Page 107 of Starcrossed
“You wouldn’t think it, but Rory’s particular antiquarian skills transfer very well to rum-running,” Arthur said innocently. “One might even say he’smagicalat it. He’s rather in demand from people who don’t like hearing no.”
Wesley raised his eyebrows. Arthur stared placidly back. From another pier farther downriver, two long blasts of a ship’s horn echoed around the edge of Manhattan.
“All right,” Wesley finally said, shaking his head. “Bootlegging. Just get me back to England where we don’t have Prohibition.”
They walked the last steps to the bottom of the boarding ramp. Wesley showed his ticket to the porter, then turned back to Arthur. “I do hope I see you again,” he said, in the sincerest voice Arthur had ever heard him use. “As a friend.”
“You will,” Arthur promised. “As a friend.”
As Arthur came off the pier, Rory was leaning on the side of the Cadillac, hands in his pockets, back against the passenger door as he watched the ocean liners. Unlike Arthur’s, his uniform was the right size, and there was an easiness to his pose that called attention to the wiry strength he usually hid by hunching. His face was tilted to catch the sun, which gave a soft glow to his olive skin and the curls visible under the cap.
Arthur cleared his throat.“Ciao, bello.”
Rory startled, turning his way and lighting up like Arthur was the one who’d brought the sun. “Hey.”
He joined Rory by the passenger door, leaning against the car at his side, leaving a respectable distance between them that wouldn’t draw second glances from any passersby.
Rory gestured at Wesley’s ship. “I’ve seen more of these things in the last day than I have in my whole life.”
Arthur looked back at the ship as well. “You didn’t have a very good introduction to overseas travel, I’m afraid.”
Rory snorted. “You can say that again.”
There were ships that would take them across the ocean, to places where Arthur didn’t have the demands of his family and where he didn’t have to hide himself so deep. He could feel the truth of what he wanted in his gut—or maybe in his aura, which had mourned Rory’s magic when it was lost and was delighted to have it back. He wanted a future that had Rory in it.
But they’d known each other such a short time; how could Arthur ask Rory to run away with him already?
“Believe it or not, sometimes people take ships not because they’re dragged aboard or the world is in danger, but because they want to go somewhere new,” he said carefully, searching for a way to ask his heart’s question without putting pressure on Rory. “Could you...could you ever see yourself doing something like that? Could you see yourself leaving New York?”
Rory watched the ship for a quiet moment. “A month ago, I would’ve said no.”
He looked up at Arthur from under the new cap, which brought out the dark brown of his long-lashed eyes behind the temporary glasses. “But...a lot’s changed since I met you.I’vechanged.”
Then he shrugged. “No point daydreaming, though, right? I’ve still got work here.”
“Right,” Arthur said, as if his heart hadn’t kicked up a beat, becauseno point daydreamingwasn’t the same asno point, never happening. “Work.”
Rory’s gaze darted over Arthur, from his stubble to the tight hotel uniform shirt that didn’t fit his shoulders at all. His tongue darted out and ran over his bottom lip. “But I don’t work on Sundays. In fact, I’m free all day.”
The corner of Arthur’s mouth quirked up. There was still so much to worry about—keeping their relationship secret, if the lodestone would help Pavel, how they would destroy the pomander relic, Baron Zeppler knowing about Rory’s existence.
But their friends were alive and whole. And in spite of all the things that had tried to tear them apart, he and Rory were alive and together, with Rory’s magic in Arthur’s aura again, where Arthur wanted it to stay.
“My flat’s only about twenty minutes away,” Arthur pointed out. He pitched his voice lower. “And I could make you work.”
Rory grinned.
