A Rivalry of Hearts, page 30
We sit at a table near a sunny window. Cassie orders food for us, as she’s been here before. Lunch consists of tea, an assortment of tiny sandwiches, and little round confections that are soft and gummy on the outside but filled with a sweet, cherry-flavored bean paste on the inside.
“It’s delicious, isn’t it?” she asks when I taste one.
“It is,” I say with a full mouth. Her expression suddenly falls, making my anxiety rise in tandem. “What’s wrong?”
She purses her lips before speaking. “I lied to you. Sort of. William doesn’t know I came to see you, but I did see him at the hotel already. We had a conversation.”
I halt my chewing. “About?”
“About the secret he told you last night. And your reaction.”
“Oh?” I take a nonchalant sip of tea, but my hands tremble.
She leans toward me and braces her elbows on the table. Then, lacing her hands, she props her chin upon them and watches me through slitted lids. “Miss Danforth—actually, can I call you Edwina?”
“Please.”
“Edwina, then. Do you have feelings for William?”
I nearly choke on my tea. Once I recover, I give her a nod. I do have feelings for her brother. Whether those feelings are good or bad—or both—I’m not sure.
“I thought so,” she says. “Just one look at the two of you yesterday, I suspected Zane was right. That you and William like each other.”
I can’t tell whether her tone is accusatory or merely curious, but my guilt flares just the same. Despite being ten years her senior, I can’t help feeling like I’m in trouble and wanting to do anything to get back on her good side. So I say nothing and wait for her to speak again.
“What William told you last night wasn’t his secret to tell,” she says. “It’s ours. Mine and his. I made him promise to share the truth about our arrangement only with those who either need to know for business purposes or will listen and accept us with an open mind.”
My guilt grows deeper at those last words. They suggest William only told me because he thought there was a chance I would react in an understanding manner.
“Does Mr. Fletcher know?” I ask.
“He does. After I received his offer on the book and got William to agree to my proposal, I confessed that we are a writing duo and explained our arrangement. He was still willing to publish the book and let William be the public face. Though, after the book’s release, he was hesitant to promote it with a tour. Mr. Fletcher wasn’t sure my brother could pull it off, even with William’s acting skills. That’s why his promised tour never came to fruition. Not until he proved himself capable and earned a place beside you on The Heartbeats Tour.”
I don’t know whether to feel vindicated now that I know Mr. Fletcher is aware of the truth. If he approves of their arrangement, why should I be so offended by it? Yet there’s more to my annoyance than that.
“I hate that he lies to his fans, obscuring the truth from them. Doesn’t it bother you that he’s turned your title into a farce? Making up a story about some great lost love named June?”
She snorts a laugh. “For one, we aren’t completely obscuring the truth. The copyright page discloses me as the author and William as the performer. For another, William didn’t make up the idea of June as a former lover. June in my title refers to nothing more than a month. It’s our fans who’ve made the leap. Yes, he’s used it as fuel for his role’s backstory, and he makes vague statements or provides broody anecdotes that allow our readers to continue believing as they already do. They’re going to speculate whether we want them to or not.”
“Wouldn’t you rather they knew the truth? The real meaning behind your words? The real stories that live behind your poetry, and not the act William puts on?” I don’t mention that if I’d known the truth I might not have ridiculed A Portrait of June so relentlessly. I never thought the poems were bad, in my heart of hearts. Only that William was pretentious and—as an automatic result—anything he said or did was too. Including what I assumed was his poetry. For the love of all things, how did he hide his anger when I made fun of his sister’s poetry to his face?
“Do you want your readers to know the truth?” Cassie says with an arched brow. “Which parts of your books come from the deepest aspects of your soul and which are mere whimsy?”
She has a point. I remember how embarrassed I was when Jolene assumed I’ve experienced every sexual scenario I’ve written about. “No, but I write fiction.”
“So? Who says poetry must be autobiographical? If I want anonymity, I should be allowed to have it. It’s no one’s business who my poems are about or if they are based on real experiences. Those words and emotions are mine. You see William as a fraud but he’s more like my shield. He bears the brunt of everyone’s expectations and speculations, while I get to create. That’s all I want to do. Please don’t hold that against him.”
The hollow ache in my chest abates the slightest bit. Maybe I have judged William too harshly. Yet so much pain remains.
I blow out a heavy sigh. “I hate that he lied to me. William Haywood isn’t even his real name.”
Her expression turns hard. “He’s my brother, Edwina. He may not have been born a Haywood but he deserves my family name. It just so happens that it’s his stage name and our pen name. That doesn’t mean he’s been dishonest with you about his identity.”
The edge in her tone slashes through my indignation, making my argument seem as frail as a worn piece of parchment.
“You’re judging him too harshly,” she says, and everything inside me echoes that she’s right. “This isn’t some grand scheme; it’s our shared art. He’s the public face, and I’m the creator. We’re a team. I don’t want the spotlight. He does. He wants this for me, but I want this for him too. The popularity of our book will breathe life into his career.”
My shoulders slump. I know all about his failing career, but not once did I consider how much this might save it. “I just…I suppose if he told me from the start, I wouldn’t have been so hurt.”
