Chapter Seven
Port Said, Egypt
The docks were crowded with steamships, cargo freighters, and fishing boats. Narrow streets hum with merchants from around the world, and voices mix in Arabic, English, French, and Italian, blending with the clatter of unloading ships and shouting newsboys.
Spencer took a slow breath. The air is thick with sea salt, spices, and coal smoke.
He turned to Alex, "Let's find a hotel."
Alex turned to him with a raised brow, her lips curling into a teasing smile. "Spoken like a man who thinks he's in control." She patted his chest affectionately, " Let's find a cafe. I need pasta and wine."
She moved ahead, her posture poised, as if the very ground she walked on belonged to her. Speaking over her shoulder, keeping her gaze straight ahead, she playfully bantered, "Deep down, you love being told what to do. There's a freedom in it. And we all know how you Americans feel about freedom."
Spencer stopped a moment, letting her words hang in the air. Then, with a quiet chuckle, he shook his head and followed her, but not without his own playful challenge.
"Hey." He waited for her to turn. When she did, he added, with, "I'll follow you… but I ain't walking behind you."
Alex's eyes sparkled with amusement, her lips curling into a teasing grin. She moved ahead again, unbothered. "You sure? It's a pretty good view."
Her steps quickened as she continued to lead, a sense of victory in her stride.
On the way, Spencer stopped at a shipping office to book them for a British passenger vessel, while she went to find a table and order their food. He had been impatient to book their next journey. And while she hadn't wanted to separate, her growling stomach had made the decision for her.
The restaurant was tucked under the shade of palm trees, and offered a view of European-style villas with lush gardens, their balconies adorned with creeping vines and flowers. The soft hum of the port was a distant background to the quiet elegance of the evening.
Alex dipped a piece of seafood into the rich sauce, dangling it just above her mouth before taking a bite, her eyes closing in satisfaction as she chewed.
She heard Spencer's light steps, then the chair across from her squeaked out, and he folded himself into it.
"You booked us passage?" she asked after swallowing.
Spencer nodded once, his fingers tapping absent-mindedly. "We leave tomorrow."
Alex paused, looking up at him, noticing that he hadn't touched his own plate.
"You're not eating."
"I'm not hungry."
"How is that possible?" her tone implying her disbelief.
He shrugged, "Just ain't."
"You've become the lions you hunted. Gorging yourself on a kill, then sleeping in the sun for a week 'til you muster the energy to bed a lioness," she teasingly narrowed her eyes at him, "I won't wait a week, I'll have you know."
Spencer glanced around the restaurant, discomfort flickering in his eyes as he shifted in the small chair. "I don't like having my back open like this."
Without a second thought, Alex slid onto his lap, her movement fluid and casual. "Pesky, these demons of yours. The further we move from danger, the more we'll see them, I fear."
"We're not moving further from danger." Had he not sufficiently warned her of the danger they could face crossing the continents?
Alex picked up something off the table, holding a round food to his lips, a playful glint in her eyes. "Eat. I demand it," she commanded.
Spencer eyed the food cautiously, his brow furrowing. "What is it?"
"Rice."
"Don't look like rice."
Alex laughed, the sound light and unbothered as she leaned closer to him. "It's rice rolled in flour and fried."
"How do you know the food here?" he wondered.
Alex grinned. "I'm British. All we do is travel the world and become experts on the places we visit."
Spencer's expression was skeptical, "That don't make sense."
She giggled, "Like I said, I'm British."
"So, your culture's based on pretending to be experts on things you know nothing about?"
Gosh, he was so bloody American, she thought.
"No, my love. That's the French."
He laughed at that, and his smile actually showed his straight white teeth.
"Made you smile." She tapped his lips gently, "My Holy Grail."
Spencer rolled his eyes, "You need loftier goals."
"No, I don't," she said defiantly.
Not allowing him to comment, she held the food out to him again, her eyes challenging, almost daring him. "Eat."
