By the time they returned to the ship, Bert’s phone was buzzing with an update from Logan. He looked over at her and reported, “Sisco confirmed the medications. The pill bottles with Diane’s name on them are normal… blood pressure, neuropathy, cholesterol, and a mild antidepressant. But Colin has benzodiazepines in a vitamin bottle. This would make her confused, especially with the antidepressants. It could keep her compliant enough to sign documents but not alert enough to remember. Combined with the financial evidence Sadie gathered, there is a pattern.”
“Okay, but that’s conjecture, not proof,” Mary grumbled. She glanced toward the clock on the counter. “And we need to get ready for dinner. It’s more formal tonight.”
They showered again before dressing, but his mind kept drifting to Mary. To the way she’d looked that morning in the bathroom, vulnerable and beautiful and trusting him with her scars. To the promise they’d made to each other about figuring things out together. To the knowledge that tonight, after dinner, they could finally explore where this heat between them led.
The thought made him nervous and excited in equal measure. He’d enjoyed his sexual experiences in the past, but this was different. This was Mary, who he loved more than he’d loved anyone. This was a woman whose body was unique, who’d admitted she didn’t know what would work for her anymore, who’d been so afraid of disappointing him.
Bert was determined to make sure their first time was about pleasure and discovery and trust, not performance or expectations or fear. Whatever happened, however it went, the goal was connection and care and making sure Mary knew she was loved and wanted and cherished.
Mary emerged from the bathroom looking stunning in a deep blue blouse that brought out the gold in her blue eyes. Paired with black satin pants, she was gorgeous. She’d done her hair and makeup with more care than usual, and when she caught Bert staring, her cheeks flushed pink.
“You look beautiful,” Bert said, his voice rough.
“You look pretty good yourself,” Mary replied, taking in his suit with obvious appreciation. “Very dapper. Very James Bond.”
“I was going for ‘devoted fiancé at formal dinner,’ but I’ll take James Bond.”
The dining room had been transformed, candlelight glowing from every table and soft music playing from speakers positioned around the room. The atmosphere was elegant and refined. Bert and Mary were seated again with Diane and Colin, along with Eleanor and George.
The meal was a series of courses, served with wine pairings, each dish a work of art. But Bert barely tasted any of it, his attention divided between watching Colin and anticipating what would come later.
After dinner, the music shifted to something slower and more romantic. Several couples moved to the small dance floor that had been cleared near the windows, swaying together in the candlelight.
“Dance with me,” Bert said to Mary, the words coming without planning.
Mary’s eyes widened. “Bert, I can’t?—”
“Yes, you can. Trust me.” He stood and moved behind her wheelchair, his hands settling on the handles. “I’ve been practicing.”
That was true. Over the past months, ever since Bert had admitted to himself how much he cared about Mary, he’d watched videos to learn techniques for dancing with a wheelchair user. Not because he assumed Mary would want to dance with him, but because he wanted to be prepared if the opportunity ever arose.
He’d learned how to position the chair for optimal movement, how to guide without controlling, how to make the experience feel natural and romantic rather than awkward or forced. He’d practiced the movements in his living room late at night, imagining Mary with him, hoping someday he’d get the chance to actually dance with her.
Tonight was that chance.
He maneuvered her wheelchair onto the dance floor with smooth confidence, positioning them so he could stand beside her, one hand on the chair and the other extended toward her. Mary took his hand, her expression a mixture of uncertainty and hope.
“Just follow my lead,” Bert murmured, beginning to move them in a slow circle that matched the music’s rhythm.
It wasn’t traditional dancing, but he had learned how to make it work. He guided her chair in smooth arcs and turns while maintaining contact with her hand, creating the feeling of movement and partnership that was the essence of dancing. He’d lean down at intervals, his face close to hers, his free hand stroking her cheek or sliding into her hair, making the dance intimate and romantic.
Mary’s uncertainty melted away as they moved together, her smile growing. “I can’t believe you learned this for me.” Her voice was thick with emotion.
“Of course I did.” Bert spun them in a gentle turn, the wheelchair moving smoothly under his guidance. “I wanted to know how, in case you would ever give me the chance to dance with you.”
He could feel the eyes of other passengers on them, seemingly touched by what they observed. But Bert didn’t care about their audience. His entire focus was on Mary, on the way her eyes shone with tears and joy, on the smile that transformed her face into something radiant.
“No one’s ever seen past my wheelchair like this,” Mary said softly. “No one’s ever cared enough to learn how to make things work, to adapt and include me rather than just accepting limitations.” She pressed her lips together, then as though afraid not to say what was on her mind, she blurted, “The man I had dated before the accident couldn’t handle it. He broke up with me as soon as it became apparent that I wouldn’t walk again.”
Bert’s expression tightened with something deep and fierce. He let out a long, slow breath, then leaned closer. “Then he was a fucking fool as well as an asshole.” Bert erased the space between them and kissed her, soft and sweet, right there on the dance floor in front of everyone. “You’re worth every effort, every moment it took to learn this. You’re worth everything, Mary.”
They danced through another song, lost in each other and the romance of the moment. When the music finally shifted to something faster that didn’t work as well for their style of dancing, Bert guided Mary back to their table, where their dinner companions greeted them with warm smiles and compliments.
Dinner ended with dessert and coffee, passengers lingering over conversation and wine. But finally, mercifully, people began to disperse. Diane and Colin headed to their staterooms, and Bert and Mary left as well.
The way back to their cabin felt longer than usual, anticipation making every step feel weighted with significance. Bert’s hand found Mary’s shoulder as he pushed her wheelchair, his fingers stroking absent patterns on her skin.
“Nervous?” Mary asked, her voice quiet in the ship’s corridor.