Chapter Text
Aziraphale Fell’s life changed forever simply because he had been hiding in his cabin for too long. He was going stir-crazy, even with the view from his balcony of the beautiful deep blue sea. He simply had to risk going out, despite the danger.
The ship had departed Barcelona the previous evening, and had been all day at sea enroute to Marseille, where they would arrive tomorrow morning. It was nearing the dinner hour now, and he didn’t fancy ordering another room service meal as he had for breakfast and lunch. He really couldn’t hide for the entire cruise.
Why did I believe them? Why did I ever think they’d give up? His parents had been relentlessly hounding him about marrying for well over two decades. He really ought to have known better. But no, he had honestly hoped that when he’d finally cut his financial ties to them, things would change. Alas, he had hoped in vain.
With a sigh, Aziraphale steeled himself for the risky outing. He crossed to his cabin door and peered through the peephole. No one was in the corridor. He adjusted his bow tie, opened the door, and stepped out. Pity his balcony cabin was at the very end. The elevators, though they were in the center of the huge ship, were still quite a jaunt. Well, there was nothing for it. He simply had to take the chance. He took another step out, shutting and locking the door behind him.
Then fate intervened in his plan. Two things happened at nearly the exact same moment — first, the cabin door directly across from his opened, and a tall, lean man with dark red hair, dressed all in black and wearing sunglasses, stood on the threshold. Second, the elevator doors opened and his mother emerged, with Phoebe right beside her. Sheer panic flooded through him as he realized there was no time to unlock his door before they turned to look his way.
So he acted purely out of self-preservation instinct, and leapt at the man across from him, nearly knocking him down as they both staggered back inside the fellow’s cabin.
“Help me!” Aziraphale whispered fiercely as he grasped at the man’s black jacket. “Hide me!”
The fellow gaped at him, lowered his sunglasses, and said, “Are you mental?”
“NO! I am being pursued by an overzealous mother and the woman she wants me to marry against my will!”
The man laughed. “Seriously? That’s right out of a romcom flick!”
“I’ll explain more later but please, they’ll be heading this way to my cabin and I must avoid them at all costs!”
“Right. Got it. Stay put.” The man left Aziraphale standing there in the entry way by the cabin’s bathroom and went out into the corridor, shutting the cabin door behind him.
Oh, dear. Aziraphale could feel his heart racing, and he needed to sit down. He went further into the cabin, which had the same layout as his own, only in reverse. There was a single king-sized bed, a dresser, and a small table with two chairs, and on the balcony was another table and chairs. He went out onto the balcony and took a seat.
He had only been sitting there, breathing deeply of the salt-sea air, for about a minute or two before the stranger he had so rudely barged in on returned. As the fellow headed to the balcony, Aziraphale noticed how attractive his unexpected host was, with high cheekbones and a striking nose, and rather appealing lips. He wished he could see his eyes. The fellow had dark red hair and wore very tight clothes, all black, and did not so much walk as saunter across the cabin and onto the balcony, where he flopped onto the other chair in a leisurely sprawl.
“I sent them on a wild goose chase,” he said with a grin.
“Sorry? What do you mean?”
“Your mum and your fiancée—”
“Oh, we’re not engaged! They only want me to marry her! I’ve barely even met the young lady.”
“Yeah? Okay. Whatever. They’re gone now.”
“However did you manage that?”
“Simple. I walked slowly past them, and when they started pounding on your cabin door, I turned round and asked if they were looking for a handsome bloke with pale blond curls, ‘cause if so, I’d just seen him doing a bolt down the stairs. They went tearing off to the stairwell.”
Aziraphale felt stunned by a mix of gratitude and embarrassment, as well as a bit of surprise at that description of him as handsome. “That was very kind of you, and rather clever. I cannot thank you enough. This is all terribly embarrassing.” He stood. “I’ll get out of your hair now.”
“No, no, no! You can’t just run off without telling me what it’s about!”
