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“And can you believe the work Ms. Broussard has done to her face?” the twinkish beau asked. Elliot’s ears pricked up, and he shared a nervous glance with Alexander.

“She wanted a change. I can’t say I blame her. I’ve been thinking of getting a facelift too,” the twink’s master said.

The bountiful beau smiled at the man. “You’re beautiful the way you are. I’m just not sure why she’s referring to it as a facelift when it looks like someone’s let the air out of a balloon.”

“That’s not kind, baby,” the man said. “What does Daddy say about kindness?”

“I know. Sorry, Daddy. Kindness costs nothing. I pray you’ll forgive me for speaking out of turn.”

The man chuckled. “You don’t have to keep apologizing. I’m not like some of the other masters here. I won’t punish you.”

Elliot’s and Alexander’s eyes never left each other, and Alexander looked just as worried as Elliot felt. He knew they must have been referring to Mrs. Peppercorn, but Mrs. Peppercorn promised she had a plan. Was that the plan, then? Donning an ill-fitted wig and ballgown, then wandering around the ship, claiming botched plastic surgery? The rest of the passengers saw Mother the night before, so unless Mrs. Peppercorn was trying to say she had emergency overnight surgery, he didn’t think the plan sounded nearly as foolproof as she claimed.

“We need to find her,” Alexander said. “We need to make sure she won’t blow our cover.”

Reluctantly, Elliot rose from the deckchair and slipped back into his clothes, holding a pool towel over his lap to shield his unyielding erection. He reached down and picked up Professor Plum, and the look of annoyance on the fieldmouse’s face was undeniable.

“Yes, Professor Plum. I would like to lounge around all day, too, but there are pressing matters at hand. Nod if you understand.” When the fieldmouse refused to move a muscle, Elliot narrowed his eyes. “Typical. Well, shame, shame, shame, I know your name.” He lifted the mouse and gave him a gentle kiss on the forehead. “I’m only joking. I adore you.”

They traveled across the ship, trying to find Mrs. Peppercorn. Eventually, they reached the dining hall, and when she came into view, Elliot had to do a double take. Sure enough, Mrs. Peppercorn was walking the room, chit-chatting with beaus and suitors. When she saw them, she lifted her arm, offering a princess-like wave.

“There they are,” she announced to the room. “The men of the hour.” Elliot brought his hand to his pocket, slipping Professor Plum inside. He didn’t need to bear witness to this foolishness. “Elliot, what does Mother say about being tardy?” She was attempting a Creole accent to match Mother’s, but it sounded more Russian than Cajun.

“Pardon?”

“What does Mother say, Elliot?”

Mother had never really mentioned tardiness during his training, because she’d told her beaus it was the man’s job to get them to places on time, and it wasn’t something a bountiful beau should worry their pretty little heads about. Elliot was a man, too, though. Sure, his skeletal system might have been created from steel, but in every other aspect, he was just as much a man as his potential mate. And wasn’t that just the silliest thing? As if only men could keep track of time. For God’s sake, it only required a wristwatch and a set of eyes.

“I’m not sure, Mother. I don’t recall any lessons in tardiness.”

Mrs. Peppercorn rolled her eyes and flung her hands in the air. “If one wishes to keep their beau . . .” She paused, deep in thought. The silence stretched longer than it ought, and for a moment, Elliot wondered if she’d forgotten the topic at hand. Suddenly, she lifted a finger in the air and shouted, “one must never get dressed too slow.” She stared at Elliot as if she was awaiting a pat on the back. “You know, because it would make you late.” She looked around the room, probably for a rousing round of applause, only to be met with confused expressions from her patrons. She patronizingly mimed as if she was clapping her hands, looking at the crowd with expectant eyes. “You can clap now.” Confusedly, the passengers gave her a lackluster round of applause.

Despite the rhyme being emotionally unfulfilling, Elliot nodded anyway, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that Mrs. Peppercorn clearly wasn’t Mother, even if everyone was clinging to every word as if she was.

“Yes, Mother. I apologize. Please forgive me.”

