Chapter 3
Sweet Nothings
The last threads of sunlight streamed through the dining room windows of the RMS Oceanic. The wait staff scurried around as they made the final touches on that night's decorations, silver tinsel and champagne fountains decorating tables framing the dance floor. Each night was the same—an entertaining theme for the passengers, fine glassware that never ran out of expensive wine, and the most incredible meals that White Line chefs could offer. The Oceanic was the first of its kind—a hedonistic escape for the upper class that ended only when they met their destination.
The help were meant to be seen and not heard. Most of the hired workers on the Oceanic were immigrants, and an overwhelming amount claimed Irish heritage. They had come to make lives for themselves in America. Compared to the alternatives—working in factories or as live-in servants to the rich—preparing entertainment on a luxury vessel was a vacation. They kept their anonymity, and saw more of the world than many others of their caste. The price was silence. Gossip ran rampant in confined areas, and festivities loosened tongues with alcohol. There was always a scandal to see as part of the staff, but it took much more than empty threats to coerce them to speak.
It took money, enough to allow one to integrate into a class above their own—a different rank, a way to escape the labor that defined their existence. Few could pay this price, and only one aboard was willing.
One man watched and waited. Tonight could be the night to make his fortune.
§
James Evenson was the first patron to enter that evening. He entered, a rare spark in eye, with a woman at his arm. She was most definitely not his wife.The copper-headed woman was clearly disgruntled, and by the way she was shooting daggers at the man who escorted her, it wasn't too difficult to discern who it was aimed at.
"I don't need your pity, James." Victoria Webb hissed. When he had showed up unwarranted at her cabin, she had suspected something was amiss. The two hadn't spoken in nearly seven years, and that was far too short a time for her liking. If she had been given a choice, Victoria would have buried him along with the sordid moment in her past he was associated with. He had made it very clear that he wanted nothing to do with her when he announced his engagement to everyone, including the papers, before even speaking to her. That slap to the face still smarted.
"Don't be silly, Victoria. It's been a long time," he replied coolly, leading her towards one of the long tables that would soon be filled with others. He wouldn't be sitting with her, of course. Few remembered the details of what lay between them, but that number was enough. No one needed a scandal. James was far too anal-retentive to allow that.
"I'm not being silly. You think after everything, after so long, you can just show up like nothing has happened? You're married, James." It took an incredible amount of resolve to keep her voice level. They were alone, for now, save a few men who were preparing the platform the orchestra would soon be playing on. Even if he made her feel silly, which she was actually beginning to agree with, she wasn't going to lose face in front of anyone. Not even a few Irishmen. Victoria knew she didn't still have feelings for him, but the experience of having such passions brutally used and then not returned had left a bad taste in her mouth. She was still bitter and grudges like hers never died.
"I know I am, Victoria. The past is in the past. I'm married," he paused, just long enough to judge her reaction. Her lips pursed, but she remained calm—barely. "I'm married and I've made the unfortunate discovery that my wife has been less than faithful."
Her cackle was sharp and unsympathetic. Pale, meek little Esme Platt had slept with someone other than him? Good. Good. James deserved knowing the stab of betrayal. "Oh, really? I'm supposed to care? Please, explain to me how this is my problem."
James' mouth hardened into a tight line as he helped her into a seat. Victoria relished in it. For once, it felt incredibly nice to have the power. Everyone took her for granted, but she wasn't about to lose anymore. Victoria's sharp features and prickly disposition had fascinated him at one time, and the knowledge of that was more than enough. She brought out the absolute worst in him. All this she knew and it made the pleasure of watching him writhe even better.
Placing a hand on the back of her chair, he leaned in just close enough to whisper softly in her ear, his lips lingering on her baubled earlobe. Her shudder revealed weakness, and even though she couldn't see his face, she knew he was smiling. That moment of vulnerability would cost her. "Because, Victoria, I know you still want me."
Color rose in her angular cheeks, and it took all of her self-control to contain the inappropriate words she longed to heave at him. Victoria silently cursed herself for urges she struggled to control. At one time, she would have given half her fortune to know what it felt like to have him between her thighs. Things were different now. Someone needed to inform her body to catch up to the present—the line she toed was dangerous. He had burned her once, and a man like James wasn't to be trusted, ever. Besides, she was being courted by an honorable, decent man she had a real future with. Jasper Whitlock was the type of man she wanted. And she did want him…
Damn James Evenson. Damn him to hell.
