The crew are doing something other than lounging around the galley, so we’re on our own for lunch today. I suspect Vee has stolen them away for one of his
games. With barely any passengers and no oversight from Gryphon, the crew have understandably been taking it easy. As long as they get their jobs done, I have no complaints. After rummaging through the supplies, Marlowe and I put together sandwiches and crudités. She goes to sit at the table, but I tuck a flask of hot tea under my arm, snatch up one of the platters, and head for the door.
“Come on.”
“What? Where are you going?”
“Come on,” I say firmly.
She follows, grumbling under her breath, as I lead her away from the crew’s quarters and towards the upper deck. Behind me, I can hear the gentle clinking of two mugs in one of her hands, and I almost smile. As irate as she is, she’s still observant. Arguably, the only thing the English have ever been right about is that tea can make many circumstances better. Normally, I’d berate any staff moving through the ship with unsecured food or kitchenware. It’s unprofessional and possibly dangerous— the swarm springs to mind—but with our only official guest being a ten-year-old boy, even I have to relax a little.
The uppermost deck of theMidasis easily the most luxurious one, and possibly the highest form of decadence I’ve ever personally seen. I hear the moment Marlowe realises what she’s looking at; the sharp inhale of breath rings out across the room in an impressive show of acoustics. I’ve been up here a dozen times already, whenever I can slip away, whatever chance I get. What I want right now is to see it through her eyes.
I turn on my heel and walk backwards, watching Marlowe intently. Her gaze darts around the deck as though she doesn’t know where to start. Lips softly parted around her awe, she stands mesmerised in the centre of the galaxy. The deck boasts a 360-degree view through gently curved glass, in a space big enough to fit a ballroom. She tips her head back to look at the ceiling, completely transparent through the use of expensive tech. Subtle lighting studs the floor, but they can be turned off with a flick of a switch or a word to Kit. There’s soft, expensively furnished seating and a tasteful bar in a corner—even a telescope. But what I really love about the observation deck is the complete and utter soundproofing. You could hear a pin drop in here.
She turns those expressive eyes on me and huffs in disbelief. “This—This is fucking incredible.”
I try not to feel too smug that there isn’t a trace of annoyance left in her demeanour.
“I thought you might appreciate taking in the cosmos without the threat of drifting away.”
She snorts. “Oh, you dick.” But it’s light-hearted and falls from her lips with barely a bite.
I keep a blanket tucked away in a discreet trapdoor for my visits, and I unfurl it now, placing my armful down. It’s huge, thick enough to be considered a rug in some places, and disastrously soft.
Marlowe sighs as she sinks onto it. “I could fall asleep on this.”
“I have.”
Her laugh is full of surprise. “To think I was grateful when you brought me to the greenhouse, not knowing you were keeping all of this to yourself.”
I know she’s joking, but it’s still news to me. “Grateful? Really? I would never have guessed.”
“Bad at reading the room,” Marlowe whispers.
Her curls form a halo around her head as she stares up into nothing, into everything. With her limbs flung out like a starfish, she takes up a lot of real estate. I get the impression that’s how she intends it; Marlowe bleeds out into her surroundings, reaching, probing. Not just on this blanket, but everywhere. From the moment we met, she’s been seeping into my defences.
One of her dimpled hands lies an inch away from my knee, pressed flat into the pile of the blanket, like she could become one with it if she just tried hard enough. I’m struck by the ease with which she seems to embrace the world. I don’t think I’ve ever met a person who can simultaneously keep their secrets so well guarded yet share so much of themselves with others.It’s admirable. Enviable. Sometimes I worry I’m so closed up, there’s no reversing it—and why would anyone try?
“Tea?”
Marlowe’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts, and I find a mug held out to me. She presses it into my palm and pours herself one, tucking her feet beneath her. The warmth sinks into my skin and I inhale deeply, trying to ground myself. I’m nervous.
I realise I’m staring when the side of her mouth curls over the rim of her mug. It opens her whole face.
“Something to say, Captain?”
“I can’t picture you falling in love with Dominik Gryphon.”
It just tumbles out, shocking us both. Marlowe blinks a few times before biting back a laugh. Meanwhile, I wish I could climb into my tea and dissolve into oblivion. But, despite my embarrassment, I wasn’t lying.The man is a narcissist. As far as I can tell, Marlowe’s bisexual, and she could have anyone, probably doubly more before she was a mother.
Marlowe raises an eyebrow. “You definitely look like you have something to say now.”
“I’m sorry.” I shake my head. “I shouldn’t have said that. It’s none of my business—”
“Have you ever been in love?”
I hesitate. “I don’t think so.”