She gives me a withering look. “If he told you from the start, you might never have given him a chance. You’re clearly prejudiced against our arrangement.”
Normally I’d bristle at such an accusation…but she’s right. I never gave William the chance to explain before I shoved a wall of my ideals between us. While I still feel like it’s dishonest to their fans, I do understand both William’s and Cassie’s side better now.
I give her a tight smile. “I’ll try to have an open mind. Can I ask you something out of a genuine desire to better understand?” At her nod, I say, “Is this really your dream? The poetry book? This arrangement you have with William?”
“It’s a step toward it,” she says. “I want to attend college and I want to write a play that my brother stars in before I die. The doctor gave me a prognosis of six more years.”
Shock surges through me, even more so by the nonchalance in her tone. “Six years? What do you mean?”
“My symptoms have progressed much faster than my mother’s, plus I have my own additional ailments I’ve had to deal with.”
I stare at her open-mouthed. Is this why William has spoken about her not having time? Why he’s so desperate to make her happy? It’s not just that she’s human and fragile compared to him. It’s not just that she suffers from ailments. It’s that she has a tangible prognosis. A timeline.
She gives me another withering look. “Don’t look at me with such sad eyes. I have every intention of living to a ripe old age.”
I sit back in my chair, dumbstruck.
“There’s something you should understand about William,” Cassie says. “Did he tell you about Lydia? My mother?”
“He told me she died. That his father left her.”
“Do you also know how fae and human aging work in Faerwyvae?”
“I know fae used to age slowly,” I say, “but have begun aging as quickly as humans do. Yet most still cease aging once they reach maturity. Meanwhile, some humans have experienced slower aging.”
“Those who are in romantic partnerships with fae,” Cassie clarifies. “There has been proof that platonic fae partnerships—like friends or family—can slow human aging, but romantic relations are the most effective. When Lydia met William’s father, she experienced a drastic improvement in her health conditions, but he left us when William went to university. My mother didn’t want William to know because she knew he’d worry. So he didn’t find out that his father left or that Mother was ill until after graduation.” Cassie’s gray eyes glaze, and her voice takes on a quaver. “William blamed himself for not being able to do more. For not being enough to make Mother well.”
My own eyes fall under a sheen as I imagine what that must have felt like for him. He probably hated himself for having enjoyed his time at university while his mother was suffering.
“He never should have felt responsible for her health,” Cassie says. “No one should be put in that position. To be honest, I can’t even blame his father. I never want someone to love me and stay with me just to keep me alive. But William can’t let that go. He carries guilt that he wasn’t enough for Lydia and that he isn’t enough for me either. He hates that all the debt we accumulated during Mother’s final years of medical treatment fell under my name after she died. Since our parents never married, neither William nor his father held any legal burden for me or the debt. That made William feel guiltier than anything. Nothing I can say will lessen his sense of shame, which is why he dotes on me like he does. Why he wants to be responsible. He wants to give me everything while I’m alive.”
A tear trickles down my cheek. How can I blame him? Even I want Cassie to have everything, and I hardly know her. It crushes my heart that William considers himself inadequate just because he isn’t all-powerful. At the same time, I realize what a marvel it is that he was brave enough to open his heart to me. Me, a human he’s worried he could fail.
Me, who fled from him at my first chance.
“He’s afraid he’ll be like his father,” Cassie says, speaking straight to my heart. “He’s afraid that if he has a human lover, his love won’t be enough. Which is why I worry for him almost as much as he frets over me. I fear he’ll be too preoccupied with making someone else happy that he’ll sacrifice his career and all the things that make him who he is. Two people shouldn’t need to be so entwined.”
I study her face, her wary expression. “Are you telling me this to warn me away from him?”
She shakes her head. “I’m asking how much you care about him. It’s one thing if you love him. It’s another if he’s just a fleeting fancy.”
I recoil at the thought of William being nothing more than a fleeting fancy, as she put it. Yet the prospect of loving him sends my heart skittering. Fluttering. A renewed sense of that giddy feeling.
It doesn’t scare me this time.
It doesn’t remind me of how things went with Dennis Feverforth.
Because this feeling is tethered to more than just fickle words and illusions.
It’s tethered to the man who assured me my words are beautiful.
To the man who slept in a chair beside my bed the night I drank myself into stupidity.
To the man who shared his vulnerable past with me.
Who jested with me, flirted with me, and confessed his feelings in the pages of our playful book.
I rise to my feet, beautiful and terrifying words on my tongue. “I love him enough that I won’t let your fears for him come to fruition. I won’t let him lose himself in me. But…I won’t push him away either.”
Her lips curl into a smile. “You’re going to forgive him?”
I search for the remnants of anger I felt for him. They’re there, but they’re nothing but ashes compared to the blaze in my heart. “I already have.”
She rises with the aid of her cane and takes my fingers in her free hand. “You should tell him to his face.”
My chest lifts. It’s still full of clouds, but I’m ready to disperse them. Together. With William. I’m still scared, but it’s not enough to stop me. My legs tremble with my sudden burst of eagerness to get back to him.