"Your assumptions are pathetic," Victoria spat a few moments afterwards before reaching for her champagne. Her fingers didn't make it to the glass in time, and soon they were caught in his own firm grasp. Her eyes watched, mesmerized, as he tangled his fingers with hers. The implication was clear. James knew exactly what she wanted, even now, despite everything. Her eyes darted once at a waiter who was busying himself with one of the fountains. He wasn't watching, but…
"I'll divorce her, Victoria."
The words rang in her ears, leaving her disoriented and confused. Divorce? The scandal would be incredible. But to be Victoria Evenson…to know what it really felt like to have him as a lover, a confidant, something more than just the fickle friend he had become.
Her mouth had gone dry. She needed Jasper. Only he could bring her to her senses.
"Help me and I'll make you my wife."
§
Isabella Swan had felt nauseated long before sundown. Jacob sat at her side, laughing loudly at one of the jokes her mother had made. It wasn't funny. That he was going out of his way to please everyone, such as trying more than necessary to impress Renee, made Bella even more aware of her situation. He was really going to propose to her—tonight. She was going to have to say yes.
Her palms felt clammy against the thin silk of her gloves, and the food that had been placed in front of her at the beginning of the evening still remained untouched. Jacob had been incredibly attentive to her needs, even going so far as to personally ask the head chef to make her another meal. She wished she could calm her nerves, but even his voice made her feel ill. Bella felt incredibly guilty, and she knew it wasn't him that made her feel so terrible. Everything was moving too fast and not in the direction she wanted it.
This was her life. Her mother descended from a long line of women who had put aside their personal desires to marry and live vicariously through their husbands and children. Isabella just wanted much, much more than that.
A change in tempo marked the beginning of the ballroom dances, and she felt Jacob rise from his seat. For a moment her heart stopped still, refusing to beat until it knew for sure what he was planning to do. Was this the moment? Was now the time to give in—to make everyone else but herself sublimely happy? She wasn't ready to become a bride. Her eyes, wide and pleading, dragged towards the man at her side. Jacob Black flashed a knowing grin before extending his hand towards her mother.
Her prayers had been answered. The two chattered gaily as he escorted Renee to the dance floor and joined several other couples, taking their stances for a lively gavotte. Her unease still remained, even if she was saved for now. Soon he would get her alone and she would have to give him an answer.
"Excuse me," a smooth voice spoke from over her shoulder. "Would you care to dance?"
Bella turned to meet a set of impressive green eyes belonging to the man whom she had seen escort Rosalie earlier that afternoon, the one who had witnessed her embarrassing display of behavior. She felt entirely too warm as she slid her hand into his and rose from her seat. They walked in silence to the dance floor to catch the tail end of a waltz. When his hand met the side of her waist, she swore she could feel a penetrating jolt through her clothing. Perhaps she really was going crazy.
"I suppose I should formerly introduce myself. My name is Edward Masen," he offered, his voice just audible above the music. It felt entirely too intimate for a first acquaintance. Still, she wasn't leaving. She knew who he was, but it wasn't polite to say so.
"A pleasure, Mr. Masen. I am Isabella Swan," she delivered mechanically and with a forced smile. It was too hot in the ballroom, and the spinning of their twirls didn't help. They danced like that in silence for several minutes, both untalented at small talk. Bella stole a glance up at his face, which wore a tired, confused expression. When the song ended, both were relieved to part ways.
"Thank you for the dance," she spoke distractedly, glancing almost frantically around the room for Jacob and her mother. She didn't see them.
"Of course, it was my pleasure." Isabella didn't see his attempt to search her eyes. She was too busy focusing on her soon to be fiancé and Renee Swan, whom she had spotted in a corner, pointing in her direction with a too-wide grin.
Bella's eyes grew in size and her heart began to beat at such a breakneck pace that she could almost hear it thud against her ribcage. Before she realized what she was doing and what implications could be made, she snatched Edward Masen by the wrist and tugged him along with her towards the exit.
"I…I need some air. Come with me…"
He was her only hope. If she could make it through the night, perhaps she wouldn't have to do anything at all. Or, at the very least, she could delay the inevitable for another hour.
§
Edward Masen was surprised by Miss Swan's unexpected change of heart. She had been nothing like what he had imagined—a breath of fresh air, someone to shed light on his predicament. Instead she had been stiff, cold and distracted. He had wanted more than that.
He was proved wrong when she took him by the sleeve and led him out onto the poop deck at a near sprint. She was breathless when they reached the railing, and he was utterly bewildered. What a pair they made.
