Chapter 9: Was he cold?

"It means letting loads of people join in!"

Eoin froze, his face a mask of calm. But his fingers on the railing tightened until the knuckles went white and blue, trembling faintly if you looked closely.

After a long silence he spoke, his voice tight. "So that’s how it is."

The schemes on this boat were worse than he’d imagined.

Sinéad avoided his eyes and gathered her courage. "I know you’re not from this world, but once you’re on this boat, this far from the shore, you can’t swim back. If you’re desperate, go and beg Cian. Soften your voice, say a few nice things to win him round, and maybe, just maybe"

Maybe what? Sinéad trailed off, unable to finish.

She knew Cian’s reputation all too well. Rory was already a total creep, but Cian was worse. Rory wanted Sinéad as his girlfriend, and for the money she could agree to that. If it had been Cian, she’d have run as fast as her legs could carry her.

Would a man like that let Eoin go over a few pleas?

As she spoke, she felt more and more helpless. She hurriedly added, "Anyway, that’s how it is. You’ll have to decide what to do."

With that she left quickly, disappearing around the corner in a few steps.

Silence returned, broken only by the lap of waves and the wind.

Eoin let go of the railing, his fingers ice cold. The river wind blew straight up his sleeves and left his body numb. He couldn’t put it off any longer. He went into the cabin and stood outside the private booth for a moment before finally pushing the door open.

It swung inwards with a soft creak. Eoin looked around and saw that the young heirs had already got through three rounds of drinks, every one of them swaying and staggering.

Cian sat at the head of the table with a glass of champagne, leaning back easily in his chair, all careless charm, showing hardly any sign of being drunk. When he saw Eoin, he waved him over to sit beside him.

On Cian’s right, Rory had three or four empty bottles in front of him and was slumped drunkenly to one side. Seeing Eoin, he sniggered. He leaned over to say something to Darragh, though it wasn’t clear what they were laughing at so hard. His gaze roamed over Eoin without shame.

Eoin met their stares, his stomach turning. He lowered his eyes, walked past the dishevelled crowd, and sat down next to Cian.

Cian took a sip of champagne. "Where’ve you been? You were gone ages."

Eoin said, "I was standing by the railing."

Cian said, "The railing? The wind off the river is fierce. Weren’t you cold?"

Eoin said, "Not cold."

His mind was elsewhere, and both his expression and his tone were frosty. He thought of Sinéad’s advice, to soften his voice and beg, and his body went stiff at the very idea.

In truth, Eoin knew perfectly well that on this isolated boat only Cian could save him from the disgrace. Unfortunately he had never been one to beg, and even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to say anything soft. So he stayed silent.

As they talked, a few more people came into the booth, all privileged young heirs from the same set, and the atmosphere grew even noisier.

Eoin’s gaze swept over their faces. He remembered Sinéad’s words about "loads of people," and his expression darkened further.

They sat down one after another. Sinéad stood, greeted them politely, and then drank with a forced smile. Only Eoin sat off to one side, motionless, upright and dignified like a teacher at a private school. His calm, refined bearing stood out in the smoky, chaotic room. Someone pointed at him and asked idly, "Who’s this?"

Before Cian could answer, Rory cut in. "Young Fitzgerald’s new fling. Isn’t he a looker?"

He winked suggestively. "Cian brought him specially tonight. You all understand, don’t you?"

The booth erupted in laughter. Eoin couldn’t help clenching his fingers, nails digging into his palms and leaving crescent shaped marks.

He was chilled to the bone. The booth was smoky, hot, and stuffy, but even so it couldn’t warm him in the slightest.

For Rory, tonight was just another night of endless indulgence, a game to chase off boredom. For Eoin, he was the toy in that game. Nobody cared how he felt, and he didn’t even have the standing to stop it.

By now there were more than ten people in the booth. Rory called for everyone to play dice, and amid the laughter he wagered and lost a luxury car. Carried away by the excitement, he still felt it wasn’t enough and shouted, "There are still people outside, why aren’t they coming in? Where’s Fionn? He’s great at cards. And Eamon, I haven’t seen him in a while. Go and ask Seamus if he’s coming!"

He reeled off a list of names as if ordering from a menu, every one of them a notorious playboy of Dublin. For a while the whole booth was filled with his endless chatter.

Cian sat in his place with a faint smile on his lips, neither approving nor objecting, watching Rory like a circus act. Suddenly he turned to Eoin and asked, frowning, "Eoin, are you cold?"

Eoin, beside him, looked terrifyingly pale. He was gripping the hem of his shirt so tightly that the fabric had creased into deep folds.

Cian said, "Very cold? The heating’s turned up high. Are you ill?"

As he spoke, he reached out to feel Eoin’s forehead.

Just as his fingers touched the skin, Eoin suddenly reached out and caught hold of Cian’s sleeve. He pulled with all his strength, clutching the fabric like a lifeline.

In that moment Cian noticed that he was shivering slightly.

Cian was startled. "Eoin?"

"Cian." Eoin lowered his eyes, his long lashes casting a small shadow beneath them. He steadied his voice and asked, "Do you remember what you promised before?"

Cian said, "Hm?"

Eoin looked up at him, the cabin lights reflected in his eyes. He said, "Belleek."

