A/N: I'm getting to the point where I am mortified by my poor response rate to messages, especially when each review completely lifts me over the moon! Thank you thank you thank you. Hopefully this chapter NOT a few months long in the making will atone for a little and I will be able to thank you all personally eventually. xx
Those who were reluctant to see M&G's time on their boat sanctuary end... I am completely with you. It was jarring to come ashore. But we are close to the last leg of their journey and I am excited and working hard to push through it! There is also a piece of repurposed dialogue in this chapter I've been dying to flip since forever and I'm glad I was able to sneak it in...
The Hotel
There was a subtle change in Georg as they disembarked in Ancona. The very edges of him seemed to sharpen before her eyes, coming into focus, losing some of the softness Maria had grown accustomed to at sea. He appeared relaxed, a sailor coming home, but there was something coiled in the way he moved, a keener awareness in his gaze, that made her feel wary as she walked beside him along the main road in search of their hotel.
They'd pulled into the bustling port just past noon, the heart and lifeblood of an otherwise nondescript, gentle Italian city. Its austere, efficient harbor, with concrete docks extending into the water like the spokes of a wheel – large enough to accommodate those new cruise ships, Georg had told her – was in stark contrast to the humble, square-cut buildings in varying earthen tones that rose level by level to meet the rolling hills above. Fishing boats, yachts, ferries all jostled for space along the docks. Her momentous moment when Georg let down his anchor at last – her first time in mainland Europe in three years – was overshadowed by the terrifying incident of a passing tugboat that missed them by mere feet.
Georg swore, making a rude gesture as he glared at the passing boat – a gesture Maria had seen sailors make often, but never Georg.
It was with gentleness that he offered his hand to her, helping her down the gangway onto the dock. His blue eyes twinkled as he welcomed her home, but the hand she gave him was shaky. For a moment she shrank back, not wanting to leave the safety of the yacht, fighting a sense that home was behind her.
She couldn't falter now, Maria thought, marching alongside Georg. Ever the gentleman, he was juggling her suitcase, carpetbag, and guitar, plus his own bag. The streets were wide and well-maintained, with lanes for pedestrians and cars, but Maria felt a sudden pang for the dusty streets of Milos, friendly and familiar. It was cooler here than on the island – she would need to dig out her shawl once they got to the hotel. Oh, but how loud it was, the noise of passersby chatting, bicycle bells and idling car engines.
It took Maria several extra steps to realize Georg had stopped.
"Oh, is this it?" Maria backtracked to where he was standing in front of a building, cut identical to its neighbours and unremarkable but for a smartly dressed doorman standing in front of a set of iron-wrought doors. Georg nodded the same moment the doorman bowed, opening the door to admit them into the lobby. Georg paused briefly as the door closed behind them, Maria at his side. The lobby was spacious, if a bit outdated, with ornate trim along the walls and a Persian runner that lead to the counter. There was a fresh, citrusy scent that was a welcome contrast to the sea air outside. "It'll do," he said.
"You've never been here before?" Maria asked, momentarily confused. Georg seemed familiar with Ancona, and she'd assumed he docked here often.
Georg gave her a wry smile. "I would not dare bring a lady into the establishment I usually stay." There was an edge under his teasing words.
"Oh," Maria said. She pictured a seedy port hotel, worse than the Siren. A different clientele. A different kind of entertainment. She pushed the image out of her mind. "We could have spent the night on the boat."
Her lighthearted suggestion surprised a sharp laugh from him. "Not on the deck, though."
"Too busy?" She ventured.
"Too loud. And too many peeping eyes."
"Ah," she said vaguely, as the receptionist gestured them forward.
"Buon pomeriggio, signore. Signora." She spoke a smooth Italian, smiling brightly at them in turn. She was a petite woman who Maria suspected had been hired for her energy alone, her dark curls fairly bouncing as she nodded to them.
Maria offered a tentative smile when Georg failed to do so, his face suddenly guarded. She knew even less Italian than she did French, and she doubted the colourful words she'd picked up at the Siren would do much good as Georg launched into a fluent dialogue with the clerk, presumably to arrange accommodations for the night. She was animated, he stern.
The conversation lulled as the clerk pulled out a stack of papers, preparing to check them in. Georg reached into his bag to retrieve a few documents, handing them to the dark-haired Italian across the counter. She examined the papers, and then looked up with another bright smile.
"Ah, Herr Franz Schmidt, welcome to Italy." She switched languages so smoothly it took Maria a second to realize she could now understand it. It took another moment of confusion to understand Georg had chosen to use an alias. It didn't surprise her, but it was impossible to think of him as anyone else but Captain Von Trapp.
Georg nodded in acknowledgement.
"German?" Her pen scratched across her papers even as she chatted.