“Forgiven and forgotten.” She shared a knowing wink with Elliot before turning her attention to the crowd of forty-or-so bountiful beaus and their suitors. “As I was saying; cutting edge technology. That’s the name of the game.” She took Elliot’s hand and walked both him and Alexander to a small platform with speakers, a microphone, and karaoke equipment. The stage wasn’t terribly tall—essentially just a slight step up from the floor—and it wasn’t quite big enough for three people, so Alexander propped one foot on the tiny platform, and kept the other squarely on the floor. As Elliot and ‘Mother’ stood at the karaoke station, he said a silent prayer that she wouldn’t force him to sing, because Elliot wasn’t exactly Celine Dion.

“Mrs.—Mother,” he quickly corrected. “What’s happening?”

Rather than answer, Mrs. Peppercorn proudly pointed at Elliot’s bump. “I’ve planted the seed, and I’ve watched it grow.” She turned to Elliot and whispered into his ear, “I’m terribly sorry, sugar. I snuck into her room and took her itinerary. The book said I’m meant to sell them on reproductive options. I’m not exactly comfortable doing it, but I can’t deviate from the script or they’ll know I’m not Mother.”

Elliot wanted to ask the crowd why they believed she was Ms. Emily Broussard to begin with. She looked nothing like Mother, botched facelift notwithstanding. He knew he had to play the part, however, so Elliot rubbed his baby bump and nodded.

Mrs. Peppercorn held Mother’s big blue book in front of her face, scanning one of the pages, nodding to herself before quickly clapping it closed and letting it rest at her side. “Elliot’s husband brought him to us two years ago with a request. He wanted a child of his own, and Elliot was to be the vessel. Elliot will give birth in a little over three months, and when he does, we plan to make the procedure available to all of you and your bountiful beaus.” Her grip tightened around the book as she stared into the crowd. Elliot looked around the room, surprised to see a look of absolute horror on most of his i-Series brothers’ faces. It was a sentiment most of the Masters and Misters in the crowd shared, but there were a handful of potential husbands, and even a few beaus, who looked as if she just offered them the moon. What hurt Elliot most was seeing the reaction of the reluctant beaus. They were staring at their current and future masters with a look of absolute betrayal. The same betrayal Elliot felt when he woke to find his baby bump that first day. Like their lives were ripped away from them, having been thrown head-first into a pregnancy they never asked for. Elliot would be damned if he allowed them to inflict that hurt on anyone else. The men may have been bought and paid for, but they didn’t pay for this. They wouldn’t pay for it, if Elliot had his way. Yes, some of the beaus were giddy at the prospect of fatherdom, but his brothers deserved the chance to choose. Their bodies. Their choice.

Elliot slowly rubbed his baby bump as Mrs. Peppercorn continued her speech, detailing the process by reading aloud from Mother’s blue book, fumbling and stumbling over her pronunciations of medical jargon. Once she finished her spiel, she led Elliot to the main table at the front of the dining room. Elliot scooped Professor Plum out of his pocket and placed him on top, then they took their seats, Alexander and Mrs. Peppercorn at each side of Elliot, wedging him between them like affectionate bookends.

The air of positivity Elliot had been basking in earlier was gone, leaving him alone in his upset.

“It’s okay,” Mrs. Peppercorn assured him, whispering into his ear. “Once this cruise is over, we’ll think of something. I could pretend to meet an untimely end by making a glorious third-act villainous monologue and then diving into the ocean, but I guess two deaths at sea would be overkill. Still, I’m up for it if you are.” She looked at Alexander. “You’ll need to come get me with one of the emergency rafts. I’d prefer not to drown, if possible.”

“You’re not diving into the sea,” Elliot hissed, though not too unkindly.

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God for that. Truthfully, I was worried you might agree to it. I don’t really want to wade in the water until Mr. Davenport can rescue me. Don’t worry, sugar. We’ll think of something. We have to, and we need to figure it out before we dock, because I have no intention of playing the role of Emily Broussard once we reach dry land.” The corner of her lip curled menacingly, a look Elliot had never seen on her face before. “The fact of the matter is, I’ve never been good in positions of power, and I’m already feeling it. I don’t relish the command for respect, or the need for unyielding devotion.” She gazed around the room and smiled rather proudly. “They worship me. Well, they worship her, but you know what I mean.”

“I’m not sure what any of this has to do with you jumping in the sea,” Elliot pointed out.

