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Emma doesn’t really know why she agrees to go on a cruise with her parent. Mostly, it’s because her father is playing the guilt-tripping card with her: she’s so busy they barely see her anymore, and they miss her, and wouldn’t it be great to go on a holiday together, just like old times? It all happened over the phone, so she couldn’t actually see him, but she’s pretty sure her father was pouting his way through the whole speech. Which is why she said yes, probably – that and the fact that she indeed hasn’t had that much free time ever since she moves from their little town to New York, to become a partner at Arendelle Associates.
So a week away from the city, just taking in the sun and enjoying piña coladas?
Yeah, sign her in!
Except… Except now, wearing a bikini and huge sunglasses, now she remembers what it actually is like to spend more than Thanksgiving and Christmas with her mother. And she loves her mother, she really does. Her mum has always been the strict one of the pair, while her dad definitely is the cool dad with the dad jokes, but it never stopped Emma from being close to her mother. Despite a few very shaky years when she was a teenager but – it was to be expected, really.
Her mother is lying next to her on deckchair, looking at the other tourists from above the rim of her sunglasses. Looking. Judging. Commenting. All men, of course, none of them sporting a ring or a beautiful woman by their side, and all particularly attractive.
Emma sighs. Her mother is definitely trying to set her up.
Which would be cute, she guesses, if she were in the mood. But as a matter of fact she isn’t, mostly because she just broke up with Walsh fucking Oz, who was only dating her so he could steal their clients and give them to his boss, Zelena fucking Mills and, yeah, Emma isn’t in the mood for men right now. Or women. Or anything, really.
She just wants the sun, and alcohol, and for her mother to understand what is going on, even if her mother doesn’t have a clue since Emma never talked to her about Walsh fucking Oz. Maybe more alcohol is actually needed, right at this moment.
“I’m going to the bar. Do you want something?”
Her mother raises her glass of white wine to her, barely touched. Emma nods, before she grabs her phone and makes her exist as fast as possible. The bar is inside, away from the sun, and the AC hits her with a strength when Emma enters. A shiver runs up her spine even as she sits by the counter, waving at the bartender. She barely needs a few words for another piña colada to come her wait, which she immediately regrets. She should have gone for stronger liquor instead, just to drown her feelings.
“Are you married?” she asks the woman sitting next to her.
She’s blonde, her hair up in a top bun, and gives Emma the most sarcastic giggle as a reply. “My husband-to-be left me at the altar,” she replies, almost too candidly, making Emma wince. “For his best friend, of course. Even if he told me he had absolutely no feelings for her. She begged him to run away and he did, and here I am with a honeymoon cruise but no husband. So no, I’m not married and neither should you be.”
Emma stares blankly at the other woman for a moment, blinking and confused – that is a lot of information to take in, coming from a stranger, in only a few seconds. That is also why she doesn’t have a lot of friends, outside of Elsa and Ruby – she can’t deal with people drama, and relationship, and life in general. It is too exhausting, too much of a headache.
“I’m… sorry?” she starts, not knowing where to go from there. Maybe run again, but curiosity gets the better of her the new moment, when she finds herself asking, “Are you here on your own?”
“Oh no, I’m with the moron over there,” the other woman replies, pointing to a guy playing pool (on his own, apparently) by the other side of the room. “He’s my best friend. Actual, platonic one. I saw him eating his own bogies when he was five, there’s no way I will ever tap that.”
Emma can only smirk at that, before she offers the other woman a sincerer smile. “I’m Emma by the way.”
“You can call me Tink. The boggies-eater is Killian. And cruises are boring.”
Which is how Emma finds herself spending the rest of the afternoon with two Brits, sipping cocktails, playing pools and talking about this or that thing. It’s better than whatever cabaret show thing her mother wants them to attend tonight, even if Emma still feels a little guilty about ditching her father like that. She was supposed to spend some quality time with her parents but – she was supposed to have fun for herself, too, so…
And she isn’t sure how exactly, or even why, she starts to talk about her own problems with two virtual strangers – other than the fact that Tink word-vomited her life’s story to her. Yet here she is, talking about Walsh and her mother and how she doesn’t want to get married, or even settle, or even date at all. At least Tink seems understanding, nodding wisely to everything she says.
Killian just seems lost in his own head, thinking, until he pockets one of the balls then faces her. “How good is your mother with dealing with the unexpected?”
