Rise (Roam Series, Book Three) (28 page)

The innkeeper appeared perturbed at our late-night arrival, but the handful of cash from West induced instant hospitality. “Right this way, Mr. and Mrs. Perry,” he led us to a small bedroom up one flight of steps, and I moved through the arched doorway, watching West secure the lock on the door before checking the windows.

“This is the first inn that we come to. Wouldn’t Troy come here, too?”

“I have no idea.” He reached for my arm, extending my elbow and pushing the sleeve of my gown upwards. The numbers were darkened against my tanned skin. “You brought your numbers. I don’t know why. As we move, mine will change. I need to prepare for that.”

I knew this West; survival mode, efficient, unfeeling. Turning, I caught my reflection in the crude mirror over a chest of drawers.

Amina, at least two inches shorter than me, stared back, and I took comfort in my own green gaze. West was right- exotic, beautiful, and striking with her prominent cheekbones and wide eyes. “Do we sleep here tonight?”

“Yes,” he checked the window for the second time before turning to me.

Taking me in, he stepped back, breathing slowly. “It’s been so long… since I held
this
you.”

“Well, hold away.” I held my arms out, listening to the sound of my own voice. “What is this accent?”

“Arabic,” he smiled slowly, lifting his eyes. “Do you remember how to speak the language?”

“Can you speak Arabic?” I asked, incredulous.

“Yes.”

“How many languages do you speak?”

“Arabic… English… French, Spanish,” he cupped my face in his hands, closing his eyes. “Berber. Dutch. I could go on, but I need to ask you something.”

“What?” I breathed, his touch heating my skin.

“Can I kiss you? Will that make you… uncomfortable?”

“Because I’m
Amina?” I laughed, loving the way my tongue rolled off of words on their own accord. “West, you delivered Eva when I was Annie. I’m pretty sure I’m over it.”

“Good.” His mouth found mine, and I fumbled, realizing that
Amina’s lips were much bigger, like my own when I cried too hard.

“You taste like…
Christmas
,” I murmured at the peppermint toothpaste, thankful that he kept his own body when we traveled. “Are we still going on the
Titanic
?”

He pulled away, sighing. “Yes.”

“I told Troy… once… that I’d have loved to step foot on the
Titanic
.” I watched West closely at my admission, watching him struggle with his anger. “What?”

“The idea of luring him there… where there is no escape.”

“We’ll get on in Cherbourg, and off in Ireland. We discussed this.” I reached for his hand, and he touched my wedding ring.

“We can’t fail.” I knew he was thinking of Eva.

“Then we go. If he’s going follow us, he’ll connect the dates and try for the Titanic. I just… know it.”

“You know him better than I do. Do you think he’ll come after you, or Eva?”

I remembered Troy’s body next to mine in the giant, ebony bed. My skin crawled at the memory of his mouth on my skin. “He’ll come for me. He’s… obsessed. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have followed me, century after century.”

West reached for me, gripping me tightly.
“I agree.”

“Then we’re going?” I
pulled nervously at the skirt of my dress.

“We’ll leave in the morning. I know where we can get a car.”

“Of course you do, my resourceful husband.”

By noon the following day, we were well on our way to Cherbourg. West drove
the 1911 Mercedes town car, entertaining me with the history of Morocco and France. “It was just in March of 1912 when Sultan Abdelhafid, in the Treaty of Fez, gave up the sovereignty.”

“That’s why so many speak French there, now.” I realized. “I can’t believe I didn’t know that.”

He grinned, adjusting the stick shift on the car. “What? My Roam didn’t know something about history?”

“Stop it. There’s a lot I don’t know.”

“Let’s stop for lunch,” he suggested, gesturing to a corner restaurant. “We have a two hour window to board in Cherbourg, and we’re making good time.”

Once
seated in the restaurant, I covered my stomach, nausea unsettling. As a waiter brought us drinks, I struggled with strange, emotional tears. “West, I need to ask you something.”

He raised his eyes, waiting.

“When… time passed… when I was in the castle… did you consider going back to Laurel?”

He reached for my tears, shaking his head. “Hey. Are you kidding me?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You’re probably pregnant,” he said softly, gesturing to my body. “
Amina, I mean. We suspected before she died.”

“Great,” I murmured.

“No, I never once considered being with Laurel again. Or… anyone.” His eyes focused on my hands.

“Anyone who?”

“Morgan admitted that she was having feelings for me.”

I stared at him, finally pursing my lips together and looking down. “You know, she called you
Hottie McHistory all through senior year.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Well, she was angry with herself, and I couldn’t reciprocate, so she… left for a while. I’m so glad that she and Jason are together… in this life.”

“Jason… carried you through the gate, after you were shot,” I sat back, all hopes for eating eliminated as I thought of that first night in the castle.

“You saw that?”

“He made me… watch you leave,” I sniffed. “I got very sick that night… I had a fever, and pneumonia. I was sick for ten days.”

The food arrived, and West gestured to my plate. “Tell me about Princeton.”

His abrupt change in subject was obvious; he wanted me to eat.

I described my dorm room, my roommate, and my instructors as I ate. “Since I’m in the History of Science program, my courses include a lot of biology and medical history.”

“I keep meaning to ask you… what made you choose that program?”

I lowered my fork, raising my eyes to his. “Immortality intrigues me.”

He sat back, dropping his napkin to the table. “Each life makes its own imitation of immortality,” he leaned forward slightly, as if sharing a secret. “Stephen King.”

