The wallpaper scratched at the back of her dress as she shifted her weight. “Y-you talk about the world being dangerous,” she said, “the world doing harm. But it’s just you.”
“I’m a small player on this board. A pawn. If I flatter myself, a knight. But nothing more. Not like your brother and his companion.”
“They should be left alone,” she said, her voice no stronger. “They’ve done nothing wrong. It’s the law that’s wrong.”
“I’m surprised, Mrs. Li. You don’t seem like a seditionist.”
“They love who they love. It’s been legal in your country for centuries.”
Grodescu blinked, frowning in confusion. Then he chuckled, low and rich.
“Oh, my. They have you well fooled. Être blanc comme neige. A shame.” He clucked sympathetically. “But you have your uses, clearly.” He tilted his head, studying her. There was cruelty in his eyes. “I have a message for you to deliver.”
“Why would I do that?” she tried, but he ignored her.
“Tell Shan Dao I know who he is, and I know how his mother did it. I’m driving to Paris tonight. If he doesn’t want your brother’s name added to a poem, he will go with me. Do you understand? Repeat it back to me, please.”
Her mouth betrayed her, and she did.
“Very good. Don’t let them drag you down further, little lamb. Deliver my message, then stay out of this. . . But you won’t, will you?”
She tilted her chin up. Her tongue might be numb, but she could at least look him in the eye.
“You’re making a mistake,” he murmured. “How can I show you that?”
Without warning, he slammed his hand next to her head. She jumped and clapped a hand over her mouth, only just catching her scream. Caught behind her teeth, it sounded like a wail of mourning. The sound echoed between them, going no further than Lucas Grodescu’s sneering face.
“You see, Mrs. Li?” He stepped back, smoothing down his tie. “You’re easily startled. This kind of business is not for you.”
His soothing tone unsettled her, a whiplash of mood. As if the outburst of violence had been days ago, between two other people. She was terrified, she realized. She had never been this scared as an adult. As a child, yes, but that was different: fear to a child was a blurry silhouette in the shadows, terrifying because it was unknown. Now she could name all the things this man could do to her; now her fear had form, and shape, and name.
“Goodnight, Mrs. Li,” Grodescu murmured and turned his back to her, retreating up the way they’d come.
She couldn’t breathe as she watched him climb the stairs, didn’t dare make a sound as she listened to his steps echo past the pool. The door was pushed open; she heard it swing back and forth on its frame. Then, eventually, that too fell silent.
Her first free breath was shuddering, desperate. She wanted to sink to the ground. She wanted to cry, or vomit, or both. She didn’t. Instead, she pressed her palms against her eyes and breathed. Breathed.
Breathed.
Her hands began to shake as she hurried back, checking over her shoulder every few seconds—the hall was empty, always empty.
But the ship had eyes.
It only took a few minutes to reach her stateroom door. She wanted nothing more than to cry against Laurence’s shoulder and be held in his arms. His steady heartbeat was the safest sound she knew, and she needed that, craved it; but she couldn’t go back to Laurence like this; he’d have very valid questions, and she didn’t want to lie again when it had felt so horrible this afternoon. She knew if he asked right now she would break her promise to Tinseng and tell Laurence everything. Part of her wondered if that wouldn’t be for the best. She wanted her husband’s perspective and his advice. He was more realistic than her and could even be cynical if pushed; she needed that sometimes and could certainly use it now.
But she couldn’t break Tinseng’s confidence. It would destroy whatever new foundation they were building here. So, with a lingering look at her room, she knocked on Tinseng and Shan Dao’s door instead.
After a minute, Shan Dao answered in a dressing gown pulled over his pajama set, hair rumpled and eyes bleary.
“I woke you,” she said in a jumble, “I’m sorry. I’ll go. Please go back to sleep.”
“Li Yukying,” she heard as she turned, then, “Yukying. What happened?”
The prospect of having to explain overwhelmed her. As she blinked against the tears, she felt a presence next to her. It wasn’t Laurence, but her heart still recognized it as someone she could trust.
“Come,” Shan Dao said, and led her inside. She sat heavily in a chair and couldn’t seem to meet his eyes. Part of her expected him to start hovering, visibly worrying in the same way A-Seng and A-Kwan did when they didn’t know how to help. Instead, Shan Dao surprised her: he sat forward and took her hand in his, gentle as if he was cupping a dragonfly.
“What happened?” he asked again.
“Grodescu.” She swallowed, but under the spotlight of Shan Dao’s attention she finally felt freed from the shadows of the pool. “He saw me and followed me. I didn’t tell him anything. You have to believe me, I would never; I would never betray Tinseng, or you.”
“I know,” he said as though her loyalty was an immovable object. It was so stubborn, so rooted in belief rather than truth, that she felt a hysterical urge to pat his head, the way she might a child. She was cracking under this pressure.
She heard herself ask shakily, “May I have some water please?”
“Of course. I apologize. I should have— yes.” He cut himself off and stood.
“Thank you,” she said, and drank quickly when it was placed in front of her. He watched her closely as she did. When she set down the empty glass, he reached for it and rose to fill it again. He would keep bringing her water until the sun came up, she thought. Every part of him was unwavering: his attention, his beliefs, his devotion. Perfect for someone like Tinseng, who’d never known the same home for more than a few years. Perfect for her, who’d never been anyone’s first priority. Perfect even for Cheuk-Kwan, who was always watching people leave.
As she thought it, she realized what she’d been doing for the past week: imagining all the ways Shan Dao would fit into their family. She’d been imagining how they all might be less alone.
She set her third glass of water down after a few sips. “I feel much better now, thank you.”
“No need.”
She took a deep breath. “Grodescu said he had a message for you. Should we wait for Tinseng?”
“A message?”