“But, I intruded on your privacy—”
The fellow shrugged. “Don’t care. I’m burning up with curiosity. The thing is, I’m a writer. This could make a great story. Sit down.” Then he slid his sunglasses off, revealing beautiful golden brown eyes. He smiled. “Please?”
“Oh, well, I suppose that’s only fair.” Aziraphale resumed his seat. “Only I was just heading to the main restaurant for dinner, and I imagine you may have been going there, too? I don’t wish to delay your meal.”
“You were going to risk being seen there? Thought you were hiding.”
“I’ve been hiding all day! I couldn’t stand being in that cabin one more minute, and thought it would be worth the risk.”
“Tell you what, the main restaurant’s too obvious, with all the tables out in the open. There are some specialty restaurants that are smaller and cozier where they might not look for you. I was actually going to one, I’ve got a reservation. Do you fancy joining me? Do you like sushi?”
Aziraphale brightened. “Oh, I do! It’s one of my favorite cuisines!” And as far as he knew, none of his family were keen on it, so he should be safe there. “Goodness, this is most thoughtful of you, to do this for a complete stranger.” He really shouldn’t impose on the fellow any longer, though, and he struggled between accepting the offer, or returning to his cabin to order room service again.
But before he could make up his mind, the man said, “Then let’s not be strangers, seeing as how we’re right across the hall from each other.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Anthony Crowley, though I rarely use my given name, and prefer to go by just Crowley.”
Oh hell.
Aziraphale groaned, and rubbed his hands over his face. “Oh, dear Lord.”
“What?” Crowley dropped his arm. “What did I say?”
“I am so, so sorry.”
“About what?”
He dropped his hands with a sigh. “My name is Aziraphale Fell. You will no doubt remember it by the name I use for my book reviews. A.Z. Fell.”
“Oh, fuck.”
“Indeed.” He rose. “I’ll be going, then. So sorry to trouble you.” Room service it was. And he had been looking forward to sushi.
As Aziraphale headed back through the cabin, Crowley shouted out, “Hey! Hold up a second!”
Now what? He turned around. “Yes? You cannot possibly wish to dine with me now that you know who I am.”
Crowley sauntered up to him. “Yeah, okay, I wasn't chuffed about that review. But maybe we can put that to rest during the cruise? I’m on my own here. My brother was supposed to join me but had to cancel at the last minute. Badly sprained ankle. So it would be great to have at least a dinner companion. We just don’t talk about writing and call it good. What do you say?”
Aziraphale straightened, and lifted his chin. “Your online comment stated quite unequivocally what you thought of my review, and you ended it with, ‘those who can, write, and those who can’t become critics.’”
“Fine.” Crowley crossed his arms. “You called my novel a ‘long rambling pursuit in search of the sublime which barely manages to reach the level of fortune cookie cliches.’”
“I am entitled to my opinion.” Though hearing it quoted back did make Aziraphale wonder if he’d been a tad too harsh. “And it’s only one opinion. There must have been readers who enjoyed it.”
Crowley’s brow furrowed. “Actually, not so much. It barely earned out my advance.”
“Oh, my. That couldn’t have been due to my influence! My column isn’t that popular.”
“Nah…it was because it was a piece of overwritten dreck.” Crowley uncrossed his arms and clapped Aziraphale on the shoulder. “You were spot on. I was just pissed off at the time.”
Aziraphale felt confused. The fellow seemed irritated one minute, and forgiving the next. “Well, in that case…I mean, I suppose that I do owe you an explanation for my extraordinary behavior.”
“You totally do. Come on, let’s go cram raw fish down our throats.” Crowley cautiously opened the door and peered out. “All clear.”
They made a dash for the elevator.
*
Crowley ordered a bottle of wine first, and then offered to share it with his surprise dinner guest, who had the grace to accept without fussing.
A.Z. Fell. Aziraphale, huh? Odd name. Of all the people who could have thrust themselves into his life — or at least, into his ship cabin — why did this handsome man with the smiling blue-green eyes have to be the same man he’d got into an online fight with?
