He could hardly admit it to himself, but he looked…beautifulwasn’t the word. Striking, maybe. He’d always been ambivalent over his features. He liked his hazel eyes when the sun hit them and didn’t mind his dark hair when it was long enough to hold a curl, though he hadn’t permitted it to reach that length in years. His nose wasn’t his favourite. But the way Maeve had rendered him left him feeling both admired and fullyseenin a way he’d never been before.
The assertiveness of his gaze in the painting sent a shiver down his neck. He looked untouchable. Something in the angle of his brows and the press of his lips spoke of secret defiance. Like he wanted to be seen, but only as much as he allowed. She’d posed him with the upraised hand of a saint but given him the cool gaze of a dissident.
Jude knelt slowly before it, filled with the strangeness only studying one’s face could bring.
She was right. She did know him. The evidence was in the paint. The faint spray of freckles across his nose, the thick slash of his brows, one more curved than the other. Even the way the light sank into the peaks and hollows of his face… it washim. As he knew himself best.
The realization came torturously slow, an unravelling that started in his chest and wound its way up to his throat where it clenched tight – he couldn’t hide from her. Not any longer.
‘What do you think?’ Maeve asked. Her gaze returned nervously to the icon.
A smile tugged at his lips – she wanted him to like it. ‘You’re very talented, Maeve,’ he said. ‘It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.’ Her cheeks reddened at the praise, and he immediately wanted to see how much more he could make her blush. ‘It’s beautiful. Truly.’
The colour in her face grew, spreading down her neck. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
Jude remained on his knees, staring up at her. He let himself smile fully.
‘Are you going to pray to it?’ she asked briskly, getting back to business.
‘Now?’ He hadn’t considered that she’d want him to try immediately. He supposed it made sense. Why waste time when both their memories hung in the balance? His stomach clenched at the thought, ripe with fear of what would happen when he finally had the complete picture of his life available. What had he forgotten? What had the Abbey taken from him?
Guilt surged; its grip tenacious despite how hard he tried to shove it down—
If his memories were returned, if all his secrets were laid bare… he would have to tell Maeve everything. Every facet of her memory magic that he’d been trying so desperately to hide would be forced into the light. He would have to contradict her ideas, tell her that she was heading in the right direction, but she wasn’t there yet. There was still more to learn. Secrets he held the key to but had been reluctant to give her.
He wasn’t ready. He couldn’t toss her to the storm. Not yet. He needed more time.
Time to ease her into the truth, or time to bask in the denial?
He swallowed the question down, feeling its weight settle in the pit of his stomach.
‘Why not?’ Maeve asked. ‘There’s not much to be gained by waiting. For either of us.’
‘And what if it doesn’t work? What then?’
Her hand slipped into the pocket of her dress, the shape of her fingers racing under the fabric. Jude knew what she was doing, what he’d find if he pulled her hand free and prised her fingers open.
An icon, worn smooth from hours of prayer.
How could she still believe, after everything he’d shown her?
‘Maeve,’ he urged, louder than he meant. His knees ached, but he stayed on the floor. ‘What then?’
‘We go back to the Abbey,’ she finally whispered. ‘And we search for answers there.’
‘Is that what you want?’
He had to know. Did she want to go back, despite how they’d treated her? Did she still want to return with her information about memories and the Goddenwood, abouthim? Was her goal still to resume her life, now as lead iconographer?
‘I don’t know,’ she admitted, her voice small. ‘Part of me wants to stay here. With you. The other half wants to pretend none of it ever happened.’
Her words stung. He wouldn’t pretend otherwise. ‘I can’t,’ he said, louder than he meant.
‘Can’t what?’
‘Go to the Abbey. The repercussions…’ Jude closed his eyes, head dropping to his chest as his words came out as choked as a confession. ‘I don’t know what they’ll do if I return.’
Maeve laid her hand on his bowed head.
