Cut and Run 3 - Fish and Chips

amusement or the smile — no reason to. He sat down, a bit back from the table so he could prop one arm on the edge and casually cross his long legs, and rubbed his hands together a bit. They were dry from the bit of ubiquitous hand sanitizer he’d gotten from a dispenser when they got out of the elevator.
    Ty made a production of introducing them to the rest of the people at the table, receiving the names of their fellow diners in return. It was, after all, part of their job to identify the short list of names they’d been given. Two names, to be precise: Vartan Armen and Lorenzo Bianchi, the other two major players of the smuggling ring besides Corbin Porter. Zane certainly didn’t expect to go through the list of a few thousand passengers one by one, but they had to start somewhere. Lunch was as good a place as any.
    “And how is everyone this afternoon?” Ty asked them grandly as he reached over and took Zane’s hand in his beneath the table. They weren’t being overly obvious with public displays, simply because Ty had claimed it lacked class to be all over each other all the time. So far they had managed to exude merely a subtle closeness that was all too familiar, the same kind they shared when in private. If Zane’s eyes happened to linger a little longer while watching his “husband”… well, who would blame him? Even with the garish blond hair, Ty was striking.
    Ty continued to chat idly with the others, asking about their favorite things to do on board, including the Christmas parties throughout the cruise, and places to visit when they made port. Zane tried not to smile too much. It really was funny, if not somewhat shocking, listening to “Del” chatter. Ty was not what one would classify as a chatterbox. On the contrary he was—and Zane should have known better than to be surprised—a very competent conversationalist.
    Zane turned his attention to the room at large, acting content to take in the scenery as he studied their surroundings: emergency exits, windows, safety measures, hidden cameras, other vacationers, loads and loads of decorations. He listened with half an ear until a waiter of Hispanic extraction, dressed neatly in the khaki-colored pants, white button-down Oxford, and navy blue sweater that was the crew uniform, approached and started taking drink orders after handing out a single sheet luncheon menu.
    After hearing a variety of requests rattled off by the other passengers, the waiter stopped and looked at Ty expectantly. Ty looked up at him and hesitated, obviously having forgotten to peruse the menu.
    “Anything you like, doll,” Zane spoke up smoothly, his low voice carrying.
    Ty glanced to him and back at the waiter, quickly ordering a three-course meal from the menu that included a beverage meant to complement the meal. Zane wasn’t sure if Ty had actually looked at it or just pointed.
    Zane skimmed the choices, picked a simple entrée and salad, and asked specifically for Evian rather than a cocktail. The waiter nodded, completed the other orders, and left. The conversation still went on around them, Ty speaking in the accent he’d almost perfected. Zane wasn’t hearing as many slips now as when they’d left the cabin. Ty even had the colloquialisms down when he used them. He might not have fooled a native, but he could have fooled Zane.
    When Ty let his fingers slide over Zane’s palm as he smiled at one of their tablemates, Zane predicted that by the time this lunch was over, Ty’s face was going to hurt from smiling so much.
    A member of the wait staff appeared with their beverages, placing a frozen, pale pink drink in front of Ty before moving on. Ty blinked at it, his nearly flawless façade wavering just slightly, but then he smiled and thanked the waiter as he reached for the peach Bellini.
    Zane leaned toward him and practically purred, “Enjoy it, doll, we’re here to celebrate, right?” He laid his hand on Ty’s forearm and squeezed gently. He figured they were doing pretty well assuming these identities, even if they were making it up left and right. They were playing off each other well. Like a real married couple. Something about that made Zane feel better than he thought he should.
    Ty squeezed his hand under the table, as if he knew what Zane had been thinking. A few moments later, Ty leaned toward him and said, “These pink things are actually pretty good.”
    Zane laughed quietly, and Ty leaned away again. From then on, Zane relaxed and