"Austrian," he returned, a bit stiffly.
"You speak Italian so flawlessly, I would never have guessed you were anything but Italian."
"I lived in Trieste for a number of years." Maria noted he actively avoided mentioning his naval career. The clerk looked like she wanted to ask more – Trieste was, after all, well known as a naval base during the war – but checked her tongue. Many who lived the war had no wish to be reminded of it.
"What's brought you and Frau Schmidt to these parts?" She asked instead. She leaned down to sign off on their check-in papers, and missed Maria sudden jerk of surprise.
"Oh, no, we're not – "
"Just passing by," Georg cut in smoothly. Maria stared at him. He knew all along she assumed they were married, and he had let her think it.
"Will you be needing information for the area? Places to sightsee?" The clerk was turning to the key rack behind her.
Married. Maria took a breath, trying not to show how much the thought affected her.
"No thank you. We will not be having time to tour the sights. We have a train to catch in the morning" Georg took her hand. He gave it a covert squeeze, and Maria felt reassured despite herself. He smiled at the clerk as she faced them again. "Regrettably, as I happen to know you have a beautiful citadel, and one very fine brewery."
The clerk laughed, charmed, and Georg accepted the papers and large key she handed him.
"In that case, the dining hall is that way – " she gestured toward one side of the hallway behind her, " – and the casino through that entrance," a wave toward the other side. "Have a lovely stay, Herr and Frau Schmidt."
"Thank you." Georg shouldered Maria's bags, waving aside the bellboy's offer to help. Maria followed in his wake, turning to give the clerk a small, albeit bewildered, smile.
Their suite was on the third floor, up a narrow lift. Maria and Georg squeezed through the small metal frame. Silently, she watched the doors close, felt the slow ascent of the elevator, and waited patiently for the doors to open again on the third floor.
They stepped out into a long hallway. It was quiet, the thick carpet muffling even their footsteps. "Georg?" she said tentatively as they walked toward their room.
"Yes?" Away from prying eyes and ears, his voice was soft once more, a tenderness that seemed reserved only for her.
She flushed. "We're – well, we're not…" Maria choked on the last word. Married.
"No, we're not." She couldn't read the expression on his face.
"Did you… mean for her to think that?"
He shook his head. "No. But I'm glad she did."
A pause. "Why?"
"Maria, if an unmarried woman checks into a hotel with a man, people will assume either one of two things." Another pause, before he continued reluctantly, " – that she is his mistress, or they are having an affair."
She bit her lip. She had been at the Siren too long, she thought, that she had forgotten the very idea of propriety. Pierre, too, had been quick to introduce her, first as his governess, then as his fiancée. She stole a sidelong glance at Georg. What words could be used to describe what they were to each other? "No one will know me here, it doesn't matter – "
"Yes, it does." He looked ahead, and the flash in his eyes could have burnt holes through the far wall. "I will not have anyone think that of you when you are with me, wherever we are."
His voice was low, the intensity of his declaration made her heart clench and warm. "Oh," she said, unable to find words to respond.
She should be – she was – grateful that he wanted to protect her, in the only way he could. Captain Von Trapp's wife, she would never be. But Herr Franz Schmidt's wife – she could be that for one evening.
She tried to smile. "Well, tell me about him."
He glanced at her, indulging her efforts with a small smile. "Who?"
"Herr Franz Schmidt. I should know what kind of man I married."
Georg chuckled, but didn't respond right away, so she ventured, "someone who doesn't like to draw attention, I know. Unlike Captain Georg Von Trapp, who by all accounts was a magnet."
"I haven't been Captain Von Trapp in years."
You had for me, Maria thought suddenly. He'd been a little evasive about it at first – she'd learned about his dead wife before she'd learned his name – but at least he'd been honest. Perhaps the closer he got to home, the more he sought to escape.
"So… who do people think you are?"
"Most don't think twice. But if they did…" His smile turned mischevious. "I would be one part butler and one part housekeeper."
Maria's eyebrow drew together, and she laughed in surprise. "After your own butler and housekeeper? Georg."
He chuckled sheepishly. "It was convenient. I was not…prepared to give a name at the time, and then it sort of stuck. They're common enough names."
They'd reached the room that corresponded to the number on the key. Georg unlocked the door and let them both in. He stopped just inside the threshold, eyes sweeping the room, frowning slightly.
It seemed just fine to her, she thought, squeezing past Georg into the vestibule. Maria had stayed in her fair share of hotels during her time with Pierre, and this room seemed in keeping with the rest; small for a suite, but had a large bed, a cozy sitting area, and a beautiful picture window that overlooked the town. She turned back to him quizzically.
"There's only one bed," Georg muttered finally, setting down their luggage with a frustrated exhale.