To be honest, it had been his own fault, for being in denial about the merits of his novel. He’d been writing lightweight romcom novels since his twenties — two decades worth of formulaic froth at the rate of two books per year. They were popular enough to keep him in stylish clothes and a London flat all to himself. But he got bored with them, and on his fortieth birthday, decided it was time to write the “serious” book that would make the literary world sit up and take notice — much like the way actors known for nothing but comedic roles hit middle-age and suddenly did a star turn in a dramatic piece and won a BAFTA.
That was his plan, anyway. Write a literary novel full of dark themes and angst-ridden characters, in “transcendent” prose just like the Booker prize judges wanted. It took a lot longer than his usual fluff, but he did write the damned thing, and then talked his agent into pushing it, and snagged a contract. The Fallen Ones came out a few months ago, right as he turned forty-two. Crowley sat back and awaited the accolades…which never arrived.
“An embarrassing book,” one reviewer stated. “One can only assume the publisher was swayed by Anthony Crowley’s prior successful novel sales, and neglected to actually read the manuscript before accepting it.”
“Dreadful, pretentious prose — the kind of thing that even a teenage emo goth boy would find eye-rolling.”
“‘The Fallen Ones’ attempts to be an allegory for Lucifer’s rebellion told on a modern stage. Not a bad idea, but unfortunately, it is executed with such an excess of high-flown prose which the author mistakes for profundity that the reader soon loses all empathy for the main character, Luke Morningstar (all the names lack subtlety, by the way). Don’t waste your money or your time on this travesty.”
Crowley had been devastated. He knew better, though, than to engage in any sort of dialogue with his critics, because online battles always devolved quickly into pointless vitriol that never convinced anyone to change their mind. But then he ran across Fell’s review. A.Z. Fell, who cited a professional career as an editor, wrote for many online sites, including The Gay Book News. He had actually reviewed several of Crowley’s romcom novels in the past, and had praised them highly.
None of the other reviewers had read his romance books, and their sites’ readers wouldn’t be likely to be familiar with them, either. Those reviews had all appeared in literary mags. But Fell’s critiques reached Crowley’s usual audience, and he had briefly hoped, on first seeing the review pop up on The Gay Books News, that at last he would get a favorable response.
Sadly, it was not to be. “Fortune cookie cliches” was one of the less offensive remarks A.Z. Fell wrote about The Fallen Ones. “A grave disappointment.” “Flat, one-dimensional characters.” “No spark, no engagement.” “My apologies for reviewing it on this site, which I did solely due to the author’s previous work, as not only are there no gay characters, there is no romance of any kind, nor any compelling relationships at all.”
He really should have just let it go, but then he had to break his rule to never read the comments. Several of his romcom readers called on him to defend the book, saying Fell had been too harsh, and a few even said they’d liked the novel and the critics were all full of it. The flattery felt good, and he started to believe them, and the next thing he knew, he was posting his own antagonistic comment, and Fell replied, and just as always, it soon escalated into pointless vitriol.
Now he was on a cruise ship in a cabin across the hall from Fell, and was sharing a sushi dinner with him.
“These dragon rolls are exquisite,” the blasted fellow said. Then he closed his eyes as he ate one, while making soft murmurs of delight.
Crowley stared at him. Damn, those lips were divine. He watched, entranced, until Fell swallowed, opened his eyes, and raised one eyebrow. “Are you alright?”
“What?” Crowley blinked, then realized what he’d been doing. Oops. “Yeah, no, I mean, sorry. Lost in thought.” He grabbed his wine glass and had a nice, long drink while he collected himself. No staring at the handsome man who hated your book. “So, um, want to tell me about your family, Mr. Fell?”
“Oh, please call me Aziraphale.”
“Er, okay, thanks.” He pursed his lips. “What does it mean?”
“Hm? Ah, my name. It’s a rather obscure angel. My father wanted to call me Raphael after his father, but my mother detested the man, and it was a kind of compromise, I guess.”
Crowley popped a piece of inari into his mouth, and gestured at him while mumbling, “Go on, then.”
