she felt his arm slide beneath her to draw her close. “Are you all—”
“I’m fine,” she said, and swallowed hard. “Can I sleep here?”
“Of course.” His voice was rough; he cleared his throat. She could not quite make out his actual features, just a vague outline of his nose and the curls atop his head, rumpled from sleep. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and she hissed a little as her nipples brushed the bare skin of his back. She felt him stiffen. “Delysia—”
“I know,” she said, and bit her lip. How the hell was she supposed to explain her presence, especially after their disaster of a conversation earlier? She didn’t know what it was, except for the indisputable fact that this was more about closeness than sex. She’d still meant what she said earlier, but now—
“Do you want me to go?” she asked a little hesitantly.
His answer was to run his fingers along the grooves of her ribs in a caress that felt all too familiar. She felt liquid warmth at the base of her spine. She squirmed, and her breathing began to quicken. Then he brought his lips to hers, found them in the dark. Delysia could have pulled away, pretended that this wasn’t what she wanted, but instead she kissed him back, sliding her tongue against his almost desperately, taking control. As usual he was trying to steady her, trying to slow her down.
No. That wasn’t going to do it for her, not tonight.
Gathering her wits, she broke the kiss and shifted a little so that she was half-straddling him, and rotated her hips to grind against the warm skin of his thigh. It seemed almost impossible that she could want this so badly already, but there it was, stealing air from her, smearing telltale wetness on his skin.
“Can I?” she asked quietly, then tipped forward and kissed him again, dropping a hand to his abdomen, brushing the skin she found with the backs of her fingers.
“Please,” he responded, barely more than a whisper.
She didn’t know whether it was the rhythmic clacking of the train, but Delysia was suddenly possessed by a near-eerie calm, paired with a tenderness she hadn’t known she was capable of feeling until Alexander. She began with a hazy, languid exploration of the skin of his neck, fingers trailing down to stroke where he was only half-hard, still sleepy. She descended his chest and stomach, exploring the smooth saltiness of his skin and dips of muscle with lips and tongue, slowly, cautiously leaving soft wet trails where she went. She felt tremors in her own body when his muscles tightened, tremors she fought at first, then allowed to wash over her, protected by the darkness that shielded both of them. She’d never really explored a guy’s body like this, not really. There had only ever been Nicky Kim, and with him there had never been time.
When she reached his abdomen and tugged away the clothing she found she paused for a moment, cupped the heat of him in her hand before softly touching her lips to warm skin. With Nicky she had hated this more than anything—his teasing voice, the way he shoved her head down—but this, this was different. She felt no disgust, only curiosity, and a slight sense of apprehension that was dulled considerably by lust.
“Delysia—” He sounded very awake now, and very hoarse.
She was as deliberate with this as she had been on the way down, flicking her tongue almost lazily, before enveloping him completely with her mouth, almost but not quite toying with him, gauging her movements by his sounds, by the way his muscle-taut thigh tightened underneath her hand. She didn’t quite know where all this self-possession was coming from—only that she felt like she was the one in control, for once. There was no constricting grip on the back of her neck, no twisting, no yanking, no grunted orders, and Alexander’s fingers were gentle, just a whisper of contact in her hair. The position was an incredibly vulnerable one in some ways, but she didn’t feel uncomfortable. Not this time.
She heard him grunt deep in his throat. The sound tightened that feeling between her legs, pulled so taut she nearly whimpered, herself. His hands came down to cup the sides of her head, stilling her movement. “Delysia—”
Delysia hollowed her cheeks before pulling away slowly; she’d tast
ed salt, knew he was close. She looked up through a curtain of tangled hair, a little anxiously. Had he not liked...?
She straightened up slowly, using his thighs for leverage, and then his arms were around her, holding her close, wordlessly. She buried her face into the curve of his neck and shoulder, shifted her hips forward. “Alexander, please.”