Spencer hesitated for a moment, then took the bite from her fingers, chewing thoughtfully.
Alex finished the rest of it in a single motion, her grin widening. "Well?"
He was suitably impressed. "Pretty good."
Alex chuckled at his surprise, grinning triumphantly, "Experts. I told you."
Their eyes met, and with a quick, tender smile, they leaned in, sharing a passionate kiss, in the middle of the restaurant.
She doubted Spencer was thinking of his open back now.
The next day, the docks of Port Said swelled with life, a cacophony of stevedores, porters, officers, and passengers threading their way through the sun-washed tangle of empire.
At the far end of the queue, gleaming in the early light like a silver leviathan, waited their vessel; MAJESTIC, etched in proud letters across her hull. A floating palace bound for Europe.
Spencer and Alex stood together in line, striking in their newly acquired civility. Gone were the worn clothes and jungle dust. He had shaved down his beard into something neat, deliberate. His sleeves were clean white, his gray vest smartly buttoned, slacks pressed sharp, fedora low over his brow. He carried both their bags and the rifle case, slung casually over one shoulder.
Alex's golden curls, scrubbed clean, were pinned back with a wide, sky-blue ribbon that matched the fitted jacket she wore over a yellow blouse with blue flowers. Her skirt swished with each step, unfamiliar after so many days in trousers. She didn't hate it, exactly. But it felt like stepping back into a costume—until she looked at Spencer and remembered it didn't matter anymore. Nothing of the past did.
Spencer and Alex stood together in line, striking in their newly acquired civility. Gone were the worn clothes and jungle dust. He had shaved down his beard into something neat, deliberate. His sleeves were clean white, his gray vest smartly buttoned, slacks pressed sharp, fedora low over his brow. He carried both their bags and the rifle case, slung casually over one shoulder.
Alex's golden curls, scrubbed clean, were pinned back with a wide, sky-blue ribbon that matched the fitted jacket she wore over a blouse of English florals. Her skirt swished with each step, unfamiliar after so many days in trousers. She didn't hate it, exactly. But it felt like stepping back into a costume—until she looked at Spencer and remembered it didn't matter anymore. Nothing of the past did.
The city she'd once walked through with an aching heart now looked different. Back then, it had been a blur—blinding sun, white noise, a stopover on a grand and brittle tour. But now, with Spencer at her side, the same streets held warmth. Choice. She was no longer a passenger in her life. She was choosing this path. Choosing him.
She watched as he looked out across the chaos of the docks, his gaze quiet, shoulders square. He didn't know how much his presence stilled her. How it softened the sharpness of memory.
"I dread seeing London," she murmured.
Spencer reached for her hand, his grip warm, certain.
"You won't see it long," he replied simply.
A breeze off the water stirred her skirt. She looked down at their joined hands. "I miss Africa," she said softly. "Do you?"
He gave her hand a squeeze. "Got my favorite thing about Africa right here."
Alex turned to him fully then, her face blooming with delight. She leaned up and kissed his cheek, a glimmer in her eyes that made the dockyard noise fade to nothing.
They stepped forward in line, inching closer to their ship's gangway until they reached the front of the line.
A uniformed crewman dipped his cap to her with a crisp, "Welcome aboard, madam."
"Thank you," Alex said, stepping onto the gangway. She walked expecting to hear Spencer's boots behind her, but they didn't follow.
Halfway up the ramp, she paused and looked back. Spencer was still at the checkpoint, speaking to a sailor who was eyeing the long, weathered rifle case slung over his shoulder.
Of course. The rifle.
The moment stretched. The crewman radioed someone. There was a brief shuffle, a pause for paperwork.
Alex hesitated. It felt unnatural to board without him. They had done everything together since she'd hopped in his motor car. She hovered at the gangway's top, unsure whether to go on or turn back.
Spencer caught her hesitation and lifted his voice.
"Go on ahead. I'll be right behind you."
