Page 47 of The Dearly Departed

Anna! I wanted to call out just to see if she’d respond.

But before I could say anything ridiculous to this random stranger, she asked, “Are you a fan of Robert Louis Stevenson?”

For a moment, I questioned if she was talking to me at all, and I glanced behind me in case we weren’t alone. But we were—there was no one else here—and so I took a step toward her and cocked my head.

“What?”

She nudged her head toward the book in my hand, the one I’d nearly forgotten, and said, “The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Are you a fan?”

“Oh,” I replied, keeping my voice hushed, gruff, and—I hoped—disguised, as I lifted the book and finally took a peek at the cover. “Actually, I’ve never read it.”

I knew the basic premise vaguely enough. A respected doctor by the name of Jekyll with his sinister alter ego, Mr. Hyde. I couldn’t tell you much more than that though.

And as I turned it over to study the intricate etchings in the leather, the woman on the window seat said, “It’s a good one. You should read it sometime.”

With a nod, I slid it back onto a nearby shelf and said, “Maybe I should.”

“Personally, as far as the classics go, I’m much more a fan of Jane Eyre.”

“I can’t say I’ve read that one either,” I admitted, my eyes transfixed on the window seat and her illustrious form.

She acknowledged me with a thoughtful humming sound. “Not a reader or just not a fan of the classics?”

I shrugged nonchalantly, raising my eyes to the tallest shelf for the briefest moment, but not caring much to turn away from her.

“I like reading,” I told her, keeping my responses brief out of habit and self-preservation.

But what was this strange feeling inside me, telling my body to move closer and urging my mouth to talk longer?

“Well, since you snuck in here like you were trying to run away from something, I’m going to assume you’re not a fan of crowds.”

I found myself smiling, and that was also strange.

“No, not really,” I replied.

I approached her slowly, almost apprehensively, like she could’ve been a wild animal. Small and sweet by appearances alone, but unpredictable and deadly all the same. By the light of the moon streaming in through the large window, I saw she was wearing a long black gown, her feet hidden and tucked beneath her on the seat. Her hair matched the dress—sleek and a deep onyx in the lack of light, the color of raven’s wings. Her alabaster skin glowed like ethereal twilight, her dark eyes sparkling in the shadows, and all at once, I was aware, as if for the first time, that I possessed a heart, as that thumping, bleeding organ took off at tremendous speed.

Wow, was the only word I could manage to think of at the sight of someone too beautiful to be in the presence of someone like me.

She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. An aurora borealis against a cold, dark winter sky.

I’m staring. I need to stop staring.

I steered my gaze toward the window to look out over the expansive grounds, lit by expertly placed lighting to give the illusion that it wasn’t a backyard but instead a painting. And though it was stunning, more so than any garden I’d ever seen, it couldn’t hold a candle to this woman sitting before me in this treasure trove of darkness and literature.

“Neither am I,” she replied, and I had to quickly remember what it was she had said to me in the first place. “Honestly, I hate parties altogether. You’d think I’d be used to them by now, but …” She let her voice trail off as she turned her attention back toward the window.

I swallowed and dipped my hands into my pockets. “There are so many people out there; I doubt anyone would notice if you left,” I said in that same low, gravelly tone.

I felt stupid. It was odd and unnatural to speak in that voice. Something told me I could trust her, and I wanted to trust her, even though I’d only just made her acquaintance. But that didn’t change the fact that she was here at my father’s birthday party, and I didn’t know my father to associate with anyone good by nature—and I supposed that included me.

“Oh, believe me, they would,” she murmured. I could make out her reflection just enough to witness her eyes drop as a forlorn silence fell over the space. “I’m actually surprised nobody has come in here yet, looking for me.”

I remained standing, looming over her with my hands in my pockets. Being in her proximity had cast a spell over me, causing me to forget every reason for my snooping. Gerald, Leonard, reasons for the invitation … yet all I wanted in this moment was to be here with her—and I hadn’t even had the pleasure of smelling her hair or touching her skin. I didn’t even know her name. But being in her vicinity seemed like enough.

Somehow, it felt like all I deserved. To be near her and nothing more.

“Did Gerry invite you?” she asked, still facing the yard.