He trailed off, and the words hung between them.
Arthur looked away. “Why wouldn’t I have?”
Rory shrugged. “You’re so...you know.”
“Manly?” Arthur said dryly, as if he’d heard it before and would’ve been fine never hearing it again.
Rory huffed a soft laugh. “Nah,bello,” he said, running his finger over Arthur’s lips. “I was gonna saybossy.”
“Oh.” Arthur’s expression brightened even as he rolled his eyes. “I suppose that’s fair, though they don’t actually have to have anything to do with each other.” He cleared his throat. “And it’s been known to happen. On occasion. With the rightfella.”
Rory’s lips quirked up at his attempt at mimicry. “And do you like it?” When Arthur blinked, he added, earnestly, “I only ever wanna do things that you like.”
Arthur broke into his shy smile. “You’re sweet,” he said softly, “and I do. I’ve just never asked because I wasn’t certain you wanted all of your firsts with me.”
“You’re theonlyone I want—” Rory flinched and cut himself off as Arthur caught his breath. “Sorry,” he said, biting his lip. “I know we never said what this is, and maybe it’s just casual for you, but—”
“It hasn’t been casual for me since you told me tofuck offover the telephone.” When Rory raised his eyebrows, Arthur shrugged sheepishly. “I told you there’s nothingusualabout you. I wasn’t just talking about your magic.”
Rory grinned. Tomorrow they’d find their way back to New York, and they’d have to deal with the relic and decide what to do next.
But for the next few hours, at least, Arthur was his.
Chapter Thirty-Four
They ate together the next morning, at a hole-in-the-wall two blocks away with a sign outside advertising a fifty-cent breakfast special. They wore the matching hotel staff uniforms, Rory as cute as Arthur knew he’d be in his new cap, Arthur hatless with thick shadow on his jaw, and no one gave them a second look as they squeezed onto rickety, too-small-for-Arthur chairs at a tiny table by the big window, watching Philadelphia wake up as they drank from mugs of terrible coffee.
Rory was relaxed, even chatty as he ate fried scrapple and dipped toast in egg yolks. He may not have known much about football, but it turned out he had plenty to say about the coming baseball season and the Yankees, Robins, and the Lincolns, Royals, and New York Giants. Arthur ate his pork roll sandwich, watching his animated gestures with a soft smile and contentment warming his chest, marveling at how comfortable he felt in Rory’s company, like finally shedding a stiff overcoat to walk in the sun on the first day of spring.
They drove the dented Cadillac back to Manhattan, stopping in Chinatown long enough to check on Jade and Zhang and tell them the whole story, and give the pomander to Mrs. Wang.
“I’m so sorry,” Rory said to Jade, for the thousandth time, but she just took both his hands in hers.
“You were trying your best,” she told him. “You’ll learn to control the ring. We’ll help you,” she promised, leaving Rory a stammering, grateful mess.
Sasha and Pavel were at the Dragon House as well. Pavel was sitting at one of the tables, helping Ling fold napkins for the lunch crowd, while Sasha stood by the phonograph, staring rather intently at Stella’s pretty face on the record’s cover. Rory went to Sasha alone, pulling her over to the wall and pressing the lodestone into her hands.
Arthur couldn’t hear their whispered words, but there was no mistaking the shocked joy on her face or the way she hugged Rory so tight she was in danger of breaking his ribs—not a figure of speech when it came to superstrength.
Rory eventually came back to Arthur’s side as she went to her brother and tugged gently on his arm, pulling Pavel up to his feet and out of the dining room toward the back hall. “Hope it works for them,” Rory muttered, discreetly wiping at the sheen to his eyes.
Arthur squeezed his shoulder. “Me too.” He checked his watch. “I’m afraid I do have one other obligation today.” He glanced at Rory. “Care to come uptown with me for a pickup and drop-off?”
Rory furrowed his brows. “Who are we—oh!” He brightened. “You bet I want to watch the competition sail away across the sea.”
“Don’t be silly.” Arthur nudged him, adding quietly, for Rory’s ears alone, “He’s no competition for you.”
Fifteen minutes later, they rolled up in front of the Waldorf-Astoria in the smashed Cadillac. Wesley was standing in front of the hotel. His eyes narrowed as Arthur pulled to the curb.
The valets exchanged looks and then kept their distance. Wesley awkwardly bent to lean in the passenger window after Rory rolled it down.
“You’re late,” Wesley snapped at Arthur, across Rory. “My luggage was already taken to the ship and my entire party had to go on without me. I’m going to miss my boarding call.”
“They got three classes to board still after yours,” Rory said without sympathy. “You got plenty of time. If you were so worried you could’ve taken a dimbox, but you wanted another shot at Ace.”
Wesley’s expression soured further. “Was it necessary to bring him?” he said to Arthur.
“You’re the one who stormed his antiques shop, put him in danger,andtried to pay him off to leave me,” Arthur said unapologetically. “I want him here. If you don’t like it, I’m happy to call you another car.”