Emma just frowns at him, even if it’s her turn to play. She leans against her cue, frowning some more when he doesn’t elaborate on his puzzling question. “Why?”
“Because ship captains have the power to officiate weddings and the idea of her own daughter entering a marriage in a matter of days, on a cruise, could sober her up enough to leave you alone for good.”
To say that Emma is speechless would be an understatement – she’s actually left gaping at Killian as the words keep rolling on his tongue, unable to close her mouth even when he is done explaining his idea. She snaps it close a few seconds later, even if her bewilderment doesn’t end there – no, it doesn’t end at all, of course not. Because the idea is so out of the blue, and so far-fetched, and so – so –
“I’m not marrying you,” she finds herself saying at last.
“Yes, that’s the point, love.”
“What is that? A bad romcom movie?”
Not that Killian replies to her question, because then Tink jumps into the conversation, her hand tugging on his arm excitedly (almost too excitedly, if you ask Emma’s opinion). “Oh, I didn’t know Liam was the captain of the cruise.”
“He isn’t,” he tells her simply, not that it makes much sense to Emma – but things stopped making sense about forty seconds ago. “But Nemo is. He’s like family to us, he will agree.”
Emma hesitates for a moment, not sure what to do, before she snatches Killian’s glass of rum from his hands and downs it in one large gulp. He makes a sound of protest that turns into a small chuckle, grinning at her. She’s pretty sure he also adds a ‘Atta girl’ in there somewhere, but it could as well be a trick of her mind.
“Why would you do this?” she asks him when her throat stops burning.
He just shrugs, taking her own cocktail and sipping from it with an innocent look on his face. It looks ridiculous, a grown-up man sipping a piña colada out of a tiny pink straw but – it looks like the kind of ridiculous that Emma likes in a potential partner. Which is a very dangerous thought to have.
“I like messing up with people. Also, Tink is right, this cruise is boring as hell.”
…
Which is how Emma finds herself announcing to her parents the following morning that someone will join them for lunch. She leaves it at that before going to the spa-massage thing her mother booked for her, getting nothing more than a glance of her father’s confusion and the tentative hope on her mother’s face. And she has to admit, the spa-massage thing doesn’t feel half as bad as she thought it would – especially with how she doesn’t like to be touched by strangers – but it doesn’t compare to the texts that Killian decides to send her all through the morning.
‘Nemo is okay with it, says it will make his day’
‘Tink found a white dress in her suitcase, but I told her you’re way taller than her’
‘What’s your full name anyway? Wouldn’t want to mess up our vows, wifey’
‘Tink picked her bridesmaid dress. She’s really excited at the prospect’
‘And to think I don’t even have a tie…’
Those make her laugh, or at least smile – or at least smile on the inside, what with the clay mask keeping her face still for half an hour. But it’s his conversation outside of the funny texts that she appreciates the most. She learns that he is an history teacher, in the US despite of his accent because he moved out of London when he was a child. He’s been single for years, ever since his fiancé died in a car accident. He was in the navy, but thought better of it. And, somewhat, he even manages to sneak in the fact that he is allergic to goat milk, because it’s something that a dutiful wife should be expected to know.
She shares as much as she receives – how much she loves working on family law. That she misses Henry, who’s at summer camp with his girlfriend, LARPing in the middle of the forest or something. That both Neal and Walsh ruined her trust in a happy ending for good. That she loves New York because it’s loud and it swallows you down until you’re nothing but another face in a crowd.
Soon enough it’s time for her to meet Killian in front of the restaurant, and then her parents inside the restaurant. Her father’s eyebrows shoot up immediately when his eyes land on Killian, before he offers his best glare. Her mother is just gleeful, but that was to be expected – Emma also expects her to be disappointed that her daughter found a beau on her own, instead of with her help.
Lunch goes by well enough, much to Emma’s surprise. Her father pouts and sulks all he wants, but her mother actually starts a conversation with Killian, and they manage to make it all the way to dessert without a hitch. Which is when Emma decides to drop the bomb, because why not.
“Mom, dad, we actually have something to tell you,” she starts, her hand grabbing Killian’s on the table. He offers her a smile that is supposed to be supportive, but his eyes glint like the cat who ate the canary, and Emma has to remember to focus. “I know it’s all sudden but – Killian and I decided to get married, here, on the boat.”