“Yes, my family is at the heart of the trouble I’m currently experiencing. You see, they are quite wealthy, and I am their only son, and my parents have their hearts set on continuing the family line through me. I do have an older sister, Michael, who is married, with two lovely daughters. My nieces are both married now, too, and the eldest recently gave birth to a son. Alas, that’s not good enough. Only someone with the surname Fell can possibly carry on our illustrious legacy.”
Crowley swallowed, and said, “That’s absurd.”
“I know!”
“So I take it you didn’t care for the idea?”
“No, I did not.” Aziraphale sipped his wine, and then released a long sigh. “Marriage and children do not appeal to me in the slightest. At least, not marriage to a woman. I happen to be gay.”
Bowl me over with a feather. “You don’t say.” The first time Crowley had laid eyes on the man, his gaydar had gone screaming off the chart. Not to mention all those gay novel reviews the man wrote. “Do they know that?”
“Oh, yes. I came out to the family at nineteen. They simply refused to acknowledge the fact, and my parents kept trying to foist young women on me at every opportunity. They are very determined people.”
“I’m sorry, but are you seriously telling me that they’re still at it? After all this time? I mean, how old are you?” He certainly looked around Crowley’s age, at least early forties.
“This cruise was, in fact, put forth to me as a special celebration for my forty-fifth birthday, which occurs on the last day. I was lured into it on false pretenses! Otherwise I would have never gone anywhere near my parents. They even brought my sister and brother-in-law, and several cousins along to make it seem legit. And then on the very first evening, they sprang Phoebe on me. She’s the daughter of one of my father’s golfing mates, and must be all of thirty, and out of her earshot, my father actually told me, ‘Look at the hips on that girl, my boy. Those are child-bearing hips.’”
Crowley just gaped at him. “Damn, that’s crass. And totally clueless.”
“I know!” Aziraphale shook his head. “It’s utterly ridiculous. Nothing I say deters them. When I was younger, I thought I could derail this nonsense by introducing them to my partners, but that didn’t work. My father would simply take them aside and offer them enormous sums of money to break off the relationship!” He frowned. “And they took it.”
“That’s evil!” Crowley was starting to feel a lot of sympathy for the poor blighter. “I hope you told him where to get off.”
“I’m not terribly good at that sort of thing. I do hate confrontations.”
“You’re almost forty-five. Tell them to get the hell out of your life.”
“It isn’t that easy, I’m afraid. I have wanted to completely cut ties with them for many years, but frankly, money is an issue. I’ve been trying to fully support myself, but the income I make from editing projects and reviews barely pays the bills, and often doesn’t. My parents have been subsidizing my London life for a long time. I’m afraid that I got too used to my creature comforts. However, about a year ago it finally dawned on me that so long as I accepted their money, I would never be truly free of their influence. And as much as I adored London, it was clear that the only way to escape my family was to move somewhere more affordable, where I could live on my own income.”
“Makes sense. Good for you. Where did you go?”
“To a charming village in the South Downs area, with the peculiar name of Pilfing Sprogget.”
Crowley had just taken a drink, and nearly spewed wine over the table. He choked a bit, coughed, and then drank some water to clear things out.
Aziraphale reached across the table to pat his arm. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m good now. You actually moved to a place called Piffling Spograt?”
“Pilfing Sprogget. And it’s a lovely village. I visited many such places through Hampshire and Sussex, and found myself returning to the same one over and over, as the locals were very welcoming and friendly. I started to feel as if I could make a good life there, especially when I learned that the elderly owner of its sole secondhand bookshop, who I’d talked with at length on several occasions, was planning to retire, and was about to put the place up for sale. It seemed like a sign.”
“Okay, but how could you afford to buy a bookshop?”
“Ah, excellent question. Naturally, I could not ask for money from my parents. And my savings were decent, but not enough. However, I did possess one asset which was solely my own — my car, which my grandfather had inherited, and which I adored. He bequeathed it to me. I did hate to part with it, but there was no other option. The money from its sale was enough to purchase both the bookshop and a cottage.”
“That must have been one hell of a vehicle.”
“A 1933 Bentley in pristine condition.” Aziraphale sniffled. “I do miss it. I’m making do with an ancient Ford Escort now.”