“I was a checkout girl when I was younger,” she continued, ignoring him as if she hadn’t heard a word he said.

“I don’t know what that has to do with anything, either. Mrs. Peppercorn, I believe you’re spiraling.”

“Hogwash,” she said. “It has everything to do with it. When I was sixteen, I got a job down at the Pick-n-Save. I worked there for two years before being promoted to Assistant Manager.” Elliot cocked an eyebrow, giving her time to make her point, despite his waning patience. “They say I went a bit power mad, you see, but it’s like I told them; I run a tight ship. I expect greatness, because that’s what I give back to the world. Now, were my methods for achieving greatness problematic? Potentially. And did I let my ego get the better of me a few times? Sure. Did I try to crush someone’s hand in the box baler for calling in sick five minutes before his shift started? Absolutely, and I’d do it again, because there’s nothing I hate worse than an Inconsiderate Ian.”

“I don’t know what she’s talking about,” Elliot whispered to Alexander. “And I have no idea what a box baler is.”

“Smile and nod, sweetheart. If you let her ramble long enough, she’ll tire herself out.” He bumped his shoulder against Elliot’s.

Elliot bumped him back.

“The final straw came when I pulled my district manager over my knee and gave him a spanking for insulting the cleanliness of my store. I’ll tell you something for nothing, boys, I’ll stand for many things—being called unclean and sloppy isn’t one of them. The man fired me on the spot, so I joined a coven of witches and cast a spell on him.” Her eyes narrowed. “Double, double, toil and trouble, may he never have an accidental erection that’s subtle. That’s the spell I cast. Three weeks later he was arrested for methamphetamine possession. I’m not saying the two are related—”

“Because they’re not,” Elliot pointed out, but it only earned him a scowl.

“The point is, he ended up in jail for half a year, and the Pick-n-Save closed shortly after.”

Elliot opened his mouth, wanting to shift the conversation back to the matter at hand, but a familiar face peeked up from the crowd, waving rapidly at him. The hand belonged to a man sitting at a table toward the end of the dining hall.

“Elliot!” Mayor Beau Rivera of Genevieve, Georgia, called out. He stood up from his seat and headed toward them, beaming ear to ear. What in the world was he doing there?

As he approached, Elliot took stock of the man heading his way. Beau was certainly an attractive man. In another life, he’d probably even want to claim him as his own, but now, he couldn’t. Now, he wouldn’t , because he had Alexander, and Alexander was the best man he’d ever met—not that Elliot had met very many men.

“I hope you don’t mind me tagging along,” Beau said, taking a seat beside him. “When you went missing, Periwinkle called me and said you left a note saying you were running away to find a forever with your mystery man—”

“You wanted to find a forever?” Alexander interrupted, his smile big and bright, making Elliot blush. “With me?”

Elliot squeezed his hand and nodded, unable to speak. He wanted to kindly ask Mayor Rivera to zip his lips before any other unwelcome admissions slipped out, but he stopped himself when Alexander leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. The kiss felt truer than anything he’d ever felt, and Elliot released Alexander’s hand long enough to cup his cheek.

“I wanted to find you,” Elliot whispered. “I wanted to find you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.” He rubbed the tips of their noses together before offering Alexander a parting peck. He wanted to explore this new thing they were building together, but Elliot prided himself on his manners, so he turned his attention back to Mayor Rivera.

“So, you followed us here to make sure I was okay?”

“As much as I’d like to claim some heroic nature, I’m afraid the reason I’m here is a selfish one. I’m hoping to find a forever for myself, too.”

Elliot didn’t understand why Beau felt he needed to resort to purchasing a husband when he was such a handsome, kind man. He radiated positivity, and that should have been enough to land him the pick of the litter. Alexander’s reasoning for wanting a bountiful beau made sense to Elliot. He was a very busy man. He didn’t have time to nurture a budding relationship, but he wanted someone to shower with love.

“But you’re so handsome,” Elliot pointed out. “Men should be lined around the city square at the chance of standing by your side.”

