sail » roman godfrey au

05

It was one full day before she saw him again.

The following morning Rosalie had felt ashamed by how candidly she spoke to the stranger, Roman. Abashed and flustered, she decided to remain indoors.

She settled for staying inside all day until the bell for supper called. Her sea sickness had eased now that she had somewhat became accustomed to the subtle sway of the ship. Her symptoms downgraded from vomiting, and becoming pale-faced with a cold sweat that glistened her forehead where a fierce headache pounded, to a general feeling of unease.

After her solitary fare of plain potato soup, she ventured to the bar on the top deck.

On the way, she had passed the dining hall where the first class passengers were splurging with their several coursed meals and extravagant desserts that looked more like pieces of art than something edible. She didn't even know that more than one course was necessary until now.

As she subtly observed the upscale tribe of people, one person stuck out to her.

Roman.

He was in a fine suit that made him appear just as cavalier as the beautiful, but frightening woman next to him. Roman hardly resembled her, but Rosalie had figured that he was her son. She had dark and fierce features while Romans were all soft and child-like.

Hurrying her pace, she came upon the end of the corridor.

Now that she thought about it, Roman had seemed all that he was while he spoke to her throughout the night they'd spent together. Perhaps she simply overlooked it all for her need   human contact. Being locked up in a small room to suffocate never did anybody any good.

She felt saddened by her revelation; he was a first class passenger, a first class citizen. Associating with her should have been degrading and a blow to his status. But he had anyway. It wasn't as if he'd confused for her a woman of higher derivation, she had worn her simple cerulean dress and black boots. It was pronounced that she was not of importance. Her current  thirst for a simple ginger ale was clear of that.

She didn't want an alcoholic beverage, as the barman had assumed once she reached the bar. "Not unless you've got identification or a husband with identification, sweetheart."

She opened her mouth to correct him, but another did.

A warm hand came about her waist to rest on her hip, and a body fit just behind hers. "That would be me." The certain, self-assured voice of Roman sounded.

She was frozen in astonishment and alarm. Push him away, her mind screamed. She couldn't push him with all of her might, but she endeavored to distance herself enough for her heart to calm a bit.

The middle-aged barman didn't appear persuaded. Roman set down a fold of several bills and an identification card as he leaned down to kiss her right cheek, all while staring at the barkeeper. The man glanced down to Romans left hand on her waist, staring at his ringless finger.

The amount of money he had slid across the wooden counter was more than what would have paid for several of her beverages. The bartender sighed, and collected the money. "What would y'all like?"

"Single-malt scotch. No ice."

They both then looked to her. She struggled to remain placid and speak without a stutter.

"Just a ginger ale, please."

The barman had their simple requests prepared in a moments time.

Roman still had Rosie by the hips, and he enjoyed the sensation.

He had seen her as she walked along the glass wall that separated the first class dining hall from the hallway that led to the first deck.

He took hold of his drink, and kept her close by the hip as he navigated her through the maze of lawn chairs and seating areas with large umbrellas for shade. Although now it was dark and  they were still up.

They came to the edge of the ship, off to the side where there weren't many people.

As soon as she felt they were completely alone, she stepped out of his hold. Instantly feeling the loss of heat, but also the loss of panic. She could breathe.

"Thank you, Roman."

She couldn't meet his eyes just yet, so she looked out into the night fallen ocean as she drank from the crisp, refreshing drink that immediately eased her overly warm body and the alleviated the odd, unwelcome feeling in her stomach. The ice cubes bumped along her lips, cooling them.

"How are you, Rosie?"

She didn't want to speak to him, and if she were to she didn't want to have a careful, polite exchange.

"I'm okay. Fatigued."

"That's a lie."

She frowned, "Is it?"

He nodded. "I don't believe that once on the schedule that we have found ourselves on you can become fatigued at," He stopped mid-sentence to inspect the golden watch that adorned his wrist. "nine forty-three."

He was right, but she didn't want to argue or elicit an excuse. She was only mentally fatigued, but that was enough to make her want to tell him to go away.

She didn't, though.

x

There was supposed to be more, but the word count kept climbing so yeah :)