A Rivalry of Hearts, page 29
She drops her gaze from mine. “It’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?”
“It is,” I whisper, brushing my fingertips over her cheek. She still won’t look at me. “If you need more time, we don’t have to do it now.”
She burrows her face into my chest. “Do you think I’m a terrible person? For not being ready to let go of my lead?”
“Of course not.”
“It’s just…I want this so bad. This one point I have over you guarantees my win if we forgo further progress in our bet. I’ll get the contract, and I’ll get to live here. Which…which is also the only way I get to be with you.”
My chest tightens. I hate that she’s right. What will happen to us if I win? She’ll have to move back to Bretton, and then what? We carry on a long-distance romance while she applies for citizenship and hopes it’s approved? Or I finally win her heart enough that she opens up to the idea of marriage and she claims her citizenship that way? And what of her financial situation in the meantime? What of her career?
Blooming hell, these are the kinds of questions those in longstanding relationships would struggle to answer. This affection we’ve confessed to is too fragile, just a seed without roots. We’re not ready to make these heavy choices.
Her voice quavers and she speaks again. “Then what if I win? What if you hate me—”
“Edwina.” I pull back and gently lift her chin with my forefinger until she meets my eyes. “I promise with all my heart that I won’t hold it against you if you win. My feelings will not be changed by that.”
There. A promise I can give that she’ll readily accept.
She holds my eyes for several long beats of my heart before she finally nods. I release her chin and she nestles against my chest again. We’re quiet for a while, but the silence grows weighted. Her breaths are suddenly too soft. Her arms too stiff around my waist.
“Will you tell me about June?”
Her question carves a fissure through my heart, draining it of every pleasant feeling I’ve been basking in. It’s the last thing I was ready for. A truth I’ve withheld. I’ve hinted at it, but I haven’t outright stated the facts.
Up until now, it seemed too soon. This secret wasn’t meant to be given to someone who was merely my rival, no matter how much I wanted her to be more. If she wasn’t going to be more, then she didn’t need to know.
But now…
Fuck. Now it seems too late.
My heart thuds an anxious rhythm.
Edwina pulls back again, looking up at me with a furrowed brow. “You’ve told others. You told Jolene. Won’t you tell me too?”
I swallow the sudden dryness in my throat. “That story isn’t for you.”
“Why?” She shifts in my arms to a seated position. “Why did they deserve to know but I don’t?”
“It’s not about deserving or not deserving. I’m just…afraid. That everything will change. That you’ll look at me differently once you know.”
She shakes her head. “I won’t be jealous if that’s what you’re worried about. I just want to know this final piece you’ve kept from me. I want to understand why you’re keeping it.”
I lift myself up to sit beside her, rubbing my jaw. Now it’s my turn to avoid her gaze.
“Who is June, William?”
My pulse rackets, and I wish my clothes weren’t so far away. I’d give anything to cover myself. To hide the vulnerability I feel now.
She tilts her head, inserting her face into my line of sight. “Who is this great love of your life that you write all your poems about?”
I release a weighted sigh, then let my eyes lock on hers. “I don’t write poetry about some great love.”
She frowns. “Then who…”
“I don’t…write poetry.”
Her frown deepens.
“I don’t write.”
I catch the moment realization dawns, draining her face of color.
“I act.”
Edwina is frozen, not even stirred by her breaths. Meanwhile, my pounding heart has me trembling from head to toe. I’m so fixated on Edwina’s every move, so afraid of her reaction, that I don’t miss the narrowing of her eyes, the tightening of her jaw.
“You didn’t write the poetry book.”
I give a slow shake of my head. “Cassie did.”
“Your sister wrote it. And you…took credit for it?”
“It’s not like that,” I rush to say. “Cassie submitted her poetry book under my name without telling me. When she was offered a contract, one with a favorable enough advance to pay off most of our debts, she begged me to accept it and publish it as William Haywood.”
She narrows her eyes. “You say that like it’s not your real name.” A long pause. “Is it?”
“Not all fae have surnames, and I’m one of those fae. Haywood is Cassie’s surname. Lydia’s too. I’m just…Will.”
“Then who the hell is June? What is this story you told Jolene?”
“That’s all it is. Just a story. It’s part of my act to support the poetry book. William the Poet is a role I play, and he comes with a backstory. I admit I’ve used that to my advantage, mostly to keep interested lovers at bay. That’s why I never told you this fabricated tale. Because I didn’t want to keep you at bay.”
Edwina stares at me for a long moment. The longer she holds my gaze, the more obvious her anger becomes. She rises from the couch and gathers her discarded clothing on her way to the billiards table. There she replaces her spectacles, then dons her skirt and blouse, not bothering with her undergarments. I follow her, pulling my trousers over my legs as I close the distance between us.
“You lied to me,” she says as she secures the buttons of her blouse with trembling fingers.
I stop before her and frame her shoulders in my hands. “It’s not like that.”
She leaves her blouse only half buttoned as she glares at me, fingers curled into fists. “You lied to me, and you lie to your fans. What else have you lied to me about? Was everything you’ve said to me an act? Was this…was what we just did together part of some game?”
