I thought about my mother’s beautiful antique ball gowns in storage and who might purchase them when we finally gave up on the Sofi and sold everything off in desperation. Our ancestors had kept prize pieces from the twentieth century’s most famous designers, though nothing that predated a 1950s Dior. I had to wonder about the fleet citizens who would have been rich and well-to-do enough to rocket off into space with actual 1920s pieces in such good condition.
Now that I thought about it, perhaps these were replicas from the 2020s. Even so, they were nearly two hundred years old and in impeccable condition. And I couldn’t help but feel sad for the previous owners, wherever they were in the fleet now. If they had made it.
Following the theme of Old World Meets Pale Imitation, Klara decided to hold her fancy dinner party on the digi-deck. The compartments they’d used for speed dating were gone, and a long and narrow table was set in the middle of the large space. Four dozen candles—real ones—flickered low, sultry light onto a table packed with enough food to feed twenty, though we were only a party of six. And the setting Klara had chosen was a different style of ballroom than the one located two decks above. There were gilt wall accents and giant portraits of comely high-class ladies and stern-faced men in uniform on all sides.
“The ballroom is still being restored from the fire,” she explained, but really I think she just wanted to show off her access.
So few people meant there was no avoiding awkwardness with Elliot, and indeed, because of Klara’s seating arrangements, I ended up in the middle of his and Carina’s flirting path.
The table was too large for the six of us, so the ends went unused and we sat three on each side. Klara and I held the middle positions on either side, with Lukas and Elliot flanking her, while I had the girls on either side. I frowned across the table to my left, an elaborate candelabra positioned just so to allow Lukas’s appraising gaze to fall squarely on my décolletage. Thankfully, the 1920s were not a decade that favored hoisted cleavage.
And from my right came Elliot’s gaze . . . which grazed straight past me to my sister, seated directly to my left. For her part, Carina simpered his way, eating her salad with a level of care that could only be to please him. While my eyes desperately wished to flick Elliot’s way to analyze his every look at my sister, I refused to give him the satisfaction of my attention. And Lukas’s appraisal made me want to fling myself across the table at him with my butter knife, so it left me to intently focus on my cousin. Or her profile, really. She angled herself toward Elliot and seemed to lean into him.
“Read any good books lately, El?” she asked. “You always had the best recommendations. Like that amazing Romanovs biography. I absolutely devoured that one.”
“Really?” Elliot and I said practically in unison. A seven-hundred-page exacting biography of the last tsars of Russia wasn’t exactly my cousin’s speed. But she nodded emphatically at Elliot.
“I adore the bloody and beautiful tsars and tsarinas,” she said, while Elliot asked, “And what was your favorite part?”
“It was a bit dry at first,” she started slowly, and I caught just a hint of force behind her smile. Aha—I wasn’t wrong. No way she’d actually read it. She continued to hedge. “And I read it so long ago . . . but I’d have to go with Catherine the Great. I can’t believe she was shipped off to Russia at fourteen and married off to her crazy cousin! It’s like something from a dramatic romance novel!”
I’d told her that tidbit about Catherine the Great. I’d read the Romanov biography. I was the one with so much in common with Elliot. What was my cousin playing at?
“Complete with uprising and coup,” I threw in slyly.
“And lesbians!” Evgenia chimed in. Klara looked confused, so she clarified. “Well, bisexuals, technically. Ekaterina had both male and female lovers.”
“How gauche.” Klara raised a carefully groomed brow. Evgenia scowled at her across the table.
“Hot,” Lukas said. Despite his countering my cousin, I threw a dinner roll at his head and thankfully did not miss.
“Oh, aren’t you two cute!” Klara’s tone was cloying, a wicked spark in her eyes. “I should have seated you next to each other, shouldn’t I?”
“Why would you do that?” I asked through gritted teeth.
“You’re courting, aren’t you?”
“What an antiquated term,” I deflected.
Klara nudged Lukas in the side and play-whispered, “Leo’s shy.”
“No, she’s stubborn,” he said. “You didn’t say yes to me at speed dating. Playing hard to get, then?”
“I rated everyone no,” I said. “I’m not interested in this stupid dating competition.”
“But don’t you have . . . financial problems?”
His false sympathy made me wish for the nearest airlock so I could throw him out of it. And throw in my cousin, for good measure. She’d fixed onto Elliot like a laser, her intentions more than clear—Klara wanted Elliot, and I was a threat. Meanwhile, I watched my sister deflate next to me, unable to keep up with talk of books and verbal sparring. Bizarrely, I felt bad for her—she had a crush on my Elliot, and he seemed to return the sentiment, which spread white-hot fire through my insides. Jealousy. Despair. Anger, at myself, mostly. And yet she was my baby sister, and I hated seeing her miserable.
“Speaking of playing hard to get, Elliot, you rated me a no as well,” Klara segued, batting Elliot playfully on the shoulder.
“Uh . . .” he stammered, squirming in his chair. To my left, Carina unexpectedly bloomed, spine zipping up straight and a brilliant smile spreading her cheeks. She was back in play. I shoved a roll in my mouth, drowning out my groan.
“That’s okay, I forgive you,” Klara said, razor’s edge in her voice. “But anyway! Tell me what you’ve been up to the last three years,” she said. “I feel like I’ve not been able to properly interrogate you since your arrival, and I want to know everything.”
Interrogate was the poorest possible word choice, given the background-check situation, but Elliot responded like a pro.
“There’s not much to tell,” he started. “I moved to the Lady Liberty, then made my way to the Saint Petersburg, starting out at the vodka distillery, nothing special. I met Count Korevsky—”
“A family friend,” Evgenia interjected.
“The count promoted me and introduced me around—”
“This is where I come in!” It was Evgenia again. “He was too adorable, so I introduced him to my brother, and everyone became fast friends. Then Ewan introduced him to James and, ipso facto, now Elliot is the heir to the Islay!”
“Uh, yeah, that’s the broad overview.” Elliot smiled, taking a sip of wine. Evgenia was like his hype woman.
“What does that mean, exactly?” Carina asked, trying to reclaim Elliot’s focus. “And didn’t this Islay person have a son or daughter to pass their ship on to?”
“Oh, his name’s not Islay,” Elliot corrected, latching onto the least pertinent of her questions. “The ship is named after a place, not the family. He’s called Thain. James Thain. And, no, he’s childless, and he lost his First Officer some years ago to, uh, illness. I just came along at the right time, and he’s training me to take over the family business.”