Eric closes and locks the doors while Sarah and I walk around taking photos of the cabins. We have actual cameras in our lock boxes for when we are in private, and hidden cameras for when we are out in public on the ship.
We finish unpacking our things and settling in before Eric suggests that Ben and I walk up to the promenade deck to watch the ship sail away at noon. We can’t hide in here forever, so we all nod in agreement and Sarah helps me pull my gloves back on. Eric places the eyeglasses with the hidden camera in them on the bridge of his nose.
I spin around to the three of them behind me. “Before we go, everyone’s clear on the story, right?” The typical “mother” of the group, I have to check one more time.
Ben sighs and recites the backstory we have studied and practiced a thousand times over. “I’m Benjamin Turner, you’re Alice Turner, my half-sister. This is my valet, Eric, and your maid, Sarah. My mother died after I was born, my father remarried and they had you. Our family has made a fortune in hotels and real estate development. We’re sailing home together to New York, then on to Boston. Does that pass your test?”
“Alright, alright. I’m sorry.” I roll my eyes and apologize. I know I’m being overly careful. “I’m just nervous that we’re going to stick out somehow.”
“I think as long as we act like we have money, we’ll blend right in with this lot,” Ben says reassuringly, as he nods his head toward the hallway filled with passengers. “Provided you don’t trip and fall over yourself, or try to lift your luggage again.”
I chuckle. “Oh, you noticed that, huh?”
Ben smirks at me. “What I noticed was you checking out the room steward.”
“I was not!” My voice practically raises an octave the more defensive I get. I’m a terrible liar and it shows. Charlie certainly is handsome. More than handsome, actually. He’s fucking gorgeous. There’s no harm in acknowledging that, right?
“Whatever you say, sister. Let’s go, shall we?” He extends his arm out for me to take.
We take one last deep breath before stepping out of our cabin and into the public hallway.
Charlie is out there helping another family settle in across the hall. His gaze catches mine and he smiles. I quickly look away but can feel my cheeks flush with warmth. I don’t know why I’m blushing or why he seems to affect me like this.
Situated in the forward part of the ship is the Grand Staircase. Spanning over sixty feet from the landing to the glass skyline sitting above, it is the main connection point between decks for first-class passengers. I run my hand down the seventeenth-century solid oak banister. The staircase features carved paneling throughout, and at the base of the stairs, there is a cherub light and a carved wooden clock. It is a wonder to behold. I have only ever seen grainy black-and-white photos of this space or deteriorated underwater images, hardly able to recognize the beauty that she once was. Time has broken down her appearance, so to witness her in her luxurious glory is truly an honor. It’s difficult to comprehend that this beautiful piece of artistry lies in ruin on the ocean floor in a watery tomb.
Via the Grand Staircase, we find ourselves on A-Deck Promenade, an enclosed walking area spanning the length of the ship reserved for first-class passengers. Ben and I walk slowly, arm in arm, as the ship pulls away from the dock. Crowds below are enthusiastically waving us on, not realizing how lucky their fortune is to be on land and not this doomed vessel. Ben and I are whispering to each other as we play a game of who’s who. We spent weeks studying photos and biographies of the famous guests and are now covertly pointing them out to each other.
Ben leans into my ear and tips his head toward a mustachioed man with a bowler hat and a walking stick. “Ismay, right?” I calmly nod affirmatively, and he smiles and leans in again. “See? I paid attention.”
Ismay tips his head politely toward us as he passes by, which seems to excite Ben. If one of the richest and most powerful men on the ship didn’t suspect something was amiss about us, then we surely passed some kind of test.
The ship moves on the brief journey to our first port in Cherbourg, and every so often, I can see Ben tapping the hidden camera he has on his walking stick. The sun has shifted as it enters golden hour, and the ship that seemed vast and marvelous in the bright light now feels even more luxurious and romantic in the dreamy orange glows. I stare out over the water and feel the salt air on my face while Ben pulls out his pocket watch. I’m lost in a daydream until I notice Ben in the middle of a conversation with someone who isn’t Sarah or Eric.
“... No, our family owns a hotel chain on the east coast, but we live in Boston. My sister and I are making our way home now….”
Ben gently puts his hand on my elbow to turn my attention. He’s speaking to another man, around his age and height, with light brown hair and blue eyes. He’s dressed in a tan suit and matching hat. I recognize him immediately from my research and from the homemade Guess Who game Ben and I played in my living room during a last-minute study session. The man is Edward Harrison, famed steel tycoon.
“May I introduce my sister, Alice Turner.” Ben sounds proud to say that. He’s always felt like a brother to me. It just feels right to have him introduce me like this. It honestly doesn’t even feel like a lie. Though we have only known each other for just over a year, we felt bonded immediately, like platonic soulmates. We just understand each other, maybe even better than we understand ourselves.
“Alice, this is Edward Harrison.” Edward takes my hand in his, leans forward, and raises it to his mouth. He kisses it, maintaining eye contact with me the entire time. Without good reason, it leaves me uneasy. He lets go of my hand and smiles at me. It’s disingenuous and cocky. He looks every bit as smug in person as his photograph did. His eyes lock with mine and they are a great deal colder and emptier than the comfort I saw in the warmth of Charlie’s. He seems to look at everything, and everyone, as if they are objects he possesses. I want to roll my eyes so far back into my head, but social protocol won’t allow it, so I stand there like a frozen porcelain doll and smile innocently. The dream girl of this era, it seems.
I stand there smiling politely as he continues speaking with Ben about his business. I already know who he is. He is based in New York and has been groomed by his uncle to take over the family business empire. He talks finance and business to Ben as if I’m not there, yet he clearly wants me to hear it and be impressed by it. Ben does a better job than I do at pretending to care, but luckily my opinion wouldn’t matter to him, anyway. He explains to Ben that he and his elderly uncle are traveling back to New York after business took them to London.
He directs his attention back toward me. “Have you been to New York, Miss Alice?”
Of course I have, but I don’t think he wants to hear about the time Ben and I went to Pride weekend in New York City on a whim and then waited outside for hours hoping to get Hamilton tickets. So I play the doe-eyed girl once again. “No, sir. I have not had the pleasure.” The sickly sweet tone I have to use with him tastes disgusting as it rolls off my tongue.
“Perhaps soon then? I would love to show you aroundmycity,” he says in a tone implying I’m already wrapped around his finger. He makes it sound like he owns all of New York. God, he’s so smug and presumptuous this 20th-century fuckboy. I can’t even pinpoint why I don’t like him. I chalk it up to a gut feeling. I am not normally a person who rushes to quick judgments or makes assumptions about someone without knowing all the facts. But I have a feeling about him and I just can’t ignore it. I’m certain that underneath all that money and propriety, underneath that facade of goodness and civility, is just the hollow shell of a self-important man.
Suddenly the bugler interrupts with the dress call, a reminder that dinner is approaching. It’s time for everyone to return to their cabins and change into their most elegant fashions. Saved by the bugle, I think to myself gratefully.
Edward turns back toward Ben, his eyes brightened as if he has just had an idea. I have a terrible feeling this has something to do with me, as his eyes move from Ben towards me. “Mr. Turner, you and your sister must do us the honor of dining with our party this evening, won’t you?”
Ben doesn’t know what else to say, and I’m not sure he even sees what I see in Edward. “It would be our pleasure, Mr. Harrison.”
Shit.
Chapter Ten