I clench my jaw. “That’s a stretch to assume I’ve lied about anything else. I’ve rarely acted when it’s just the two of us.”
“Rarely?”
“I can only lie when I’m fully immersed in a role, Edwina, and I’m not acting now. Which is why I can only say rarely. Because, yes, I have acted around you in the past, particularly when we first met. But as I’ve gotten to know you, to care for you, I’ve been nothing but the real me.”
“How am I supposed to trust that? You could have told me the truth at any time but you didn’t.”
“Would you have judged me for it? Like you’re judging me now when you still don’t fully understand the situation?”
She shrugs her shoulders from my grip. “Don’t you dare blame me for judging you. Of course I am! We’re competing for a contract you don’t deserve. The poetry book isn’t yours. You made me feel bad for you, claiming you were acting in your sister’s best interests. That you were putting her through college. Fulfilling her dreams.”
“I am.”
“No, if you were doing anything for her sake, you would have supported her work.”
I throw my hands in the air. “Is that not what I’m doing? We needed the money, and she asked me to do this for her. No one wanted to publish a nineteen-year-old girl’s sexy poetry. Not until she attached it to my name and credentials as an actor. She was overjoyed when she received the publication offer.”
“That’s not what it means to show your support. That’s reinforcing the idea that a young woman can’t succeed on her own.”
Her words slap me across my face. Cassie has never expressed anything but enthusiasm over our arrangement, but is Edwina right? Was I wrong to agree to this opportunity?
I shake the doubts from my mind. “She doesn’t want the spotlight. She just wants her work appreciated during her lifetime, even if it isn’t attached to her name.”
“Everyone wants their work appreciated, William, and we all fight for it. No one gets a ticket for an easy life.”
Rage boils my blood. An easy life. That’s what she thinks we have?
“Not everyone can afford the pride of being a starving artist,” I say through my teeth. “Not everyone shares your ideals. Ideals don’t feed your family. Ideals won’t keep my sister alive long enough to enjoy the fruits of her labor after she’s spent her final years striving and fighting for renown. Not everyone wants that fucking life!”
Her cheeks flare crimson. “Is that how you see me? Just a ball of stubborn pride living off ideals?”
I close my eyes and run a hand over my face, doing all I can to cool my temper. I don’t want to yell at her. I want to pull her against my chest and bring us back to that beautiful place we were in when she first stormed into the room. But when I open my eyes, she’s no longer before me. Instead, she’s tugging at the door, both handles still wrapped in my vines.
I stride after her. “Where are you going? Are you done with me, just like that? Without giving us a chance to work through this?”
She keeps her eyes pinned to the door. “I don’t know. I just…I knew this was going to happen.” She mutters the last part under her breath.
“You knew what was going to happen? That we’d fight? That you’d find a reason to push me away? Is that why you asked about June before you agreed to dissolve our bet? Were you just looking for any excuse to keep this advantage over me?”
She whirls to face me. “This isn’t just about the bet. But maybe you’re right. Maybe I was waiting for this to happen because my past has taught me it will. Men lie. They present themselves one way and then turn out nothing like their pretty promises—”
“Do not compare me to Dennis Feverforth,” I say, dropping my voice. “This has nothing to do with him or your past. This is happening now, and you are running away.”
She releases a groan as she tugs the handles again. “I’m not running away. Just let me out. Get rid of these vines so I can get away from you and breathe for a minute.”
The panic in her voice slices through my chest. I hate the thought of her leaving while things are like this, even if she’s only going to her room. Every instinct in me yearns to cling to her, to hold her while we yell and talk and fight until we come to a solution, even if only a temporary truce. Even just a promise to try to understand each other. But she isn’t me. Maybe she processes hurt differently than I do. Maybe she processes it alone.
I can’t force her to be anyone other than who she is.
Because I love who she is.
I love her.
Even if she hates me now.
Slowly, I lower my fingers to the handle. My chest tightens at how she flinches away, yet I extend my magic and dissolve the vines.
“I won’t keep you here,” I whisper, “but please come back to me if you find it in your heart to want to work this out. I know you’re hurt, and I understand why. I know this fight feels fucking horrible, but please, Edwina. Please don’t let this end what we’ve begun.”
Her throat bobs and she gives a single jerky nod.
The last of the vines fall to the floor, and she turns the handle at last. She storms out of the room, leaving me colder than I’ve ever been before.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
EDWINA
By morning, I’ve alternated between seething in rage and feeling like a complete asshole a thousand times over. I’m so mad William kept his secret from me. So angry on behalf of his fans, whom he’s lied to. And his sister, who’s been relegated to the shadows because no one valued her work until a man presented it. I’ve been there, and I can’t shake my anger over it.
But then again…he was right about me. Not everyone is privileged enough to cling to ideals as tightly as I do. Having well-to-do parents and siblings has always given me a safety net. I can strive for my career and take risks, knowing I can always go home. At the cost of my independence, yes, but I won’t starve.