A few things happen at once. Her mother gasps loudly, hands rising to her mouth and eyes widening. Her father doesn’t say anything, but instead stands up and leaves the restaurant. And Killian, fucking Killian starts grinning, from ear to ear.
“Emma…” her mother breathes out, lost for words.
“I know it’s all very sudden but – maybe you were right and I do need to settle down.”
It pains her to say that, the words like torture on her tongue. She will regret it – she already regrets it right now – but if it is what it takes for her mother to finally understand their goals and inspirations in life are different then… Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise.
“I – I’m going to check on your father,” her mother says before she stands up and follows her husband outside.
Killian leans back in his chair, crossing his hands behind his head with a smirk. “They’re warming up to me already.”
She slaps his chest.
…
The following two days are unreal to say the least.
Her father won’t speak to Emma for the remaining of the day, barely acknowledging her. Her mother, on the contrary, is full of questions, and corners her in her room once they come back from another one of those cabaret things. She keeps asking and asking, just to make sure that she’s certain of her decision, if she’s not jumping too fast into this, she’s known for not always thinking first and he looks like a charming young man but maybe they could think about it, but her parents will always be there for her and support her in her choices, and they love her very much but don’t want her to do something she’ll regret. It’s overwhelming.
Even more so when Killian takes that as a perfect opportunity to spend his every waking hour by her side, which – cruises are not that boring. He could probably find something else to entertain himself, but apparently playing pretend and acting like the perfect husband-to-be is his kink, and who is Emma to judge anyway?
Not that – not that he is bad company. Quite the contrary. He’s funny, and smart, and witty enough to keep up with her sarcasm, and he makes her laugh when she doesn’t expect it, the sound startling her when it comes out of her mouth. Emma doesn’t know what to think of it all, so she just decides not to think about it at all. It is nothing but a prank to her parents, after all, nothing more than that.
“You’re enjoying yourself a little too much,” she points out to him that afternoon.
They’re together at the pool bar, after spending some quality time (no) with her parents on deckchairs. He leans with his back to the bar, both elbows on the counter, and Emma tries not to stare too much at the expense of his chest. At least her sunglasses hide her eyes but, judging by the smirk at the corner of Killian’s mouth, she is not fooling anyone.
“It’s fun,” he replies with a little shrug. “I like acting. Actually, you know what? Maybe I will start acting, once I move in with my rich lawyer wife in her rich Brooklyn penthouse. You can be my sugar mummy when I take over Broadway.”
The laugh bubbles out of her, loud enough that several people turn to glance at them. Emma ignores them, instead shaking her head at Killian. His smile turns softer, almost, the way it seems to always do when he somewhat manages to make her laugh – like he’s both proud and amazed at once.
“I don’t have a penthouse,” is the only thing she finds to answer.
“Oh but I’m sure you have a nice place with a view. Don’t lie, I’ve watched lots of lawyers shows.”
“Suits doesn’t count as ‘lots of lawyers shows’,” she retorts in a bad imitation of his accent. “And it’s… an okay place.”
“I bet you have a balcony with a view.”
She does, but Killian doesn’t need to know that. He doesn’t need to know where she lives, because it’s irrelevant. Because none of this is real, and they will part way in a few days, and she will leave all of this mess behind and go back to her expensive Brooklyn flat and her expensive Manhattan office and her perfect life as a workaholic single mother. Which is more than fine with her.
And she doesn’t want to think about why the prospect of leaving it all behind – leaving him behind – makes her sad. It’s a dangerous path to take, one she isn’t ready for quite yet, if ever. Because that’s the point, right? To make sure her parents understand that she is more than fine on her own, and doesn’t need a manly man in her life to feel happy and fulfilled.
“And you just have tons of coffee mugs and papers you still haven’t graded.”
He grins at her, dimples in his cheeks, before he playfully bops her nose with the tip of his finger. Her eyes widen even so slightly, before she smiles too. “Touché.”
They would keep grinning at each other for a while longer, like the fools they are, if it weren’t for the bartender showing up to refill their drinks and break them out of their reverie. Emma cleans her throat before taking a sip of her rum – the taste is growing on her – as she turns around to avoid his eyes. Killian grabs his own drink, before he decides to lead their conversation to another direction.
