Page 63 of The Temptation of Roan Island

Don’t you dare think for a single moment that this didn’t mean something.

I want to believe those words. But even if I do, he wasn’t clear about what last night meant. And he still left.

Straightening my spine, I resolve to focus on what matters. Toby. I can’t begin to unravel the complex tapestry between Shemaiah and me, because I don’t know what to make of the enigmatic man. I don’t know what to make of my own feelings on the matter.

The carriage dips as Shemaiah gets in, and I turn my head to look out the window rather than watch him. He settles into the seat across from me, and the door clicks shut, closing us inside. When I finally glance at him, his long legs stretched across the minimal expanse between us, my breath catches. He’s beautiful, even more so in the diffused light coming from the windows. With his head tipped back against the wing of the chair and his eyes closed, he sighs.

His dark hair is down, teasing the top of his shoulders, with some of it pulled back into a knot at the back of his head. His heavy dark brows are drawn together. I imagine crossing the space between us, crawling into his lap and loosening his hair, running my fingers through it, pressing my lips to that crease in the corner of his perfect mouth.

His eyes open and connect with mine. A buzz zaps up my spine.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

I melt at the sound of his voice, butter rich and smooth. There’s a ring of gold around the outside of his dark brown irises I’ve never noticed before. His features shift at my perusal.

I blink, resetting my thoughts to what’s appropriate. “What are you sorry for?”

He turns his head and looks out the window. “I trusted Mrs. Darning to do what I asked. I shouldn’t have.”

“That isn’t your fault. That was her choice.” The carriage lurches forward. I grab the arms of my seat so I don’t find myself in his lap. Like earlier. I burrow into the memory of waking in his arms, of the comfort there.

Silence envelops us in awkward uncertainty as the hum of the turbine behind us gains volume. The whir is overpowering and serves to highlight how loud the silence is. I can’t begin to ascertain Shemaiah’s thoughts, but mine are a tumble of interlocking weeds. I don’t know what’s real or pretend anymore. Rather than ruminate, I turn to watch the New Essik landscape drift past the window.

I’ve never liked New Essik. Compared to New Caldon, which is near the sea and always seems to have a fresh breeze, New Essik feels stale. Dark, dank oppression seems to flow through the cobblestoned streets like a spirit. It haunts everything, from the pedestrians hurrying through the unrelenting rain in their dark cloaks and umbrellas to the stones beneath their feet. Murky clouds and fog drift above and between the buildings, tainting the city with secrets.

The storm darkens the sheen of water on the road, so it glistens in the gray light. A carriage passes us, and I lurch back, startled by it.

When I first arrived in New Essik, with barely enough coin to find a room, there wasn’t any joy on the faces I found. Asking for directions, for help, seemed to come at a cost to my very essence. I knew it wasn’t expressly different from New Caldon, but the oppressive atmosphere of New Essik seemed to weigh on every soul living within its borders.

“Where are you?” Shemaiah asks.

“Here.” I turn to look at him.

He shakes his head. “No. You’re somewhere else.”

“I was thinking about when I came to New Essik.”

Shemaiah’s head tilts, though he doesn’t lift it from the back of his seat. “You were pregnant with Tobias then, right?”

“Yes. Pregnant and alone. What a cliché.”

Shemaiah leans forward. “Nothing about you is a cliché.” His eyes are dark, his features compressed into something that resembles irritation.

I scoff. “You don’t know the whole story.”

“Tell me.”

I hold his gaze, considering what it would be like to tell him how irresponsible I was to believe the lies Toby’s father told me. How easily I’d succumbed to that man’s deception and, like so many women, was left alone with the consequences. Perhaps revealing my story would feel like a relief, would release its hold on me. After what he shared about Vivienne, Shemaiah would understand, or so I tell myself. Shemaiah doesn’t try to fill the silence. He just waits for me to continue. As he does, his gaze dips to my mouth before flashing back up to my eyes. He curls his hands into fists on top of his thighs.

I break the connection between us, unwilling to damage his perception of me when everything still feels fraught after last night. “Maybe one day.”

The landscape floats past. The carriage turns this way and that, moving inland. The buildings thin to more familiar streets. My attention drifts back to Shemaiah, studying his profile as he looks out the window.

“Do you think if you hadn’t loved Vivienne, and I hadn’t loved—” I stop myself before saying his name. “Would we have…” I’m not sure how to finish the sentence. A chance?

Shemaiah’s head tilts to one side. He doesn’t answer right away. The space around us seems to shrink and shrivel. I want to take back the question, but I can’t speak.

“I don’t know.” The words are soft and quiet. Honest. He looks out the window again. “My mother used to love coming into the city.”