Meanwhile, William and Cassie faced crippling debt—a situation I’ve never been in—before they were offered the publishing contract. Agreeing to the deal kept Cassie out of the workhouses. Now that I’ve met her, I can’t help but agree that William was right to go to any lengths to protect her from such a fate.
Yet it still hurts. And there’s a jagged piece of my heart that says I told you so. Taunting me that everything I’ve cherished between me and William was never real to begin with. It was always a lie. Always an act.
No, the rest of my heart argues. No, that’s not true. You know which side of him is real. You’ve seen both.
Then why did he keep this secret so long? Why did he have to wait until I gave him my body? Until I begged for the truth?
I don’t emerge from my room until close to noon, and even then I’m not sure of my feelings, or how I’m supposed to face William. Luckily, by the time I enter the common area, he’s nowhere to be seen. There’s only Daphne, who lounges on one of the kitchen cabinets. She opens her eyes when she sees me, then stretches with an adorable yawn.
“You slept a long time,” she says as she hops down to the floor. “Probably from all the moaning last night. Followed by yelling.”
I blush at her words. When I stormed out of the recreation room, I found Monty and Daphne in the kitchen. Monty was sprawled on his back over the kitchen island, smoking a cigarillo, while Daphne sipped cordial from a tiny wooden cup. Neither said a word as I stomped to my room, but the silence was enough to tell me they probably heard everything.
I grimace. “Is…anyone here?”
“Monty and William are helping set up the gala.”
Relief heaves through me. The gala doesn’t begin until this evening. Maybe I can make myself scarce until then and avoid having to face William at all. My heart plummets when I recall the last thing he said to me.
…please come back to me if you find it in your heart to want to work this out.
I do. I really do. At least…I think I do.
But I’m still so torn over how I should feel. I’m not ready to talk to him about it yet.
“Did you choose an item for the auction?” Daphne asks, stealing me from my thoughts.
Panic lances through me. I obviously can’t get rid of my annotated copy of William’s book. Or…Cassie’s book. “Oh, uh, I suppose I’ll offer a personalized copy of The Governess and the Fae.”
“That’s not nearly as exciting as William’s date.”
My mouth goes dry. Shit. His date. I forgot all about that. Now it sends my stomach roiling. I don’t want him to go on a date with anyone else. Even if it’s not a real date.
Of course it won’t be a real date.
Unless William has changed his mind about me.
Unless his heart has shifted now that he’s seen my ugly side. My rage and pride.
I bite the inside of my cheek to divert myself from feeling the tightness in my lungs. A welcome distraction comes to mind. “I just remembered something I’m supposed to give you.”
I return to my room and rifle through the skirt I wore last night. It takes no small effort to force away all the memories of what happened when I last wore it. The male who lifted my hem and tortured me just shy of climax. The way he finally dragged my skirt down and let me ride him—
I squeeze my thighs together, and my fingers finally close over what I was searching for—the two dance cards. I tuck one into the pocket of my day dress and return to Daphne.
“The event coordinator asked me to give this to you,” I say as I hand the second card over. “The charity receives funding for every space filled by a dance.”
Daphne turns the card over a few times, her furry brow knitting in curiosity. “I’ve never danced before.”
I shrug. “You don’t have to. I know you aren’t comfortable in your seelie form, and I assume the gala caters mostly to humans and seelie fae. But I wanted to give you the card just in case.”
“Hmm.” She turns the card over in her paws again.
A knock sounds at the main door. I have half a mind to hide in my room for fear of encountering William, but the caller can’t be him. He wouldn’t need to knock.
Still, I gather a deep breath before I open the door.
“Miss Danforth!” Cassie’s bright expression greets me on the other side of the threshold.
Damn. That’s almost as bad as seeing William.
She pulls her chin back with a wary look. “Did you mean to frown at me just now?”
My cheeks flush and I wave an apologetic hand. “I’m so sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you. If you’re here for William, he isn’t in.”
“Actually, I’m here to see you.”
I shift awkwardly from foot to foot. “Did William send you here to talk to me?”
She scoffs. “On the contrary, I doubt he’d have let me take so much as a step out of his sight. He doesn’t know I’m here. Will you go to lunch with me in town?”
I’m tempted to refuse, but maybe talking to Cassie is exactly what I need. Maybe getting to know her better will help me understand their arrangement. And my feelings about it.
“Let me get my coat.”
Our destination is a few blocks from the hotel. I offer to hail us a cab, but she insists on walking.
“I feel really great today, I assure you,” she insists on our way. “The cane is mostly for days when my legs feel weak or painful. But I keep it on me in case of dizzy spells.”
“William told me a little about your condition,” I say, mindful not to appear like I’m fussing over her. “He said your mother had the same degenerative disease, and that it’s a mystery to the medical community.”
“A mystery, yes, but I have plenty of tonics and fae remedies that lessen my symptoms.”
We arrive at a café located on the bottom floor of a small building nestled between two taller ones, its circular windows framed with green vines and tiny pink rosebuds. The vines remind me of the ones William locked the door with last night.
I breathe away the memory, a mixture of pleasure and pain.