Edward said nothing when she began to pace back and forth, her hands tightening and unclenching repetitively. Something had distressed the woman, enough to send her into a state in front of him…once again. Perhaps he could have associated it with poor finishing or undiagnosed mental illness. He had heard of such things during his time at school, of course, though he hadn't seen it in action. For a madwoman, she didn't seem too frightening or dangerous. In fact, he thought she was strangely captivating.
"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, I…I just needed to get away for a moment," she spoke between shallow gasps, finally turning to meet his eyes. Her own were dark and cryptic. Edward wasn't quite sure why he found them so damn interesting.
"Don't apologize," he spoke quickly in response. She was surprised by his immediate forgiveness, or perhaps the beginnings of understanding that passed between them. Frankly, he didn't seem to care all that much anymore. He had the incredible urge to touch her hair. It was sickening.
She made her way to the ledge and peered down through one of the peepholes, the sea as inky as the starless sky. Her fingers curled along the rim as she stared, momentarily serene, a vision against the darkness she contrasted against. Edward couldn't exactly remember a time where he wanted anything more than he did at that moment. The worst of it was he couldn't pinpoint what it was. Tugging his fingers through now-tousled hair, he took a step back to control himself. He needed…Tanya. Tanya could talk sense into him.
"Do you think I'm crazy?" she asked softly, the damask quality of her heart-shaped face catching in the moonlight. Edward wasn't sure how to respond. Perhaps she was dangerous, just not in a way he had expected.
"No. I don't know what you are," he replied honestly. It made her laugh, a soft and unhappy noise that resonated in the corridor even after she had finished. Even the ocean couldn't swallow the bitterness in it.
"Neither do I," she concluded moments later. Isabella Swan returned her eyes back to the water, which still yearned to take her within their depths. "Are you terrified of marriage?" The question was unexpected, but not surprising. He had been right in thinking that they shared a common misfortune.
Edward knew that he shouldn't oblige in answering, but he did. He hoped he wouldn't regret it later. "Immeasurably." Her expression didn't change, so he continued. She was opening up, and it was just enough to anchor him to where he stood. "You aren't betrothed…are you?" He had spent the past several years abroad, and up until that day, he had never met her before. Edward didn't want her to be engaged. He couldn't imagine anyone possessing her. She was too…free.
"Not yet. An affliction that will soon be cured."
He stepped forward, unable to will himself to stop. When his fingers brushed against her elbow, she paused to regard him with guarded eyes. He watched her hesitance in being touched, but she didn't pull away. That was enough. He had planned on saying something profound, but now facing her expectant face, he couldn't come up with anything intelligent at all. Oxford had been a waste. "I'm sorry."
She watched him then, as if really seeing him for the first time. "Rosalie. You don't love her." It wasn't a question. How could she see through him as if he was transparent, and he was left only confused in her presence? She was stunned by the revelation, even if she had discovered it herself. Most would be shocked to know the truth. He and his fiancée were perfect for one another, a match that made sense. Or so he was told.
"Is it that obvious?" he asked, wanting to laugh but not finding the humor in it. There was nothing funny about wasting his life in a marriage with the vainest woman he had ever met.
"You two seem so happy together," Isabella commented more to herself than him. He didn't understand how anyone could assume such, unless he had underestimated his abilities at feigning affection and civility towards Rosalie.
"We're not. I'm…not." Edward needed to keep his mouth shut. She was a stranger, albeit a lovely one, with no business in knowing his feelings. There was nothing good that could come to opening up. Still, he didn't apologize and he didn't stop. It felt too good to let those bottled emotions escape.
"Neither am I," she finally stated, no longer skirting the issue. There it was. She was going to marry someone and she was just as horrified as he. A kindred spirit found in the strangest of places.
"I know. I saw…today, that is." He watched as a flush crept up her throat. The same pale skin that had been grasped at so frantically that afternoon. "You…well. If you're that afraid…" Edward had wanted to tell her to make her own choice, marry who she wanted, but the notion was silly as well as hypocritical on his part.
"You don't understand," she responded to his unfinished thought.
Edward thought he did. Wasn't it the same as with Rosalie? The choice was hers. "If you don't love him, don't wed him. It's simple. If you haven't given him an answer…"
"I do love him!" she cut in, the color of embarrassment darkening with anger. Edward, though stunned, imagined her irritability stemmed from his forthright opinion. "Do not assume that you know me, Mr. Masen. You do not." She tugged her arm out of his grasp before watching him with stunned, unsettled eyes.