Belleek was the safe word Cian had promised him when they first met.

Eoin understood that to end this game he had to beg Cian. Cian was the dealer, and he was the toy on the card table. The toy had no choice and no power to stop it. But he had suddenly remembered that Cian had actually given him a promise.

He had promised that saying this word would end the game.

"Belleek?"

Everyone in the booth was taken aback.

Rory and Conor exchanged glances, utterly confused. Eoin’s words had come out of nowhere, with no context, and nobody understood what he meant.

Rory sneered. "Eoin hasn’t had much to drink, has he? Is he tipsy from the smell alone?"

Eoin ignored him and just stared fixedly at Cian.

Cian sat up straight, frowning. He seemed deep in thought, and in the long silence Eoin gave a bitter smile and let his hands go limp, releasing Cian’s sleeve.

Of course. How could a playboy’s casual promise be taken seriously? Why had he believed it again?

Once the game began, did the toy have any power to stop it?

Eoin’s face was ghostly pale and his lips just as white, as if all his strength had been drained away in a flash. He closed his eyes and slumped back in his seat, silent.

Cian turned the word over in his mouth, silently repeating it. Belleek?

The word was familiar, but it wasn’t from the novel. He frowned, trying to remember, and then in a sudden flash it came to him.

The safe word.

He’d said it without thinking at the time and was sure he would never take things to extremes, so he hadn’t bothered to remember it. But now.

He glanced around. The party had only started a few hours ago, and the rich lads were having a great time. Eoin had been sitting quietly to one side and nobody had bothered him. The only one who’d caused any trouble, Rory, had been halfway through his antics when Cian dragged him off. At most the air was thick with smoke and Eoin couldn’t use his phone, which made it dull. But given Eoin’s level of endurance in the novel, it shouldn’t have reached the point where he needed the safe word.

Yet when he looked at Eoin, his face really was pale, and though his fingers were tucked into his sleeves, it was still obvious that they were trembling violently.

Was he cold?

Perhaps Cian had been staring too long. Eoin leaned back with his eyes closed, his expression calm and composed, as though he’d said nothing at all. But on closer inspection even his eyelashes were shaking.

He was genuinely terrified.

Cian stood up abruptly.

He grabbed his coat from the back of the chair and looked around. "Sorry, lads. Something urgent has come up tonight, so I’ll be heading off now."

Eoin’s eyes snapped open in surprise, only to feel a sharp tug on his wrist as Cian grabbed it and pulled him straight to his feet. Eoin stumbled forward, and then something warm was draped over him, enveloping him completely.

It was Cian’s coat.

Rory was taken aback and instinctively reached out to grab Eoin. "What? You’re leaving already? Didn’t we say we’d stay up all night?"

Cian pushed his hand aside, holding Eoin tightly and not letting anyone touch him, and said coldly, "I’ve an emergency."

He pulled Eoin along, walking quickly through the cabin and leading him away from the chaos. He moved as fast as if something awful would happen if he slowed even a little. Eoin stumbled after him.

Cian didn’t say a word, just held him tightly as they passed through the brightly lit cabin. The smoke and haze faded behind them, and the river breeze blew away most of the smell of drink.

They reached the observation deck on the upper level of the boat.

Cian said, "Sit down and wait. I’ll ring for a launch from the marina to come and fetch us."

The boat was already in the middle of the river and it would take a while to turn back, so Cian chose to call a launch instead. He took out his phone and made a call, and after a couple of "mm hms" it was settled.

Eoin sat down on a sofa, dazed. He gripped the edge of the coat and perched there without a word.

This was the highest point on the boat. Dozens of sofas were scattered around, and the roof was glass, giving a view of the starry sky overhead. Looking to either side, you could see the tall buildings on both banks and their orange yellow lights, and with the gentle river breeze it was a beautiful view.

The rich heirs hadn’t come aboard to look at the stars. There was no one up here, only a bar that was still open.

The barman had been sitting there a long time without a single customer, scrolling through his phone out of boredom. When he saw Cian and Eoin he greeted them eagerly. "Can I get you anything, gentlemen?"

Cian said, "A Tequila Sunrise, and make it strong."

The barman nodded keenly. "Yes, sir."

The orange red liquid poured into the glass, a slice of lemon on the rim. The barman pushed the glass towards Cian and then looked at Eoin. "And for you, sir?"

Eoin paused a moment before realising he was being spoken to. "I won’t have anything."

The price of any drink at that bar was the equivalent of several days of his meals.

But Cian said, "Aren’t you cold? Have something to warm you up."

As if expecting Eoin to stay silent, Cian glanced over the menu, apparently ready to decide for him.

Eoin followed his gaze. Most of the items on the menu were alcoholic: cocktails, straight spirits, brandy, tequila, even Russian vodka. Many of them were stronger than the drink Rory had pushed at him earlier. If Eoin drank one of those, he would definitely throw up. But

This time, whichever drink Cian handed him, he would drink it.

It was only a glass of alcohol. In exchange for Cian taking him away from that booth, it was an incredibly good deal.

Then Cian flipped through the menu, looking very dissatisfied. Finally he pointed to a corner of it.

"Here, give him this."

Eoin looked where he was told and was completely stunned.

Hot milk.