How is it harder to sleep on a large comfortable bed than it was on the floor? Every time Catalina breathes or rolls over it's like the bed tries to pull me into her. All night I settled on the very edge of it to ensure my distance from her, but it's futile.

The clank of hammers on metal are the only indication we're on a train, serving as a constant reminder that I'll never see her again after we get off it in the morning. And the more I get to know her, the less I want that to happen.

No matter how hard I try to sleep, my awareness of her keeps me alert and on edge. Even when I do manage to drift into a sleep, it only lasts until I find myself rolling into the middle of the bed, enveloped in the scent of Catalina.

Sometime just before dawn, during probably my thirtieth attempt at sleep, the train jerks to a start and Catalina rolls into my chest. It's a blessing I was here to stop her rolling off onto the floor. Her dark curls fall over her face and her arm finds my chest.

I should move. I should roll her back a safe distance and remove myself from the temptation of her floral essence. I should forget I've even seen what's under her veil and leave her alone. The last thing she needs after this ordeal is yet another unwanted advance from the likes of someone with only his name and position to recommend him.

And yet I do none of those things, closing my eyes and leaning into her, allowing the imaginary world of the train to envelop me: a world where she's my wife.

Finally, wrapped in her, I fall asleep.

~ * ~

I wake to a start as the door rattles off its hinges with three loud knocks. "Central Madrid stop approaching. All passengers must disembark at this station." A deep voice calls through the door.

"Thank you," Catalina says from beside me.

"My pleasure, your ladyship."

Her giggle is bells in the wind, breathing life as she says, "I've never imagined myself to be much of a lady, but my father would be pleased to hear the address."

"Is he going to require you to marry when you return?"

"I've no intention of returning. I assume he'll have me declared lost or disown me and lay everything upon my sister. She was extremely jealous of the match when it was declared, so perhaps she'll get everything that was meant for me."

"It is a shame that you couldn't just pass the responsibility and the earnings to her without having to escape onto a moving train and pretend to be the wife of a man you knew nothing about."

"You looked like the kind of honourable man who would rescue a woman in trouble. I'm glad it was you who walked in to the dining car at that moment."

A delicate red blush spreads across her cheeks and she ducks her head into the pillows to hide behind her hair.

My hand works of its own accord, brushing her curls away from her face so I can see her eyes. "I'm glad it was me who walked in, too."

The silence that stretches between us is deafening. Her eyes search mine as though looking for the answer to a question she hasn't asked. Her curls are soft in my hands, spinning around my fingers like the thoughts through her head.

"Would you stay with me?" she asks, so low I'm sure I imagined it.

"Pardon?"

"Never mind," she laughs, shaking her head and pushing back.

Her hand slides through mine and I grab on to whatever I can, unwilling to let her leave without admitting, "I'd like to stay with you."

It completely slips out, more honest than I'd hoped to be. "But I don't know what that would mean for me or for you. I might have nothing. My father isn't known for his kindness and understanding. There's a very real chance he'll leave me without a great deal of my wealth until his death or the death of my uncle."

"Would your uncle not help?"

"Perhaps, but I wouldn't wish to impose on him merely for my own gain."

"You know, I don't mind if you're wealthy. I mean, I'm not asking you to marry me, just to stay with me today while I figure this out. I was thinking I might rent a room in the—"

"No!" I shout. She jerks her hand out of mine and pulls into herself, looking smaller than I've seen her.

"I'm sorry," I sigh, pulling her into my chest. When she doesn't resist the advance, I press a quick kiss to her temple. "I want to stay with you. But this train delay means there's a good chance my father's carriage will arrive in Madrid before nightfall. If I don't keep moving..." I wish I could explain everything, but the words refuse to come out. The real problems we're facing are just too great to ignore, but I will her heart to speak to mine, as if somehow she would understand.

"I've no ticket for any further travel," she says finally, dragging her eyes up my body until she lands on my eyes. "And I don't know how we'd get away with this a second time."

I can't stay here with her eyes looking up at me like that, so I get out of the bed and pace the floor.

"So what was your plan?" I ask, hoping to keep her mind off how little we're both wearing as I search for my discarded garments.

"I just told you," she chuckles. "I'm going to rent a room tonight and figure it out."

"But you said you haven't any money," I say, pulling my own jacket back on.

"Well, I'll have to figure it out then."

"That's it?" I ask. "That's hardly a plan."