"I meant no disrespect," he attempted to smooth things over. "It isn't too late. That's all I meant, of course." He wasn't quite sure why her reaction to his suggestion was so abrupt.
"What you said and what you meant are two entirely different things. Your presumptions are insulting," she fired. Ahh, there it was. The sense of decency engrained in women of their class. Edward was immediately disappointed. He grew tired of the games that everyone, she included, had a habit of playing.
"I'm not presuming anything. You said yourself that you aren't happy. Do something about it. If you have a choice, make the right one." If he could have done it over again, Edward knew he would have made a better decision—a different selection, a different girl. He wasn't sure what had made him add the edge in his voice, but it was there. She noticed.
"You are no gentleman," she muttered, frowning. For a moment she seemed almost disappointed. No, perhaps he wasn't. Edward could own up to that. He had been, at one time, but a true gentleman didn't pretend to love a woman when she deserved better. A real gentleman didn't sleep with another man's wife in an attempt to ease his own pain.
"You are no lady, either. Did you bring me out here to escape being with him? Are you a coward, too?" The irrational anger shook him unexpectedly, but it had been too late to take back the words he had thrown recklessly. He wasn't used to a woman challenging him, forcing him to take a long look at what he had become. Edward felt disgusted with himself. It wasn't her fault, of course, but it was too late to tell her that.
"I am not a coward."
Edward wanted her to prove it. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders, which were now set so stubbornly, and shake, or…or kiss her until she softened back into the woman who had looked so longingly at the sea only minutes before. The temptation she presented tantalized his senses until he felt lightheaded. He wanted to infuriate her and protect her and make her smile. Once he had established just how far his need had been rooted, he was out of sorts and winded
She saw the fire in his eyes, the desire for something he couldn't express. He watched the dawning realization, and the hardening of her reserve. She didn't think he'd act on it, and she was right. He was a gentleman, at least in some respects. It was good to know that some of his fine breeding was still in tact. She took a step closer, meeting his eyes, before speaking directly once again.
"I'm not a coward, Edward Cullen. You are."
Edward let her sweep away and push back through the double doors into the ballroom. He didn't stop her. He should have, but he didn't. He waited, vainly hoping that she would return. Seconds became minutes. Minutes became an hour. Just as it chimed ten o'clock, he overheard the enthusiastic swell of cheers as Isabella Marie Swan accepted the hand of a man she didn't really want.
§
Katrina McKinley watched in bored amusement from her seat at the grand table as Jacob Black made a scene of presenting a hilariously outlandish engagement ring to his new fiancée, Bella Swan. She stifled a laugh behind her hand. Rumor had it that he had spent over a thousand dollars on the diamond, which Kate thought would only make Bella even clumsier. She remembered the accident-prone girl from their youth. Even if she was finished now, a leopard couldn't change its spots.
"Garish thing, isn't it?" Emmett McCarty snorted, equally amused by the grotesque display of public affection. Kate had to agree, even if she wanted to wear something equally as ridiculous someday. A distant someday, of course. Kate would rather die than admit it, however.
"I suppose so. I've seen tackier," she sniffed, already becoming bored with the entire ordeal. She was much more interested by the man sitting at her side. Kate was ready for what was to come after the dancing ended. It would be too obvious if they both left together early in the festivities, but it really had been awhile since she had gotten properly bedded.
"Be honest. You're green with envy," he teased with a broad, merciless grin. Kate rolled her eyes before resting her chin in hand. Although she really wasn't interested in marriage, occasionally female sentiments wormed their way into her thoughts and made her secretly wish for a townhouse, a passel of brats, and a husband to sleep with on a regular basis.
Was it so wrong that she pictured Emmett as the man to give it all to her? Perhaps not wrong, but embarrassing.
She was blushing. He didn't see it, but it was there. "So what if I am? When are you going to pop the question, hm?" she prodded with a tiny smile. Kate realized, even as it left her lips, that perhaps it wasn't wise to tease about something so horrific. Even though Emmett was a good sport, marriage was something that scared everyone with half a brain. It was delivered more seriously than she had meant it, but she didn't bother retracting the question. They could have fun, being married to one another. Travelling to exotic places, drinking until they were pissed, raising children to be a garrulous as they—Kate longed for it. She wasn't sure if she could say she was in love with Emmett, but he was the same as she. A wandering soul in search of a home. Perhaps it was the lack of laughter in her eyes that caused him to respond without amusement.
It was a long time before he finally answered, and his tone was unreadable. "I'm not getting married, you know." He tried to pass it off nonchalantly, but somehow their jokes had fallen flat. They were talking about it without actually acknowledging it.