“I’m sorry.” Crowley liked the damned critic more and more as he listened. And he had, after all, written glowing reviews of his romcom novels. “So you’re finally free of your family’s influence.”
“You would think so. My parents were appalled when I cut off all financial assistance from them, and made it clear that I was not to be bothered by any further interference in my life. At first, they seemed to have come to their senses at last, as they did stay out of my life for quite a few months. I felt relieved. But then they sprang this cruise on me, with the child-bearing-hipped Phoebe in tow.” He poked idly at a piece of sashimi with his chopsticks. “What am I going to do? I cannot hide from them for another six days.” He let out another long sigh. “If only I could convince them, once and for all, that I am not going to marry.”
A completely idiotic idea suddenly formed in Crowley’s mind. Probably because of all the romcom novels he’d written, and read, and all the romcom movies he’d watched. “No, you’re never going to marry a woman.”
“Well, obviously.”
It was a truly terrible plan. He knew that. And Crowley had no reason to help out the bastard, except that the bastard had grown on him over the course of their dinner. And it was only for six days, right? “You want to enjoy this trip without having to deal with Phoebe, yes?”
“That would be nice. I’ve been looking forward to the cruise. And the food on board is positively scrumptious. I’m not sure how to enjoy it, though, while being on high alert all the time.”
Crowley smiled. He had a way to ease this handsome man’s troubles, and if the scheme worked well, he could use it in his next lighthearted, frothy romcom novel. This could be great material. “I have an idea that should stop them in their tracks.”
Aziraphale raised his eyebrows, eyes bright with hope. “Oh, please tell me. I’m at my wit’s end.”
“It’s simple.” Crowley grinned. “Just marry me.”
Aziraphale gasped. “WHAT?!? Are you mad?”
“Probably. But think about it. They can hardly foist Wide-Hipped Phoebe on you if you produce a spouse.”
“But, but—-I can’t marry you! I don’t even know you!”
Crowley rolled his eyes. “It’s not a real marriage, you dolt. We’d just be pretending, for the length of the cruise. Look, I’ve got loads of fictional experience in this kind of thing. The fake engagement or marriage is romcom gold, trust me.”
“It is?”
“Oh, yeah, it’s a fabulous ploy. Fend off an unwanted suitor with a pretend boyfriend, or claim an inheritance that requires a spouse by hiring a husband for the weekend, that sort of thing. Works like a charm every time.”
“How intriguing.” Aziraphale bit his lip. “But I mean…well, um, how exactly would that work, in this situation? Won’t people question the sudden appearance of a previously unknown partner?”
“That’s easy. You tell your folks that you’ve brought someone special along that you were going to surprise them with at your birthday bash.” Making up imaginary scenarios came easily to Crowley. “But because they thrust Phoebe at you, you have to reveal the big secret sooner. And then you introduce me to them as your husband.”
Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. “And where did you miraculously spring from, may I ask?”
“You met me at the pub in Piffling Splodgett—”
“Pilfing Sprogget.”
“Whatever. We met in your new quaint village, we hit it off — how long have you lived there?”
“Only three months.”
“Right…okay, a bit trickier, but I can work with that.” Crowley stroked his chin as he studied the man. Hm…why did the Love at First Sight ploy spring to mind? He bit his lip.
Aziraphale looked at him questioningly, his eyebrows now raised in expectation, lips slightly pursed. They were exceptionally nice lips. Crowley gulped, and told himself firmly to knock it off. Stay cool and nonchalant, despite the fellow’s attractiveness.
He cleared his throat. “I think I’ve got it. Let’s say that we hit it off immediately, had a whirlwind romance, and tied the knot right before the cruise. How’s that sound?”
“Are you actually serious?”
Crowley shrugged. “Why not? I’ll have a bit of a lark, and maybe get some good material for my next novel, while you get to give two fingers to your scheming family.”
“Dear me, I’m not certain I wish to become a character in one of your romance stories!”