Maria hid a smile. After the week they'd had on the boat, he was apprehensive about this, of all things? "We're supposed to be married," she reminded him archly. It had, after all, been his idea. What kind of arrangement was he expecting? "Unless you'd rather pretend we've argued, and take out separate rooms."
Georg gave an exasperated huff of laughter, turning to her with a twinkle in his eye. Half affectionately, half playfully, he tweaked her nose. "I am trying to protect your virtue, darling."
She stretched up on her toes to brush her lips against his cheek, a perfect imitation of a married woman greeting her husband. "And I trust you, darling."
He shook his head, still smiling. "Maria, you are incorrigible."
"And you are thinking too much."
Georg gave a sheepish little shrug, which Maria took to mean he acknowledged that perhaps he was. With that matter settled, Georg rang for some cool lemonade, and he and Maria passed the afternoon at the sitting area, admiring the view from their room as Georg told her stories of his time in Trieste, commanding Austria's submarine arm. They watched the sun drop over the rooftops of the town, and eventually, Georg suggested they prepare for dinner downstairs. They took turns using the washroom to freshen up, a routine that seemed almost second nature now. While Georg was getting ready, Maria looked through her clothes for something to wear. She hadn't needed to dress for dinner her entire time on the island.
When Georg reappeared in the room, having shaved, changed, and donned a jacket, Maria was dressed in her only good dress, the lovely blue chiffon she had splurged on while shopping for swimsuits on the island with Jenny. He stopped walking when he saw her.
She looked back at the tall figure in front of her, elegant lines and chiseled features, not a hair out of place. Gone was the rugged, brooding sailor, Georg was every inch the gentleman. Did she even know such a man? Who did he see, when he saw her? Maria gave him a tentative smile, spreading out her hands. "Am I suitably dressed? I'll have to wear my slippers – they're the only pair I have."
He blinked, and it took him a moment to reply. He said very simply, "you look beautiful," but as his gaze held hers, he said a thousand words more. He gave her his arm.
They descended the lift. The atmosphere in the lobby had shifted in the time they'd been upstairs. Where it had been sleepy and quiet in the afternoon, nearly empty, now there were plenty of guests milling about. Some were casually dressed, some in evening wear, all recharged in the cooler evening air, waiting to be whisked off to dinner, restaurants, parties. Maria stepped gingerly into the milieu. "I haven't done this in a very long time," she mumbled under her breath.
Georg glanced over. "I haven't either," he told her. "In fact, before tonight I actively avoided it."
"Hmm." There were so many people. Maria was used to people looking at her, but tonight, she didn't have the protection of pretending to be someone else. Maria of the Siren was gone forever. "What changed your mind?"
He drew her a little closer. "I want to enjoy the evening. With you." Then he slipped his arm from hers, only to settle it snugly around her waist.
"What are you doing?" She asked, laughing to cover her nerves as they made their way across the lobby toward the dining hall. Now she could feel eyes following them across the room. Admiring, perhaps, an indulgent glance at two people who appeared very much in love.
He gave her a devastating, devilish smile that made her forget all about nerves, and whispered into her ear, "I'm escorting my wife to dinner."
Perhaps it was just as well he had his arm around her. Ruse or not, Maria had never understood what it meant to be weak in the knees, until now.
Maria of the Siren was gone. She didn't know who she'd be after tomorrow, when they'd arrive in Switzerland at last. But tonight… tonight she was Maria, a woman married to a striking man.
Georg remained the playful, devoted husband throughout dinner, a set-menu affair under a glittering crystal chandelier, presented by a discreet waiter who, completely opposite to Stavros, melted into the shadows after serving each course. Georg ordered a bottle of wine, poured them each a glass, and left the rest untouched on the table. She was glad she didn't have to think too much as the courses arrived one after another, for she was only able to half concentrate on the meal. Maria had shared many meals with Georg, but none had been like this. This was the man Baron Georg Von Trapp must have once been; comfortable being seen, a witty entertainer, attentive to his dinner companions, completely smitten with his wife… How different from the prickly and slightly wild man she had met, the burdened man she had come to know, Maria thought in surprise, finding herself laughing, being entertained, blushing profusely. It suited him, she decided. Completed him. Made him the Captain Von Trapp she had always been curious about but had never fully known.
During dessert a band started up, a band from America that filled the room with soft, romantic jazz. Maria had not heard much jazz, having had her first taste of it while touring the Italian Rivera with Pierre, but she'd loved it immediately. She told Georg this. He replied with a chuckle, "have you yet to meet music you don't love?"
"Well… no," she acknowledged, laughing. "But I know music that speak to my heart. I know music that leaves you thinking, music that your feet can't help but dance to… but I've yet to meet anything that speaks to my soul quite the same way jazz does."