He fumbled in the dark for something. As if from far away, she heard cardboard rip, and a low curse. And then he was there again, that warm lean body in the dark, and he was shifting her back, angling her, sliding into her with ease. When he stopped she knew he was trying to get a hold on himself; she deliberately shifted her hips back so that he’d slide in deeper, clenched her walls around him.
“Yes,” she hissed, low, in a voice that wasn’t quite hers. It was too husky, too raw. All the nerve endings in her body seemed to be gathered in that one spot that Alexander was thrusting into, sparking something within her that was growing with every movement.
“Harder, please,” she gritted out instead, bracing herself. This was—oh, God. She whimpered, dug her nails into his arm. Her little affectations were completely gone—any dignity was an afterthought at this point. She was just this close to climaxing, clamped so tight around him; she could feel it, and if he’d just—
He dropped a hand between them. Whether it was from skill or sheer luck, she had no idea, but his touch was like a switch being flicked, and she couldn’t remember any more a few tense seconds after that. She tightened around him involuntarily and a sound broke from her that she knew would probably absolutely mortify her if she thought of it later. She muffled the tail end of it in the warm skin of Alexander’s shoulder. He rocked against her once, twice, a third time, then let go with audible relief, steadying himself through heavy breaths.
He did not make a sound, only dropped down to the bed, tugging her with him. His heart was racing; she could hear it thudding through the warm wall of his chest.
Somewhere during those heated tangled moments the train had stopped, likely to fuel or change engines, and the silence was oddly eerie now. Alexander did not speak, and Delysia was grateful. He was an indulgence, she told herself sternly. He was something she could not afford, something that was appropriate for this gloriously surreal cocoon of luxury these few weeks had been. But ultimately, this happiness wasn’t for real life. She could not risk spoiling what they’d created by giving him an opportunity to disappoint her.
“We should move to the bed,” Alexander finally said.
Delysia shook her head. Moving would break the spell, would introduce the awkwardness of washing and getting dressed and possibly having to recall the words of dismissal she’d spoken to him only hours ago.
I didn’t want to. You knew I didn’t want to, and you used that against me in DC...
Christ, she really had no shame, did she?
“It’s so cold, outside the blankets,” she said finally by way of excuse, although she was anything but. Her body was still tingling, all the way to her toes.
“Right,” Alexander said after a pause.
She wanted to speak more than anything, to say the words her heart was pushing up to her throat. But she swallowed them down, instead, and closed her eyes tightly.
“Thank you, Alexander,” she said after a moment, into the darkness. He sighed a little and said nothing, only drew her a bit closer, as if he were trying to use their bodies to bridge the gap she’d created.
“Get some sleep” was all he said, and Delysia sighed and closed her eyes, giving up her body to light and fitful sleep.
Chapter Twelve
New York, New York
Under the guise of working on an article he was publishing about the train restoration he’d completed for this trip, Alexander managed to avoid everyone completely, taking a pile of books to the cafe car, sitting up with a pot of coffee, and trying not to worry when Delysia didn’t text. She would when she wanted to, he thought. And she was still in the air anyway, hurtling toward the UAE on a supersonic jet.
He could not deny that her words had hurt him deeply; he felt a connection between them that he thought it was impossible not to share. But still...
She made herself clear. Don’t think about it.
And he wouldn’t either. Not about how hard it was to forget the softness of her skin, her laugh, how he’d tucked her body close to him both in private and in public. Her sweetness and her compassion for others, the way she made him laugh—and made him realize how lonely he actually was sometimes. She’d hugged him so tight at the airport he’d been absolutely breathless.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” she’d said, sniffing back another round of tears. He had never wanted to kiss her more, but instead he’d pressed his lips to her cheek. Platonically.
“Text me,” he’d whispered, and if something in her face had closed off a little, she didn’t articulate it. She’d nodded, shouldered her hand luggage, and disappeared through the gates into security. And now he was sitting here, in the dining car, writing about the science of luxury, when his heart was on a plane to Dubai.