“No, no, don’t worry. I’d change all the details. Doesn’t even need to happen on a cruise. I’m just looking for some basic plot stuff, that’s all. At least think about it.” He affected a woebegone expression. “Otherwise I’ll be lonely all by myself.”
“Well, it’s hardly my fault your brother sprained his ankle. I’m sure you can find other people to chat with.”
Crowley pouted. “But I like chatting with you.” Which was honestly true. The clever bastard who had trashed his novel seemed like a decent bloke with the worst family in the world, and was definitely growing on him more and more. Besides, he was gorgeous.
“Really? You do?”
“I really do. Let’s get rid of your noxious parents once and for all.”
“Oh, dear. I just don’t know.” Aziraphale shook his head. “I must admit it’s quite tempting, but it sounds awfully risky—” And then he broke off quite suddenly. “Good lord.” He paled and tried to squirm lower in his seat.
“What’s wrong?” Crowley glanced around the restaurant.
“Phoebe and my mother just walked in,” Aziraphale whispered in a panicked tone.
“Perfect.” Crowley spotted them as they strolled slowly around the tables, scanning the diners. “Sit up straight and put your hand on the table.”
“What? Why?”
“Just do it!”
“Oh, dear God. Very well! But this is ridiculous. They cannot possibly believe it!”
Crowley reached across to place his hand on top of Aziraphale’s hand. “Sh. They’re getting closer to our cozy nook. Just relax, and try to gaze lovingly into my eyes.”
“But, but—”
Crowley started rubbing his thumb over the back of that lovely hand. He noticed the fingers had finely manicured nails. Very nice. “Look at me like this.” He lowered his eyelids, and smiled softly.
Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “I am not an actor.”
“Try. They just spotted us.”
“Oh, very well.” Aziraphale smiled at him, though it was more strained than sultry.
“Er, okay. Look, whatever you do, don’t let go of my hand when they turn up. You are happy and proud to have me as your dearly beloved spouse.”
“Aziraphale!?” The two women strode briskly up to their corner table, and it was his mother who spoke. “What in the world do you think you’re doing, hiding from us? And what is he doing here?”
Phoebe, a rather buxom blonde wearing a slinky red dress, hung back a little, her pretty young face creased with a furrowed brow. “Why are they holding hands? You told me he was single.”
“Hi, there,” Crowley said smoothly. “Fancy meeting you again so soon.”
Mrs. Fell crossed her arms. “You told us he’d gone down the stairs. That was a lie!”
Crowley shrugged, and squeezed Aziraphale’s hand. “Sorry. I wanted some more…private time with my husband.”
Aziraphale made a small meep noise, but quickly recovered. “Yes, that’s right! This man is my new spouse!”
He gripped Crowley’s hand so fiercely that it was all he could do not to yelp.
“HUSBAND?!? Are you mad? Aziraphale, explain yourself this instant!”
“Would you please keep your voice down? There are people trying to enjoy their dinner and you are embarrassing me.”
“I think we should go,” Phoebe pleaded. “I don’t want any part of this anymore!”
“He cannot possibly be telling the truth.” Mrs. Fell glared at them, eyes shifting from one to the other. “WHERE and HOW and WHEN did you find someone to MARRY you?”
“In my new village, Pilfing Sprogget.” Aziraphale emphasized the name.
Crowley was grateful for that, because he’d already forgotten it again. “That’s right. Charming place, Pilfing Sprogget. We met at the pub there, and it was pretty much love at first sight.”
“But you only moved there three months ago!” She stared at their joined hands. “Where are your wedding bands?”
Aziraphale’s eyes widened, but Crowley invented lies for a living, and was very, very good at it. “We didn’t want to risk losing them on the cruise.”
“Oh,yes, that’s right! They are safely tucked away in our cottage. The one in my — I mean, in our delightful village. Where we live now. Together, because we are now married.”
Phoebe stomped her foot. “I’m leaving!” She scowled at Mrs. Fell. “And you can bet that I’ll be telling my father all about this!” She turned on her heel and stormed off.