I smiled, nodding. “You know, I am really lucky that you are so incredibly intelligent, handsome, and charming. It would have sucked to spend lifetime after lifetime with
an… ugly asshole.”

“First, those words sound ridiculous coming from you,” his shoulders shook as he struggled to contain his laughter. “And secondly, please don’t curse,” he teased.

“I’m sorry,” I giggled, my accent ringing even in my laughter. “Come on, let’s go.”

In the town car once more, we were only four hours from Cherbourg. I slid the taffeta sleeve of my gown up my arm, staring at my numbers.

“Still North Carolina, right?”

“You’d
have known if they changed. I can’t hold the pain back like you do.”

“You can, if you focus. I’ve seen you do it.”

“So… just the two of us, on the White Star Line, mingling with the Guggenheims and Strauses.”

“Just one Guggenheim… and his mistress,” West corrected, tucking me against his shoulder.

“And you have tickets?”

“Taken care of.
First class.”

“West, I don’t see how we won’t change history by going on the ship.”

“We may… our own, that is. We can’t change other people’s paths or histories. Maybe we’ll see our names on a passenger list when we return, who knows.”

“But…,” I wrapped my left hand in my right, twisting my diamond ring. “The Peterhof Fountains are fine- no explosion, no deaths. We made history, and then changed it, with no repercussions. If we make history by going on this doomed ship, couldn’t we…,”

“If you tell one person about an iceberg, I can’t guarantee that the world we return to… in 2014… will be the same world. That includes our families, Roam.”

His tone, so serious, made me pull away. “I understand.”

“No,
I
understand your compassion. But we can’t risk changing anything.”

“Okay.”

He drove in silence for a while as I contemplated his words.             

The nausea returned, and I shifted uncomfortably, pulling a heavy shawl around my shoulders.
Back at the hotel, West had transferred all of our items into a small trunk, leaving the duffle bag we’d brought stuffed under the bed of the inn.

“They’ll let you take that pistol on the ship?” I gestured to the holster at his side.

“We’re first class.”

“Wow.
Snooty.”

He chuckled. “That’s just how it was.”

We arrived in Cherbourg at six-fifteen. “We’re going to the transatlantic terminal. We’ll need to be ferried to the ship,” he added.

“You sound nervous,” I reached for him, and he returned my fervent hug.

“I had planned a honeymoon, not a face-off.”

“We don’t know if he’s here.”

“There will be many European emigrants getting on in Cherbourg for America. Two-hundred and eighty-one passengers will board here.”

“Eighty-three,” I countered.

“Right,” he parked outside the terminal, and I huddled close to him, my fingers gripping his mercilessly.

“West,” I breathed, stopping in my tracks as the first lights appeared in the distant harbor.

The enormous ship moved slowly toward the port, the four smoke funnels striking out against the pink and blue, dusky clouds of the evening. I had expected to be impressed by the size and magnitude, but in the foreign time and land, the colossal
Titanic
commanded total reverence.

“First class,” West gestured to one of the ferries.
“The
Nomadic
. That one will tender us over.”

I rolled my shoulders back and tried to walk as imperially as possible. West spoke
privately to a young man, and after a minute, money was exchanged and the boy began unloading our trunk. “Did you just hire him to carry that trunk?”

“I’d draw too much attention carrying it myself. These people have servants, nurses, maids… You’re doing fine, Roam.”

I nodded, moving toward an elegantly dressed crowd near the
Nomadic
. West arranged our passage while I took in the scene, marveling at the people and listening to them talk to each other. My stomach turned, and I took a deep breath, fighting back the budding nausea.

A dog’s whining bark drew my attention to the left. A young girl, about my age, quieted an Airedale. “Kitty, shush. I’m sorry,” she smiled helplessly, extending her hand to mine. The white gloves reached her elbows, and I shook her hand. “She gets a bit rowdy with other people. Madeleine Astor,” she introduced herself, handing the leash over to a tall, thin woman. “Thank you, Rosalie.”

“Amina,” I said, barely able to breathe.
I am speaking to Madeleine Astor.

“
Amina, what a beautiful name. Where are you from?”

“Morocco,” West interrupted, joining my side. I watched as Madeleine’s mouth fell open slightly, her eyes focusing on his broad shoulders.
“West Perry. My wife has made a friend,” he acknowledged.

“American,” Madeleine smiled, extending her fingers toward West. He bent slightly, raising them to his lips.

“Yes. And quite ready to go home,” he added. She nodded eagerly, her pink cheeks darkening by the minute.
West and his magical charm,
I thought, shaking my head at him.

“It is so nice to meet you,” I said, the genuine sincerity in my voice making her smile.

“Please, you must meet my husband. John,” she turned, delicately pressing her white-tipped fingers to her head. “Oh.”

“Are you well?” West asked. She nodded, taking a deep breath.

“The child,” she covered her stomach, smiling. “I notice that I am a bit faint at times.”

“Well, then, you two have much in common,” he turned to me, and it was all I could do not to elbow him in the ribs.

“You, as well? Oh, I am so happy to have made a friend,” she exclaimed. An older man swept to her side, nodding politely.

“Hello. John Astor,” he greeted, shaking West’s hand.

“West Perry, and my wife, Amina.”

“Good to know you,” he replied absently, turning back toward his valet. Madeleine waved at me, following her husband quickly.

“
Holy shit.
”

“Roam, of all the times to start cursing, you’ve picked the absolute worst.” He bent to reach for my hand, smiling down at me. “Though, as I remember,
Amina swore like a sailor… though it was mostly in Arabic.”

I
grinned, leaning against him. He tucked his arm around me, leading me to the ferry.