Cassie gives me a knowing grin. “Let’s get…” She blinks. Once. Twice. Her expression slips. Her already pale complexion goes a shade lighter. Then, with a flutter of her lashes, she slips to the ground.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
EDWINA
I’m going to miss the gala.
Night falls outside the window of the bedroom where Cassie rests. She’s been sleeping for hours now, and I can’t bring myself to leave her, despite her insistence that she was fine before she retired to her bed.
I understand William’s protectiveness over her even more now. It was terrifying to watch as Cassie’s slender body went limp. Luckily, I eased her fall and she wasn’t injured. She even regained consciousness quickly and gave me the address to the house where she’s staying. With my aid, we hailed a hansom cab, and I handed her into the care of her friends. They echoed Cassie’s assurances that this wasn’t the most unusual thing for her and that she’d be better after some rest.
I believe them, but I can’t leave her. How could I? William would be furious if he knew I left her while she was still recovering. I’m already half convinced he’ll rage at me for agreeing to keep her fainting spell a secret until she can tell him herself. It’s a vow I’m coming very close to breaking, though I understand Cassie’s reasoning. She doesn’t want him to miss the gala either and refused to lie down until I agreed not to send word to him.
Though I never promised I’d leave her myself.
The room, at least, is comfortable for Cassie. It’s a large guest suite in a grand manor at the edge of town, just a ten-minute coach ride from the café we dined at. Her friends have come in to check on her periodically and have laid out a tray of tea, cookies, and Cassie’s next dose of medicines. She truly does seem to be in the best of care. Her friends dote on her as deeply as William does.
Just in a far less overbearing manner.
When Cassie finally wakes, I rush to her side.
“What are you still doing here?” she asks, her voice thick with sleep.
I aid her into a seated position. “I had to ensure you were well when you awoke.”
She reaches around me for one of her remedies, waving me away when I offer my help. “You really didn’t have to,” she says as she administers several drops of a tincture into her teacup. “I told you I’d be fine after a couple of hours of rest. It was just a dizzy spell. It happens.”
“Regardless, I wanted to wait until you awoke.”
She takes a sip of her tea, eying me over her teacup. “Are you sure you’re not procrastinating over a certain conversation you should have with a certain individual?”
“No,” I say, and I mean it with all my heart. “I’m ready to talk to William, but I wouldn’t feel right pouring my heart out while keeping a secret from him. I understand why you don’t want to worry him, but I needed to see for myself that you’re well.”
She shakes her head, a mixture of amusement and annoyance on her face. “If I knew this would happen, I would have let you send word to him after all. Then at least you could miss the gala together. He’s probably worried sick about both of us.”
A hollow pit opens in my stomach, and I need to voice it. “There’s something I want to say to you, Cassie, but it might not be my place.”
She sets down her teacup and pours herself a teaspoon of her next medicine. Her eyes narrow slightly, but she gives a resigned sigh. “If you love my brother, you might as well be family. And if you’re family, then it is your place to speak.”
Her mention of love has my stomach flipping and fluttering all over again, but I focus on what I need to get off my chest. “Please don’t hide your troubles from William. Let him see you’re dealing with them. Let him know when you struggle and how you recover with the aid of your friends. Let him truly see that you’re thriving. Not to convince him you don’t need him but to show him he isn’t missing out on anything. He isn’t going to be surprised by a sudden tragedy. Let him feel like he’s with you every step of the way, even when you’re apart.”
Cassie doesn’t meet my eyes. “Is this about what my mother did?”
“I know she meant well,” I say, voice gentle. “She wanted William to enjoy his university years, the same way you want him to enjoy his life without constantly worrying about you. But I can’t imagine how hurt he was to find out he’d been left out of Lydia’s struggles, and I’m sure there’s a part of him that thinks the same is happening with you. He should have been given a choice back then, so let him have a choice with you from now on.”
Her expression turns wary.
I level a knowing look. “Even if his fretting and fussing is unbearable.”
She lets out a small laugh at that. “Fine. I understand what you’re saying. I’ll…do my best to give him a choice.”
Relief uncoils inside me. “Thank you.”
“But I also have a choice over whether I accept his—or anyone’s—fretting in person. And I’m making that choice now. Please go to the gala. I really am all right.”
“You are, aren’t you?” I study her clear eyes, the color that has returned to her cheeks.
“Go,” she says with a shooing motion. “Don’t you want to sabotage his date?”
A shock of panic sweeps through me. I forgot about his date again! My anxieties regarding our relationship and future have lessened, and I no longer carry a fear that his auctioned date could turn romantic.
But still.
I give Cassie a wicked grin. “I most certainly do want to sabotage his date.”
I’m a ball of fraying nerves on my way back to the hotel. The coach ride takes twice as long as it did to get Cassie from the café to the manor, due to all the traffic heading toward the hotel. Even though the gala started almost an hour ago, guests are still arriving. Only once I exit the coach do I realize just how underdressed I am. Figures in evening gowns or frock coats stream toward the front doors. Meanwhile I’m still in my much plainer day dress.