“Now look what you’ve gone and done! Honestly. I don’t know what sort of game you think you’re playing at—”
“No games,” Crowley broke in. “We were planning to make our big surprise announcement at his birthday bash. You’ve spoiled it, though. Guess I’ll just have to meet the rest of your lovely family sooner.” He smiled sweetly at Aziraphale. “Sorry, Angel.”
Mrs. Fell scowled at him. “I don’t believe it. He’s paid you, hasn’t he?” She waved a hand at them. “This is all just some kind of absurd joke. It cannot possibly be real.”
“Mother, please. I do not appreciate your rude remarks. If this is how you and father are going to respond to my joyful union, then perhaps I shan’t introduce you to Crowley after all!”
She huffed. “Crowley? That sounds like a surname! Rather peculiar to address your spouse that way, isn’t it?”
“Not at all, Mrs. Fell. I don’t care for my given name. I’m Anthony Crowley, but no one who knows me well would ever call me anything but Crowley.”
“I see. And what do you do for a living, may I ask? Other than to seduce wealthy family scions?”
“MOTHER!”
“It’s okay, Angel. I get it. Gotta protect the family riches.” Nonetheless, he gave the offensive Mrs. Fell a glowering look. “It so happens that I am a very successful novelist, and I happen to be independently wealthy. Now go away, please. You’ve upset my husband.”
“Well, I never!” She raised her eyebrows. “I shall discuss this with your father. We may need to cancel your celebration if this is how you treat us, by expecting us to simply accept this, this—”
“Love of my life,” Aziraphale said firmly.
Crowley felt the hand within his trembling. The fellow was doing his best to put on an act, but he was clearly nervewracked over it. “Take deep breaths,” he said softly. “You’ll be fine. You’re doing great.” Then he turned to Mrs. Fell. “If that’s the case, then we’ll have our own private celebration. I know how to make your son happy.” Then he gave her a broad grin along with a cheeky wink.
She gritted her teeth, gave them both one last scathing look, and then strode rapidly from the restaurant.
“Oh, good heavens.” Aziraphale nearly collapsed in his seat. “What have I done?”
“Well, that was fun.” Crowley released his hand with a little pat. “There, there. Deep breaths.”
“Yes, yes.” The fellow did take a few slow, deep breaths. Then he sat up a bit straighter. “Thank you…I think.”
Crowley laughed. “Yeah, I’m afraid we’re in for it now. How does it feel to be married?”
Aziraphale groaned. “It is very disorienting. You do realize that there will be no avoiding my family now? And they will have questions. My mother is clearly suspicious already, and I imagine she is busy searching for your name online even as we speak, to make sure you are what you say you are, and aren’t already in a relationship.”
“I’m not, no worries.” His last partner had scarpered over a year ago.
“Well, that’s a relief. But what happens the next time she or my father corner us, and demand to know all of the details? Where, when, how, what…oh, they could throw anything at us!”
“Good point.” Crowley contemplated the matter while he munched down another piece of dragon roll. “Um. I got it. We just have to learn everything about each other as quickly as possible, and concoct a reasonable story about how we fell madly in love. Simple.”
“Ah. That would imply spending a great deal of time together.”
“Yup. And the sooner, the better.” Crowley glanced at his watch. “Let’s see, it’s seven now, so how about we find a quiet corner where we can have a few drinks while we drill each other on our entire lives up to the start of this cruise. There’s a British-style pub on Deck Six.”
“I suppose if I must, I must.” Aziraphale deftly picked up the last piece of sashimi on his plate with the chopsticks, and quickly ate it. “I am not entirely convinced this is a sensible plan, mind. But at least it allows me to enjoy the ship’s amenities without family interference.”
“Yeah, Phoebe was not chuffed.”
“I do hope they at least paid for her fare.”
Crowley downed the rest of his wine. This was fabulous. No more worries over spending this cruise all by himself, because now he had a charming, handsome — and well, truth to tell, also somewhat shy and nervous — fake spouse to hang out with. “Come on, finish your drink.” He rubbed his hands together. “We’ve got work to do, Angel.”
His pretend husband just groaned.
*