She was flushed from laughing. From the wine. From the sheer delight of Georg's company and the wonderful music weaving alluringly through the room. He looked back at her, relaxed and smiling, like a man who had suddenly discovered the fountain of youth.
Maria was bewildered when quite abruptly he stood up, only to come around the table. He gallantly held out his hand in a way that might have made her laugh, were it not for the liquid fire in his gaze.
Automatically, she gave him her hand, before she could even open her mouth to refuse.
"You told me you were a poor dancer," Maria said weakly to his shoulder, as he led her to the dance space in the middle of the dining hall.
"I am, especially when stumbling along to waltzes by Strauss I can't even remember." He drew her smoothly among the dancers, catching her waist effortlessly as though he'd done it a hundred times. "I can't let you miss the best way to appreciate jazz."
"I don't know how to dance to this," she protested.
He pulled her close – closer than she was used to for all the dances she knew. "Jazz is all about improvising," he murmured against her cheek. "All about feeling."
And so Maria let herself feel. Let herself feel the music, feel him – the rhythm of him almost as familiar to her now as her own, song after song, dance after dance. They moved together in a gentle sway. There was very little movement, couples staying in their own space, never crossing paths – yet she felt it all.
They danced until the band stopped for a break. The guests dispersed, some back to their tables, some to the bar, others filtering out of the room through the lofty double doors. Georg and Maria were one of the last couples off the floor, Georg escorting her with a hand at the small of her back.
Maria sighed, feeling content, a strange sensation that was both lightness and fullness at the same time.
"Would you like to stay?"
She would have liked to stay forever. But she could also feel an ache in her legs, now that she'd stopped dancing, and a heaviness in her eyes that told of a long day. "I suppose we have a long journey tomorrow, haven't we?"
"We do." He smiled at the reluctance in her voice. "The train leaves earlier than you usually wake up."
Maria smiled back, already storing this night in her catalog of cherished memories. She met the glance of an older couple seated near the dance floor, and smiled at them too. Tonight, she loved everyone.
The woman responded warmly as she and Georg passed them. "What a lovely couple you make, dear."
Maria blushed, and felt Georg's arm tighten around her as she murmured a thank you.
In the lobby, Georg told her he needed to return to send a few telegrams at the front desk. Maria argued she could find her way back to the room just fine, and there was really no need for him to make an extra trip. Yielding, Georg saw her into the lift, and she made her way back to the room alone.
She missed his presence by her side already, this version of Georg who had chased happiness all evening.
I want to enjoy the evening. With you.
She wondered if she would ever hear those words again. The simplicity, the earnestness of that wish. She doubted it.
When Georg returned to the room some time later, Maria was standing by the window, still wearing her blue chiffon dress. She had turned on the light in the vestibule, but the rest of the room was dark.
"Hello," he said softly, coming up behind her. "You're far away. Where are you?"
"In a world that never existed, I think." Her voice sounded even further, nearly lost among the buzz of city life drifting from the streets below. "And yet – somehow I don't want to let it go."
He looked out the window across the dark rooftops, the houses made of rock that didn't reflect moonlight the way buildings on Milos did. Incandescent streetlights created a dull haze above the skyline. He traced Maria's gaze upward, toward the stars.
Georg never looked at stars when he was in town. The exercise gave him a headache, like he was stargazing through fog, or had been handed an exam paper with three quarters of the navigation chart missing… but tonight, tonight it made his heart ache.
He had been careless. Perhaps she had, as well. Tomorrow, they would find out if she had a hope of recovering her voice, and she would make her own way from there. But to ignore the past week was impossible. To think the nights with Maria – he knew she was thinking of them, too – could be forgotten like a dream or discarded like the Greek myths that inspired the constellations… it was unbearable.
Is there any way I could bring you into the world I'm in?
He didn't say it, because until recently, the world he had known had ceased to exist. This past week – he didn't know what to make of it. Didn't know if it was more dream or pretense or wish fulfillment, destined to remain one of the seas' many secrets.
And tonight, they had started the evening pretending to be husband and wife. Somehow, they'd both discovered it was all too easy, and they were more than willing. Georg had felt that way once, and never expected to feel it again. He felt alive in a way he hadn't in years. A switch had been flipped, and something, everything, had turned on. Life, he remembered, was meant to be lived, not endured.
He didn't say it, because he needed to tell her he was going to spend the night on the sofa, after all. If he did not, if they spent their last night together on the bed, if they spent it pretending to be husband and wife… he would break.
He glanced at the slender silhouette beside him, staring into the night as though she would find the answers if she looked hard enough. She would break.
He didn't say it, because Georg saw – had seen before now, really, only now he felt a startling clarity – what kind of world could be waiting for him. He'd been working toward it, his progress slow and arduous. And this time, Georg wouldn't – couldn't – let it go.