Brightly Burning(28)

“I love fiction as much as anything else, but I do have a fondness for history and science. Those were the categories available in abundance on board the Stalwart.”

“I’m surprised such a basic ship would tend toward those subjects.”

“Basic?” I bristled. “You think because we grow your food, that makes us bumpkins?”

“No, no, no,” Hugo said. “I just . . . imagined fiction would offer an attractive escape on a ship like the Stalwart. I meant no offense, I promise.”

I nodded in acceptance of his apology, though I remained wary. “Fiction is an incredible escape, yes, but reader tabs and an abundant library are luxuries we couldn’t afford.”

“You keep saying ‘we.’ But you live here now. I’ll give you any book you want.”

“And which one are you reading? Or not reading, as the case may be?” I pointed to the book that was being ignored on his own side table. Anything to get us away from the topic of where I belonged. Finally, he picked it up, the pages falling open to a spot where I could see a ribbon tucked between the pages.

“Anna Karenina,” he said. “It’s Russian. And depressing and beautiful.” He frowned down at the page. “But it’s been two months, and I’m fuzzy on what I last read. Might have to start over.”

He flipped to the front of the book, and I happily returned to mine. This time, I at least got past the introduction.

“Do you like it on board? So far?”

“Of course. I like it very much.” I looked to his book, then down at mine. I longed to return to it. “Do you actually intend to read, or was this an excuse to interview me?”

Hugo made a sound halfway between a grunt and a laugh. “You like to say whatever comes into your head, don’t you?”

“On the contrary.” I sat up straighter, tilting my chin high. “I usually never say what I’m thinking, but . . .” But.

“But what?” Hugo prodded.

You annoy me, I didn’t say. I feel oddly at ease with you, I didn’t say. Finally, I settled on: “You’re persistent.”

“That I am.” He grinned. “I’ll promise not to speak for the next hour. We’ll read. But then I get to talk to you until bedtime.”

“Are you negotiating to make me talk to you?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he pointed to the table. “Don’t you want your drink?”

“I didn’t realize it was for me.”

“Well, it is. So, do you want it?” I shook my head. He gladly availed himself of it instead.

Hugo kept his promise, and for the next hour, the only sounds I heard from him were periodic sips of his—?and my—?glass, and the turning of pages. And then, picking up exactly where he’d left off: “Did you leave many friends behind? On the Stalwart?”

I gave up on my book with a sigh, looking around for something to mark my place. Hugo came to my rescue, opening a hidden drawer in the table to produce a piece of paper I could tuck between the pages.

“Thank you,” I said. “And, yes, I did leave behind some friends.” I indulged myself with a plural but immediately felt false. “Well, one friend. George. We message a lot now.”

“You’re blushing. Is he your boyfriend?”

I laughed so suddenly and loudly that Hugo jumped in his chair. Great. Now he likely thought me a loon. A sad, single loon. “Do you realize how inappropriate it is to ask that?” I deflected.

“Oh?”

He was clueless. I sighed. “Yes. You are my employer. And you’ve only just met me. And it’s private.”

Hugo shrugged. “Well, you can ask me anything you want. Be as invasive as you want. Consider it payback and my apology.”

What possible way could I navigate this without causing trouble? Hugo was playing the equal, but I was all too aware of the power he held over me.

“Where do you go when you’re off-ship? And why do you stay away so long?”

There. I punted with both a harmless and a sharp-toothed question, leaving it to him to answer truthfully or not. I was sure there was a story behind his frequent absences. But would he wish to tell me?

“There’s a lot to attend to, both on-and off-ship,” he started, tone measured. “But with our position out here, I find that to be most efficient with managing my family’s affairs, I have to be with the main fleet.”

My confusion must have been evident on my face, because quickly Hugo moved to clarify.

“My family also owns the Lady Liberty, so you can imagine . . .”

I sucked in a breath. The Lady Liberty was the hub of the fleet, a massive, elegant American ship said to have every luxury available to every soul on board. And as the owner of one of the big five ships, that meant Hugo had a role in government. Like, actually got to vote on essential measures. Suddenly I felt small and, indeed, simple.

“So, what is your book about?” I changed the subject.

Hugo launched into a passionate, if convoluted, explanation of Anna Karenina, which easily took us to twenty-two hundred hours, and curfew.

“See you tomorrow night?” Hugo asked as I left him at his door.

I called out over my shoulder playfully, “Sure. I want to finish my book.”

“I know you’re using me for my library,” he shot back.