Reluctantly, she nodded and crossed the threshold alone.
And that's when she heard it.
"Alexandra?"
The name came like a slap across time. She stopped in her tracks. Turned.
A man stood a few paces away on the upper deck. Handsome, polished, unmistakable.
Her ex-fiancé.
She stared at him, her heart seizing in her chest.
The world tilted ever so slightly.
Arthur was standing just beyond the shaded promenade deck, dressed in a crisp white travel suit that seemed more starched than the expression on his face. His blond hair was combed back neatly, his jaw clenched in disbelief.
She blinked, stunned. For a moment, words failed her.
Arthur closed the space between them in quick, purposeful strides.
"You disappeared," he said coldly. "No letter. No explanation. Do you know what that did to me?"
Nothing but hurt his pride, as he had never loved her. She knew that now, being in love herself.
Alex steadied herself, raising her chin. "It's done, Arthur." Why did he not want to find true love, like her? He'd thank her for this one day… she hoped. Looking him in the eye, she spoke strongly, "Please just leave me be."
His eyes swept over her—her tailored jacket, the confident set of her shoulders—and something inside him cracked. "So that's it? You run off to Africa and come back with him? You were with him the entire time, weren't you? That's why you dragged me across continents to Africa, like a fool."
"That's not true," Alex said, evenly, though her pulse pounded in her ears. "I didn't even know Spencer when we left for our safari."
Arthur scoffed. "Convenient, isn't it? A guide. A hunter. I suppose you liked the thrill of being dragged into the bush by some colonial brute." His voice dropped, venomous. "Sleeping with the help must've been quite the adventure."
She tried to walk past him, disgusted, but he caught her by the elbow.
"You don't get to walk away from me again."
"Let go of me," she said sharply, her voice low but trembling.
"I deserve an explanation."
"You deserve nothing," she spat.
A shadow fell across the deck as Spencer stepped up from the gangway. His eyes immediately locked on Arthur's hand gripping Alex's arm.
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
"Remove your hand from my wife," Spencer said, calmly, "or I'll make you."
Arthur's hand dropped, but his expression only twisted further. "Your wife?"
He turned to Alex, eyes wide with disbelief. "You married him? You chose… this over a member of the British Royal family? Over the future I offered?"
Spencer looked at Alex with fresh eyes, wondering again who this woman had been before she walked into his world and lit it ablaze.
Alex didn't flinch. "Most definitely," she said.
Arthur's mouth opened, but no words came.
Alex turned toward Spencer and slipped her hand into his. The past, once so loud, faded behind her as they walked into the belly of the ship.
Alex stayed close at Spencer's side, still rattled beneath her composed surface. He sensed it in the tension of her grip, the way her eyes scanned every hallway like Arthur might materialize from behind a potted fern.
"Any chance," she muttered, "we can take another ship?"
Spencer didn't look at her, just kept walking, his voice calm and matter-of-fact. "There's five thousand people on this boat. If you don't wanna see him, you don't have to."
She huffed. "That's not how life works. They'll be around every corner."
Alex stopped beside a staircase, tilted his head toward her. "We'll just hide in our room for three weeks."
Spencer smirked, "Plannin' on doin' that anyway."
She laughed, despite the nerves nestling in her belly.
Alex lay curled on the bed, her face as pale as the crisp white pillow she lay on. The motion of the sea had turned her stomach into knots. Spencer sat beside her, dabbing a cool cloth against her forehead, his brow furrowed in concern.
"It's worse in here," he said softly, his voice laced with sympathy. "You need to get your eyes on the horizon."
Alex groaned, dragging the pillow over her face. "Of all the ships in all the ports in all the world… they had to put us on this one."
He was done sparing a thought for her pathetic excuse of an ex-fiancé. "After everything we've been through, running into your ex is hardly worth a mention."
Spencer stood. "Let's go," Spencer urged, holding his hand out.