Kate made the quick decision to force his laughter rather than continue the discussion. "Oh, you know you'd love it. Me, rubbing your feet and serving you brandy at your every beck and call." She attempted to lighten the mood, her smile returning a bit unsurely. It worked. His grin returned—the image was too priceless. Kate would never be subservient to anyone, and they knew it.
"I can picture it already," he chuckled amiably before throwing an arm over the back of her chair. Kate knew that someday he'd see the sense in it. He needed someone to carry on his name, and she needed to not die as a spinster. It was perfect.
"Are you going to ask me to dance yet?" she leaned into his body with a playful pout. Kate could play the tease, of course, and even though they both knew he was going to get lucky later on in the evening, she enjoyed making him work for it.
"Yeah, yeah," he smirked before rising from his seat. The dance was a Jenny Lind, and although it meant she wouldn't remain in his arms the entire mixer, Kate hoped that seeing her in another man's arm would bring out the jealous brute she knew lurked inside him.
§
Emmett was thankful for the break in partners. As much as he adored saucy Kate McKinley, he couldn't see himself marrying her, or anyone for that matter. Their conversation had made him antsy. Didn't she feel the same way he did, that the constraints of aristocratic society were an unnecessary bore? He didn't want a wife, and children terrified him. It wasn't fair to have a family when he'd be no good to them at all. He doubted anyone could be happy with his philandering.
His second partner was a plain redhead that he had recalled seeing aboard already. Emmett wasn't well-versed on society gossip, but he recalled her being somewhat well-regarded. Still, by her puckered mouth and quickly darting eyes, he was all too happy to change ladies.
The next had a habit of stepping on his feet, and her heels were pointed enough that Emmett was sure he'd have a nasty bruise in the morning. She twirled away and another was replaced in his arms, then another—a never-ending supply of women to make him bored and dizzy. He was already counting the minutes til he could escape and find some real entertainment in Miss McKinley's cabin.
Emmett was pulled back into the present by another exchange of partners, and this time he didn't feel the need to drift off. The blonde was laughing breathlessly, her face glowing from exertions on the dance floor. He didn't know what was so funny, but he found himself smiling regardless.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" she trilled with another giggle. "I'm not laughing at you, of course." Emmett hadn't thought she was, but he did note that she didn't apologize for the supposed misconception, either.
"No worries. I wasn't paying attention," he answered honestly. The woman was incredibly light on her feet, which made his work easier as they danced. He wasn't born into this sort of pastime as every other aristocratic man had been.
"Really? I didn't notice," she responded with a wry smile. "You seemed nearly catatonic." Emmett noticed that, even when she wasn't grinning like an idiot, she was…exceptionally pretty. Almost frighteningly so. No one should be born that beautiful.
"Ah, well. We can't all consistently have such charming partners as yourself." She seemed please by his response. Emmett knew how to worm his way into the hearts of the upper class women. A smug smile followed his compliment.
"I'm impressed! Here I thought you were nothing more than a brute with a bad reputation," she commented with a deliciously wicked grin. Emmett opened his mouth, his lips beginning to form the words of a clever retort, but he found himself lost instead. For a moment, he grasped desperately for an excuse, any excuse to explain just why he was staring into her entrancing eyes. He could drown in those crystalline blue irises, and for a moment, he couldn't feel himself breathing any longer.
His gaze was intense, that he knew. Her smile slowly faded away, all pretense of joke disappearing until they were just two people, forgetting the steps to a dance they had memorized long ago, greedily drinking in each other's faces.
Someone, perhaps the man who was meant to claim her dance next, pulled the bewildered young woman away from Emmett and into their own arms. Emmett was only vaguely aware that he was planted firmly in the middle of the dance floor, lungs burning feverishly for air.
What the hell had just happened?
§
Tanya's hands gripped the edge of the sheets as she pressed them against her bare body. There was only silence now. Edward was tense as he lay next to her, and despite wanting to reach out and touch him, she knew it wasn't the wisest course of action.
They were both miserable, and not even the simple act of being with one another could alleviate it any longer.
Exhaling softly before allowed her eyes to close tight, she finally whispered into the deafening calm, the only thing she dared to disturb.
"Who is Isabella?"
Hey everyone, I want to apologize for taking forever to post this chapter. I actually had most of it done two weeks ago, but I caught strep throat and I STILL have it. I'm not sure if I'm happy with this story anymore, so please feel free to give me whatever constructive criticism you like. I love to hear from all of you.
Thanks for reading!
