My eyes kept drifting to the closed door, watching for a shadow. Holland’s seamstress was already waiting when we got back to the ship, as promised, and West had gone straight up to the quarterdeck to help Willa fit the new anchor. The crew had looked between us and Tru in question, the icy silence deafening.

I’d left the boy in the care of Hamish, who I figured was the least likely to throw him overboard.

“Almost finished,” the seamstress sang, pulling a needle from the cushion at her wrist and threading it with her teeth. She fixed the corner with three stitches and trimmed a few threads before she stood up, standing back. “Turn.” I reluctantly obeyed as her eyes scrutinized every inch of me. “All right.” She seemed satisfied, picking up the bolt of cloth and setting it onto her hip before she lugged it through the door.

I turned back to the mirror Holland’s men had hauled up onto the Marigold, running my hands over the skirt nervously. It had the look of melting butter, soft and smooth in the candlelight. But that wasn’t what made me uneasy.

I swallowed, remembering. This was the dress my mother wore in the portrait in Holland’s study. I looked just like her. I looked just like Holland. As if I belonged at a fancy gala or in the private booth at the tea house.

But the Marigold was the only place I wanted to belong.

A knock sounded on the door before the handle turned. When it opened, West stood in the breezeway. “Can I come in?”

I wrapped my arms around me self-consciously, covering the waist of the frock. “It’s your cabin.”

He stepped inside and let the jacket fall from his shoulders. He didn’t say anything as he hung it on the hook, his gaze moving over me. I didn’t like the look in his eye. I didn’t like the feeling of the space between us. But West was shut up tight. Closed off from me.

I watched him step out of his worn boots one at a time. The wind pouring into the cabin turned cold, making me shiver.

“You’re a stubborn bastard,” I said softly.

The shadow of a smirk lit on his face. “So are you.”

“You should have told me you were signing the contract.”

He swallowed. “I know.”

I picked up the skirt and stepped toward him, but he kept his eyes on the floor. He was still pulling away. “I’m not one more person you have to take care of. You have to stop doing that.”

“I don’t know how to,” he admitted.

“I know.” I crossed my arms. “But you’re going to have to figure it out. I have to be able to trust you. I have to know that even if we don’t agree, we’re doing this together.”

“We are doing it together.”