"Look," she huffs, standing to full height and stepping off the bed, "I didn't exactly plan to be married off today and I didn't have a big, elaborate exit strategy planned, okay? If you're here to rub that in my face, you can just leave. If you didn't want to spend any more time with me, you could have just said that."

"That's not what I'm saying. And I'm not making fun of you I just—shit, this isn't where I wanted this conversation to go."

She wrenches her dress out of my arms and stares at it as though she'll be able to transform it into something she'll be able to don without my assistance. "How did you think it would go when you started mocking my pain, sir?"

"Call me Marcos, please." I have to pause to swallow the pain growing in my throat. "Please, Catalina, I haven't planned out any more than you have. But my father is not going to just let me go. And he's not going to be pleased I've rejected his match."

She doesn't say anything, but her eyes soften as she listens.

"Until I'm established somewhere else or, I don't know, married, going home isn't an option for me, so neither is getting caught. I know that much the same way you do."

"Okay..." she eyes me and takes a cautious step forward. "Then why did you mock me for not having a good plan?"

"I don't know," I admit. "I was maybe hoping you had a better idea than I did. I'm desperate for a way out of this, Catalina. I've never lived like this before. I have no idea how to make anything of myself. All I know is that I couldn't marry her. We couldn't do that to each other. And I won't do that to her. I won't put either of us through that, so I have to evade him."

"And my plan was insufficient for you, because?"

"Because I cannot stay a night in Madrid without risking my father finding me out."

"And we cannot risk getting on another train without some proper rest and a cover story," she challenges. "So what are we going to do?"

I slump down on to the edge of the bed and let my head rest in my hands, pressing the heels into my eyes to stop the growing pain there.

Several seconds pass and she steps closer to me still. "It occurs to me that there is a way we could help each other."

A look up into her eye tells me she's serious. "You have an idea?"

She nods and I find myself standing again, risking a few steps toward her. "And you think it could help us both?"

She nods again, pulling her lip between her teeth.

"How might that work?" I pull her dress from her arms and drape the underskirts over her, securing them at the back.

"Well, it occurs to me that I need a man in order to move in society unchaperoned. And you need a reputable name to help yourself set up elsewhere. It also occurs to me that if we go far enough away, we could present ourselves as husband and wife and no one would be the wiser. I would have my chaperone. You would have your good name. And no one would know who we were. We could help each other."

"You could continue to live as my wife?" I thread the laces through her corset and pull them gently to tighten them against her small frame. "Why would you do that? You hardly know me."

"A little tighter, please." She points at her waist and I comply, pulling the strings tighter.

When I'm finished tying the laces, she answers me. "What little I do know of you recommends you. Since I walked onto this train, you have done nothing but treat me as a wife should be treated, for one."

"I didn't see I had another choice," I cut in. "You needed help."

"Precisely," she responds. "And you chose to offer it without asking me for anything untoward."

Her eyes heat and she turns to face me, trailing her glance down my body. I pull her overskirts into my chest to cover anything she might be able to see right now, bringing a heat to my cheeks and a smile to hers.

"And," she says finally, lifting her arms over her head for me to put the last pieces of her dress on. "I admit I have heard of you before entering this carriage. Your good name recommends you in all ways. I've always been very surprised you were not married. It's a wonder you haven't chosen one of the numerous young ladies who were always throwing themselves at your feet."

"I've never really felt myself particularly inclined to marry," I answer her honestly. Or, what would have been honestly two days ago. Now that she's here...

"That could definitely be difficult, should we wish this plan to succeed," she muses, pulling her finger to her lips.

It takes me a second to rip my thoughts away from her and back to her plan. What would my reputation in marriagability have to do with pretending to be a married couple?

"I'm sorry," she begins. "I didn't mean to overstep."

Now it is her turn for a blush to colour her face. I need to know what she means.

"What will be difficult should we wish the plan to proceed?" I question her. "My not wishing to marry any of the women my father chose, or the fact that I never chose any of these young ladies you speak of?"

"Your not being inclined to marry, Sir. It would rather stop you from marrying me, would it not?"

I must be delirious with exhaustion or fear, because I swear I just heard her ask me to marry her. For real. 

~ * ~ Author's Note ~ * ~ 

The lovely and talented zoe_grimm has written a fun MM Romance, "The Weekend in Room 512" available on her profile now! 

When Ethan Wong finds out his professor hasn't secured a hotel room for his violin concerto, Cameron Langley, college baseball star, decides to take his chances and offers to share a hotel room with his ex-boyfriend for the weekend. With no alternative, Ethan and Cameron must face the music or strike out of each other's lives for good.