Beau snorted. “I wish. Unfortunately, Genevieve is a small town, and our gay population consists of a handful of men, none of whom particularly tickle my fancy.” He pulled a small eyedropper-shaped bottle from his pocket with the word “Rose” scribbled across the top, and Elliot watched as he uncapped the lid and drip-drip-dripped three droplets of the contents into his cup of water. In the center of the table, there was a small dish of lemon wedges. Beau grabbed one, squeezed its juice into his glass, and plopped the carcass into the water before stirring it with his straw. He took a sip, then moaned as the flavor traveled across his tongue. “Sorry. Lemon rosewater is my weakness. It has been since I was a child.” He took another sip, then let out another moan. Once he’d finished his liquid love affair, he turned to Alexander. “So, I’m guessing you two are together? Officially, I mean. Because if you’re not, I’d be happy to take him off your hands.” He glanced over at Elliot and winked. “I’ve got a little farm outside of town. You’d look adorable in overalls, helping me feed my pigs.”

Alexander’s hand squeezed Elliot’s knee under the table. An unspoken promise, perhaps? Elliot wasn’t sure what the touch had meant, but it didn’t stop him from placing his hand on top of Alexander’s. It wasn’t enough, though. Alexander had a far-away look in his eyes, and the distance between them seemed to grow inch by inch, mile by mile, the longer Beau went on.

“And you’d love my dads,” Beau added. “One of them used to be in a boy band, and the other was mayor of Tallulah before being elected as governor. The first Democrat to hold the office in decades. Ain’t that something?”

Alexander’s eyes widened. “Rivers Rivera?”

Beau nodded with pride. “I’m not trying to follow in his footsteps, though. I don’t have big-city dreams. Once my run as mayor is over, I’m thinking of starting up a local nonprofit, but who knows . . . The world is my oyster.” He smiled warmly at Elliot. “Are you exclusive? Because if not, I’d love to get a chance to get to know you better.” He looked Alexander up and down. “You, too.”

Elliot looked to Alexander for an answer. On one hand, he was terribly embarrassed to be placed in the position of needing an answer to Beau’s ridiculous question. On the other hand, Elliot wanted to hear Alexander’s answer more than he ever wanted to hear anything before.

“Alexander?” Elliot whispered.

Alexander scooted his chair back, and Elliot’s heart broke into a million tiny pieces like the world’s worst jigsaw puzzle, because he assumed Alexander wanted to bed Beau River as well as the bountiful beau at his side. And who was Elliot, compared to Mayor Rivera? A pregnant pauper clinging to the fairytales of white knights and distressed damsels while the prince and the mayor stole the show.

Alexander patted his lap. It was an action that took every piece of Elliot’s shattered heart and brought them back together. “Would you like to sit in my lap?”

Yes. Elliot wanted that very much. It seemed Professor Plum wanted it, too, because he ran around in circles, chasing his tail as he squeaked.

“What about his question? Are we . . .?”

Alexander held his hand out for Elliot. “What do you think?”

Elliot turned to Beau and offered a genuinely apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Mr. Mayor. I believe I am spoken for.” He looked back at Alexander, his eyes pleading for instruction and assurance. He wasn’t good at making executive decisions. Elliot never had to make an important decision in all his life, and this was the most important decision of them all.

Alexander gave a quick nod. “If that’s something you would be open to, then yes. Yes, I think you may be.”

He rose from his seat and turned, lowering himself onto Alexander’s lap, and it was like every ounce of tension in Alexander faded. Elliot could feel his entire body go lax, and it gave him a sense of pride, because he’d eased Alexander’s worry so effortlessly. Elliot tipped Alexander’s chin with his finger and smiled.

“My heart has been so lonely for so long,” Elliot whispered. “Even during my visits with Periwinkle and Arthur, I always felt like a man alone on an island.” Leaning closer, he brushed their lips together. “I don’t feel lonely when I’m with you, and I never want to feel lonely again.” Elliot parted his lips, inviting Alexander in for a kiss.

Their lips danced slowly against each other. There were no tongues or groped appendages, just a simple promise from one man to another.

“I believe I’d like to fall in love with you,” Elliot said.

Alexander’s smile stretched halfway across his face. “I want to fall in love with you, too.” He pulled Elliot in for a hug and placed his hand on the baby bump, softly rubbing round and round. “I’m going to take care of you, Elliot. And if you decide you want to keep her, I’ll take care of her too. You have my word.”