Mainly, their upcoming wedding, the one they want to happen tonight. So they spend the next half hour or so going over the details of the evening, before Emma goes back to her parents and Killian back to Tink somewhere else on the cruise ship. He gives her arm a little squeeze when they part ways, his fingers trailing down to her wrist.
Hours later, her skin is still tingling.
…
Emma would say this is the most humiliating moment of her life, but. She remembers prom night, and prom night definitely was the most humiliating moment of her life, mostly because Neal broke up with her after she dropped the new that broken condoms indeed lead to bigger problems.
Still, getting fake married by the captain in the middle of diner, when about five hundred people are staring at her? Yes, it’s definitely up there on Emma’s list of embarrassing moments, and not a single one of Killian’s smiles help with the rapid beating of her heart or the fire in her cheeks.
The captain is milking it for all its worth, too, enjoying his part in the plan way more than he probably should. Which leads to the reading of a poem, and a sea shanty, and vows that are not all that terrible, considering. He even offers them champagne and free food for the night, which is nice, and an upgrade to the royal suite, which is fake. But oh well.
Her father looks like he just ate something sour and would rather be anywhere but here. Emma can relate. Her mother looks like she is three seconds away from calling the wedding off and lecturing her for an hour. Emma can relate even more.
In the end, neither of them do anything about it, and Killian’s lips are soft but a little dry against her mouth when he may now kiss the bride. He doesn’t take advantage of the moment, the kiss lasting no more than a second, and Emma can’t decide if she is disappointed or not. If she wants to be disappointed. If she should be.
Once everything is said and done, and once the captain has finished with a not-so-tasteful joke about the honeymoon with a wink to the crowd, her mother takes Emma aside. She grabs both of her hands, squeezing, before caressing her face with the tip of her figures. It’s meant to be reassuring, Emma knows, but she wonders which of the two needs it the most right now.
“If this is what you want,” her mother tells her.
It is hard not to stomp her foot dramatically and reply, ‘No, mum, that’s what you want!’ when the thought alone makes Emma want to laugh. In the end, she only manages a nod and a smile, before Killian comes to rescue her with promise of a quiet night alone in their room.
Her father still won’t meet her eyes, and that hurts more than anything else, following her all the way to Killian’s room. Her hand remains in his when they walk down the endless hallways of the ship, and she relishes in his touch – more reassuring than her mother’s warm fingers on her cheek, perhaps.
Killian kicks his shoes off and get rid of his tie the moment he enters the bedroom, while Emma stays in the doorway. Of course, it’s not a single bed – the room was booked for a couple after all, and Tink will take Emma’s room tonight. Still, she didn’t expect it to be so… clean. And tidy. There are two suitcases in a corner, a book on the bedside table, and an open laptop on the desk. Other than that, everything is in order, proof that the room’s only purpose is to let people sleep in it and little more. It’s quite sad.
Emma slips off her shoes too, before settling over the covers in bed. There’s a tv on the opposite wall, and Killian finds some action movie for them to watch while drinking their champagne directly from the bottle. Later, Emma will not be able to remember what they talked about – she will only remember laughing until her cheeks hurt, tears at the corners of her eyes. She will only remember how she fell asleep on his shoulder, too exhausted to even stay awake until the end of the movie. She will remember waking up in the middle of the night, in his arms, snuggling against his chest and, most of all, she will remember wondering what it would feel like, to just kiss him awake and see what happens.
She will remember a lot of things, from that night.
…
“It was all fake.”
Her mother stops halfway through folding a shirt, still for a second before she turns to look at Emma. Her father freezes too, eyes widening. They both wait for further explanations, ones that don’t match Emma’s bed hair and the best night of sleep she’s had in over two decades. For a moment, she just shifts her weight from foot to foot, before she sighs and goes on.
“The wedding, everything. It was all fake. Playing pretend.”
“Oh thanks god,” her father breathes out, the first words he’s said to her since everything started. He’s next to her a moment later, engulfing her in a hug, one hand to the back of her head the way he did when she was a child. She smiles, and pats him awkwardly on the back until he lets go of her and lets her face her mother once more.
“But why?” is the only thing she asks.
Emma makes a face, trying to find the right words. Perhaps there are none to explain why she acted the way she did. “Because I wanted to show you what it’s like if I get into a relationship just because you want me to.”