She peeked out from beneath the pillow. "Fine," she sighed like a martyr, reaching out to him.
"Come on," he grunted, pulling her up off the bed.
One hand rested lightly on the small of her back as they headed up to the deck. Once there, Alex nearly sprinted to the edge. Gripping the railing with both hands, she deeply inhaled the fresh sea air, the breeze on her face feeling incredible. He'd been right, of course, it was much better up here, under the sun.
Spencer came to lean beside her, elbows resting on the railing, his eyes on the distant line where the sea met the sky.
"She can turn into it now," he murmured. "It'll smooth out."
"North Atlantic wasn't this rough," she said, remembering the voyage south.
"It's just a swell," he promised, "It'll pass."
As if he were Poseidon himself, the ship gave a gentler roll, the worst of the churning gone.
"See?" he added with a hint of smugness.
Alex exhaled, visibly relieved. "Thank the heavens," she said.
She closed her eyes, the breeze teasing the loose strands of her hair, when a familiar voice called out from across the promenade.
"Alexandra?"
She turned. Jennifer. Her closest friend and former maid of honor.
They embraced tightly, laughter and surprise giving way to the unspoken weight of the last two weeks.
"You're mad, absolutely mad," Jennifer said as she pulled back and openly admired Spencer, who was lingering just behind. "Completely understandable, but mad nonetheless."
Alex gave a sheepish smile. "How angry are my parents?"
Jennifer winced. "Angry enough to leave the safari that day."
"For London?"
She nodded, "And all your bridesmaids."
Alex's eyes twinkled. "All but one."
Jennifer grinned mischievously. "I didn't see how missing one more sunrise would help Arthur's broken heart."
The smile faded from Alex's face. "His heart isn't broken, only his pride."
Jennifer disagreed, "I'd say all of him is broken. He didn't leave his tent. Not once. His family's in an uproar." She turned to address Spencer, "May we have a moment alone, sir?"
Spencer nodded, gave Alex's hand a brief squeeze, and walked a few paces away, but made sure to keep his eye on her.
Alex drew a breath, faced her oldest friend, "I don't love Arthur," she said simply. Casting a glance toward Spencer, she found her smile again, "That's love."
Jennifer's voice sharpened. "That's lust, Alexandra. He's a hunter. And when the chase is done, he'll find something else to chase."
Alex raised her hand between them, showing the ring, fighting a cheeky grin, "The chase is done."
Jennifer caught her fingers, her eyes wide. "Oh, Alexandra…" she whispered, worry etching her features. "You must think of your family. Of their standing."
But Alex had no guilt left in her. "The only family I'm thinking of is the one I'm starting."
Jennifer drew back, lips pressed into a tight line. "All of London will turn its back to you."
Alex lifted her chin. "They won't get the chance."
Jennifer softened. "I hold no judgment, Alexandra. My only wish is for your happiness." She turned to leave after that, not wanting to upset her further.
"Your wish came true!" Alex called out from behind.
Jennifer turned, and gave her friend a genuine smile, "Then I'm happy for you."
Alex returned to Spencer's side, her heart light after the conversation with Jennifer. There was still tension in the air—lingering whispers of the past—but for now, it was just the two of them, under the sun, with the hum of the ship beneath their feet.
She slid her arm through his. "Tonight, we dine in the grand hall."
Spencer raised an eyebrow, his lips pressing into a skeptical line. "You sure? That's asking for it."
She smiled, her chin lifting with a touch of defiance. "I'm done hiding." Her eyes swept over him, assessing. "You need a suit."
Spencer scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "I ain't wasting money on a suit."
Alex laughed softly, leaning into him. "This liner is in the British fleet." She flashed him a Cheshire smile, the kind that could charm the devil himself. "We don't need money. We have credit."
He grunted, half amused, half exasperated. "Credit, huh?"
Once again, he wanted to ask her about her past. But then, he decided he'd rather not know.