He supposed he should focus on wrapping up the trip. New York was the farewell stop, and they’d be there in a few hours, culminating with a gala at the Schwarzman Building of the New York Public Library. Alexander’s tux had been delivered to him that morning when he returned, bleary-eyed, to the train after dropping Delysia off at the airport. He’d have to do the event solo. He’d be terrified if Delysia weren’t so heavy on his mind.
Faye appeared in the dining car just then as if he’d conjured her up by thinking about the event. Her tablet and keyboard were tucked under her arm; she wore her usual steely expression. She marched over to Alexander and settled herself opposite him on the table. “We need to prep for tonight,” she said without ceremony.
Alexander nodded. Silence fell between the two of them.
“Have you heard from her?” he blurted out.
Faye’s sharp blue eyes flickered carefully over his face before she replied. “I haven’t.”
“No, I’ve been tracking her flight, they’ve got a few more hours, but there’s Wi-Fi up there, and so I thought...” He trailed off. He’d definitely crossed the line from concerned to pathetic.
Faye said nothing. All he could hear for several moments was the ticking of the antique grandfather clock he’d had installed in the corner of the dining car.
God, that felt so long ago.
“I haven’t heard from her,” Faye said.
“All right.” He wondered just how much Faye knew, but he certainly wasn’t going to be the one to ask. Faye cleared her throat, then began walking him step-by-step through the itinerary. It had been a pretty straightforward bit previously, with he and Delysia acting as host and hostess of the event (“Think Jackie and Jack Kennedy!” Faye had said brightly during their first run-through) but now, with Delysia gone, the event took on a decidedly less domestic turn. Faye arranged that he be joined by a different influencer every hour, and record a short video with each to post to his Instagram account. Not Eden or Nicky Kim, for which he was grateful. The twins had disembarked in Boston and hadn’t been seen since.
“Delysia is going to post a short note explaining she’s got a family emergency. Since you’re supposed to be pretending to be pining for her”—and here Faye shot him a very significant look, at which he blushed—“you might mention her once or twice during the night. The official line if anyone asks is that she’s got a family emergency abroad.”
“All right.”
Going through the itinerary did not take long. Alexander found his eyes wandering to his phone every few moments, but there was nothing from Delysia. Stop looking, he told himself, and turned it facedown.
Faye was staring at him thoughtfully, twisting her glasses chain round her fingers. “So, Alexander,” she said, “what’s your next move after the trip is over?”
&nbs
p; “Well...” Alexander had to think for a moment. “Back to Southampton, I suppose. Delysia and I will release a statement announcing our separation after the semester closes. I’d rather not have my students asking about it.”
“And after that?” She didn’t wait for a reply, but leaned forward. “I ask because I wanted to know if you’d ever consider engaging an agent.”
For a second, Alexander didn’t know what she meant. “I’m sorry?”
“An agent,” Faye said. “For these new opportunities you’ve attracted with this trip. I have to say, I’ve fielded as many calls for you as I have for Delysia lately. I think people assume I represent both of you.”
“Oh,” Alexander said, not too brightly. He was too startled to do otherwise.
“The latest call was from Brooks Brothers, asking if you wanted one of their corduroy blazers...”
“They want to give me clothes?” Alexander was very well aware he sounded like an idiot, but he honestly wasn’t making the connection.
Faye’s eyes bulged ever-so-slightly. “They want you to endorse the jacket, Alexander. Be seen wearing it, by the forty thousand followers you’ve managed to amass in less than two months. And they’re not the only ones. Not even close. I’ve had J.Crew approach me, Timberland, and various other people...nothing as high-level as Delysia, of course, but you could make a pretty penny if you wanted...”
“Oh, dear.” Alexander did understand now. “Well. No. Thank you, but I hardly think—”
“Don’t underestimate yourself. You translate well to the web medium. Sleep on it. In the meantime, here’s some copies of the rundown for tonight. Call me if you’ve got any questions.”
“Will do. Thank you, Faye.”
She hesitated as if she wanted to say something else. She stood up instead, swaying a bit on her heels. “I’ll see you later, then,” she said, and was gone.
The Sweetest Charade Page 21