He was retreating, pulling back from whatever moment they’d almost had. And Mary almost let him because he was right. They had a job to do. Diane needed their help. Colin needed to be stopped. But the words slipped out. “No. This bed is big enough for both of us. It’s not like we’re teenagers who can’t share a space without turning it into something… um… more. If you take that side, I’ll be closer to my chair.”
She forced her voice to remain steady, hoping he didn’t see how she was fighting to remain neutral when she really wanted to scream, “Can we stop pretending there’s not something between us?” She held his gaze, her breathing coming easier when he finally nodded.
Letting out a long breath, she announced, “I’ll take the bathroom first.” Without waiting for a response, she turned and rolled to the drawers to retrieve her nightclothes, then rolled into the bathroom and shut the door.
She focused on getting through her evening routine and not on the man just outside the door. Only partially successful in that endeavor, she looked in the mirror, mumbled, “You got this,” and then straightened her back and rolled out from the bathroom in her pajamas and robe with her head held high. She couldn’t help but notice Bert’s eyes moved over her as though cataloging every detail.
He quickly headed into the bathroom for a shower, and she shifted from her chair into the bed. While lying there and staring up at the ceiling, she couldn’t stop thinking about his words. It doesn’t feel like pretending at all.
Tomorrow, they’d watch Colin, document evidence, and even keep an eye on George. What if I was wrong and Colin is just Diane’s sole living heir, doing nothing wrong? What if he’s just trying to protect Diane from someone wanting to take advantage of her? What if I’ve blown all this up in my mind and there really isn’t a problem? And tomorrow? Tomorrow, we’ll continue playing the role of a devoted couple for the other passengers.
The bathroom door opened, and she jerked out of her musings. Their gazes locked onto each other, and the temperature in the room seemed to skyrocket.
He walked over and checked the stateroom door, ensuring it was locked. He placed his clothes on the sofa, then looked back over at the bed.
A nervous giggle slipped out, and he lifted a brow in silent question.
“Sorry,” she said, trying to keep from laughing again. “You and I sit on the sofa at home all the time, curled up together watching scary movies. Honestly, this is no different. You have your side of the bed, and I have mine. It’ll be fine.”
His brow stayed raised, but he grinned as he nodded. He walked around to the side nearest the wall and paused at the nightstand. Mary watched as he reached up to his left ear with practiced movements. His fingers found the small flesh-colored hearing aid that was barely visible even when you knew to look for it. He gently removed it, and she realized it was the first time she’d actually seen it.
The tiny device fit almost entirely within his ear canal, and Mary had learned over the months that most people never even noticed Bert wore it. He handled it with the kind of careful attention that spoke of years of routine, opening a small case on the nightstand and placing the hearing aid inside. Then he pulled out a soft cloth and wiped the device clean before closing the case with a quiet click.
“Battery should be good through tomorrow,” he murmured, more to himself than to her, checking the small indicator light on the case that showed the hearing aid was charging properly.
It was such an intimate thing to witness. This small nightly ritual was as much a part of Bert as brushing his teeth or setting his alarm. The vulnerability of removing the device that helped him navigate the world, trusting Mary enough to let her see this moment.
“If you need to tell me something in the night, just shake me awake. Without the hearing aid, I won’t hear much from my left ear.” Bert’s voice was casual, but Mary caught the hint of self-consciousness beneath it.
“I’ll remember,” she replied softly, touched that he trusted her to be comfortable enough to sleep without his hearing aid even though it meant being more vulnerable.
He slipped under the covers, settling on his left side so his good ear was toward the room. They lay there, neither moving, with a foot of empty space between them. Finally, with Bert’s steady breathing filling the small space, Mary let out a long sigh.
She thought of tomorrow and wondered what would happen when they were both done pretending.
23
Bert woke slowly, awareness creeping in as his eyes remained shut. The room rocked gently. He was warm. Comfortable. He was in bed. On a boat. And absolutely not sleeping alone.
His eyes snapped open to find himself curled around Mary, one arm draped over her waist, his chest pressed against her side as she lay on her back. It didn’t pass his notice that their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. The gentle rocking of the ship had lulled him into the deepest sleep he’d had in months, and at some point during the night, he’d apparently abandoned staying on his side of the bed.
Panic flooded through him. He needed to move, to get out of this position before she woke and thought he was taking advantage. But he was afraid to hurt her. He knew from their months of watching TV together on her couch that she could move her upper body without pain, that she had flexibility and strength in her arms and torso. He also knew that she had a little feeling in her legs, but said there was no pain.
Even so, the last thing he wanted to do was to hurt her. He didn’t want to jostle her roughly or put pressure on areas that might be sensitive or cause discomfort. Bert started to carefully untangle himself, but the moment he shifted, Mary stirred, her body tensing slightly as she woke.
“Bert?” Her voice was sleep-rough and soft.
“I’m sorry,” he said immediately, his voice low and mortified. “I didn’t mean to… I must have moved to your side during the night. I didn’t mean to crowd you or make you uncomfortable?—”
In the dim morning light filtering through the window shade, Bert could see her clearly. Her hair was mussed from sleep, her face soft and unguarded, and when she offered a warm smile with a hint of shyness, Bert felt something in his chest crack open.
He was lost. Completely, irrevocably, no-doubt-about-it lost.
He’d known he cared about her and had admitted to himself months ago that he was falling in love with her. But this moment, seeing her smile at him first thing in the morning, her blue eyes warm and accepting and maybe even pleased to find him wrapped around her—this was when he knew with absolute certainty that his heart was hers. Had probably been hers since the moment she’d shaken his hand when they met and looked at him like he was someone worth seeing.
“Hey,” she said softly, her smile widening. “Did you sleep?”
“Like a baby,” Bert admitted, his voice rough. “I’m sorry about invading your space. I… um…”