Her mother is left gaping at her, speechless for long seconds as tears start pooling in her eyes. Emma finds her own eyes misty too, and curses herself – curses her inability to have a proper relationship with her mother, their lack of communication, how helpless and misunderstood she feels most of the time.
Unaware of her thoughts, her mother asks, “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
Her voice breaks, when she replies, “Would you have listened?”
Her mother bites down on her lip, before she gives her a hug – one that is more apologizing than it is comforting, and Emma feels like a teenager all over again. Like when they fought over the amount of makeup she was wearing, which only led to heavier coats of eyeliner above her eyes, or how her grades never, ever were good enough even if her GPA was next to perfect and landed her a spot in Yale. The expectations were too much for her.
“I’m sorry,” her mother whispers.
“I’m sorry too,” she replies softly as her father wraps them both into a hug.
…
Ruby leaves her, making sure to take her drink with her and to throw a wink at Emma above her shoulder, and Emma grins a little before she focuses back on the man next to her. He’s cute, right up her alley – curly hair and soft smiles, FBI agent with a lame sense of humour. Perfect for a one-night stand, and god knows she needs one of those. She’s pretty sure her son has a more active sexual life than her, at this point, which is not something that she likes to think about.
The guy’s laugh is nice too when they trade stories of the worse criminals they have encountered, and Emma finds herself grinning a little more easily. If she looks above his shoulder, she can see Ruby and Elsa staring at them from across the bar, but she ignores them to focus on the guy in front of her.
“I mean, it’s not as bad as a couple fighting for custody of their goldfish but…”
“Oh please, do tell me more,” the guy, Graham, asks with another one of his easy smiles.
And she’s about to do just that, to tell him that the couple fought for so long that it was the first time she saw Elsa losing her patience and that the poor goldfish didn’t even survive to see them signing the divorce papers, when solid arms wrap around her waist and startle her.
“Well, if this isn’t my wife,” a warm voice whispers to her ear.
A shiver runs down her spine as Emma’s breath catches in her throat for a moment. Nothing else matters – everything, the bar, the glass of rum in her hand, even Graham, everything around her disappears as she can only focus on the arms around her and the body at her back, the warm breath at her ear, the smirk she pictures on his lips.
“Well, if this isn’t my husband,” she finds herself replying.
Graham is gone by the time she decides to turn around, not that she blames him. Not that she cares anymore – because Killian is here, in front of her, solid and warm and real. Oh so real, smirking at her with dimples in his cheeks and sparkles in his eyes. Damn, she missed his eyes. She missed everything about him, in the four months since she left the cruise and left it all behind.
“How did you find me?”
His smirk turns proud, smug. “I googled ‘bar popular with lawyers New York’. This was the second one on the list.”
Her eyes widen before she starts laughing – the giggle surprising her as it bubbles out of her, shaking her shoulders as she leans closer to Killian, leans her forehead on his chest. She doesn’t want to move from here – she doesn’t want to let go and see him disappear again, doesn’t want to walk away from him, doesn’t want to regret not kissing him in the middle of the night.
So instead, she leans away, just so she can stare into his eyes. His smile grows softer as he plays with her hair, unable to look away from her, as if the world around them doesn’t exist, as if he can only see her. It frightens her half to death, but… Mostly in a good way. In a thrilling way, exciting and scary and maddening all at once.
“Fuck,” she sighs. “How am I going to tell my mum?”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Tell her what, love?”
“That.”
And then she grabs him by the back of his head, pulling him to her. His mouth against her is a relief, like taking a gulp of fresh air after too much time spent under water. She opens her legs where she sits on the bar stool, so he can step between them and closer to her, so he can move closer and closer still until there is no space left between their bodies.
He kisses like he speaks – urgent and passionate and everything she likes about him. He kisses her and leaves her breathless, dizzy, begging for more, his tongue teasing her lips until she opens her mouth to him, until they deepen the kiss in a sigh. She caresses his neck, his jaw, his cheek, forcing herself not to explore other parts of his body, reminding herself that they are very much in public. And offering quite a show at that.
A sharp cough startles them both away from the other, Killian’s lips swollen, a smudge of her lipstick clearly visible. Not that she has time to smirk at him for it, when she notices both Elsa and Ruby standing next to them, arm folded on their chests, waiting for explanations.
“So…” she starts, before laughing. “That’s my husband…”