We don’t speak for what seems like ages, but likely was only a few minutes. She just lets me cry. It felt good to just let it out. She brushes my hair off my face, examining the damage done to my hair and makeup.
“We’ve got to get you ready for dinner, Ali. Do you think you’re up to that?”
I sniffle a little and nod. I don’t want to spend another evening in Edward’s company, but I also don’t want to send Ben into the lion's den alone. I can easily sit there and go through the motions.
Sarah helps me switch into an evening gown for dinner. She selects a steel blue silk gown with a silver crystal beaded overlay with draped sleeves. It’s beautiful, but the color feels melancholy and seems to match how I feel inside. The steel blue with icy gray undertones makes me feel like a rain cloud. She helps me pull back my hair, securing it with a silver crystal comb that matches the overlay of my gown. I slip on the long white satin evening gloves that make me feel imprisoned and slouch down into a chair to wait for Ben. Somehow every evening I’m waiting for him to be ready, even though I have far more preparation than he does.
Ben escorts me to dinner, where Edward and his party are waiting. As I cross the room, I lock eyes with Violet. She sits with John and their party a few tables away, and she flashes me a sympathetic smile.
As our table carries on in varied conversation, I disassociate and stare at a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Large and exquisite, the crystal droplets shine brightly and reflect angles of light around the room. What would happen if that chandelier were to fall, I wonder? Would anyone even notice it thunder to the floor and shatter into thousands of glistening pieces? Pieces that still shine, but now as angular shards, can pierce at any touch. Beautiful, but dangerous.
I feel quite similar to that chandelier at this moment. Nothing more than a grand, lustrous ornament. Everyone has their eyes on me. Not to marvel at me or watch me shine. They’re waiting for me to fail. They’re waiting for the car to crash so they can watch it burn.
What I’m realizing now is that this feeling isn’t just about the shimmering facade I’ve been maintaining this week. This has been my entire life. I have always tried to make it look like I have everything together, like I don’t need anyone else’s help. I’ve operated on this “fake it till you make it” mentality for so long that it’s hard to distinguish between truth and reality anymore. I strive for perfection in everything I do, not because I want to succeed. I want the validation and the assurance of not upsetting someone or letting them down, because then they’ll leave me.
But I am exhausted. Pretending that I am strong has left me no strength to actuallybestrong. I feel like I’m carrying the weight of the world, or at least the weight of everyone else’s expectations, in my arms. My muscles ache. My mind aches. I want to drop it. I’m tired of pretending to be perfect. It’s all a performance. A circus. Don’t accidentally swallow the sword. Don’t fall from the tightrope. Don’t make a single mistake, because they’ll notice that. They won’t notice you shine, but they’ll sure as hell notice when you’re tarnished. I’m tired of showing everyone the versions of me they want to see. The dutiful daughter. The successful historian. The strong and independent woman. I want to let it fall to the floor and shatter, along with everyone’s expectations.
I am fully capable of breaking at any moment. Would anyone even notice if I did?
Chapter Nineteen
I Found by Amber Run
April 13, 1912
After dinner, I make my way back to the cabin while Ben retreats for another evening of cigars and brandy. He can tell by how quiet I’ve been tonight that I’m returning to the cabin with no detours this time.
When I arrive back in the room, Sarah has already left to go to bed. I’m not entirely sure if I’m thankful for the solitude or afraid to be alone with my intrusive thoughts. I lock the adjoining doors on both sides of my room. All I want is to be alone for a while. I pull off my gloves and sit down on the bed. Just as I’m about to take off my shoes, I hear a soft knock at my door. I assume it’s Sarah, but usually she knocks twice. Perhaps she thinks I’m already asleep and doesn’t want to wake me. Maybe she saw me come in and is coming to check on me.
I get up and walk across the room, trying to pull myself together for any questioning. I cautiously open the door, and to my surprise, Charlie is standing across from me. He’s leaning toward me in the doorway, with one arm propped against the wall.
“Why… why are you here?” I can barely get the words out. I can’t believe he’s here, standing before me. I can only imagine he’s finally processed the truth and is back to deliver the harsh words I truly deserve. The words I cowardly ran away from earlier today.
“I had to see you.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “Why?” I expected to receive the anger I deserve from him finally, but his face shows no rage. If anything, he looks quite calm.
Charlie quickly looks both ways in the hallway to ensure no one is watching. With an assertiveness that catches me off guard and leaves me breathless, he steps into my room and kicks the door closed. He moves swiftly toward me and cupping my face with both hands; he presses his lips to mine before I have the chance to utter another word. As my body is pressed against his, I can feel his heart pounding against my chest.
“Alice,” he whispers as he holds himself still against me, his arousal growing against my pelvis. I feel like my knees will buckle beneath me at any moment.
The sound of his voice is intoxicating, even more so when he says my name. Growing up, I never cared for my name. I insisted on being called Ali. Now I would jump through hoops, walk through fire, anything, just to hear his voice say my name.
I’m in utter disbelief that he would even speak to me after everything, let alone be in the same room with me. I look back up into his eyes and our gaze locks. Why do I tremble when his eyes meet mine? Nothing has ever had this effect on me before. I want more of it. I want more of him. I wantallof him.
He pulls me back toward him and his mouth has mine captured in a mesmerizing kiss. I let out a small moan of pleasure. I’ve never had such a primal reaction to just a kiss before, but I feel as though he is masterfully stoking a fire burning deep within me. His lips curl into a slight smile, as if pleased with the pleasure he’s given me.
He pulls his head back momentarily, hovering his mouth close to my ear. “Do you want me to stop?” he whispers. We float in the moment briefly, as he waits for my consent to go any further. His breath is warm and seductive. If I paid any attention to logic, we should stop right here. But where has logic ever gotten me before?
“No,” I whisper breathlessly. Every feeling, every desire that’s been burning within me for days is finally boiling over, no longer able to be contained. I want him inside of me, to feel the weight of him above me. I want to feel every pulse as he buries himself in me.
A desperation pools in my belly, growing stronger and stronger. I slip my hand at his waist around the small of his back and pull him in toward me, our lips meeting with a blazing sear.
My hands move to the buttons of his jacket, slipping each one through the hole as his gaze on me intensifies. He somehow looks both nervous and invigorated. I pull the jacket down from his shoulders as he hastily pulls on his tie. The clothes fall to the floor as we leave a trail lining our steps toward the bed.
I lean over, grab the bottom of my gown, and pull it up to my waist. He takes it from my hands and I lift my arms as he gently slides it up and over my head. The beading snags slightly as it comes over my hair that’s been pulled back into an ornate bun. I pull the comb out of my hair and let my tresses fall loosely.
Charlie gently strokes a few wisps of my hair back behind my ear before caressing my cheek with the backs of his fingers. I clasp my hands around his neck, twisting my fingers into his hair. I slip my hands down and pull the suspenders down from his shoulders. As they fall to his waist, I move my hand around his back and direct my attention toward removing his shirt. His eyes follow mine and he grabs the fabric at both sides and quickly pulls it up and over his head, his hair finally shifting slightly out of place.
