Page 107

She made a small gesture that took in Marcus, the two men, and, when I followed her hand, to the keycard reader beside the conservatory doors that I was almost certain hadn’t been there a few weeks ago.

“You’d know better than I would,” I said. “You’ve been here three years.”

“I’ve noticed a man standing in the lobby of the Research Pavilion. There’s another one by the Fellows’ Dining Room most days around lunch. He never appears to be doing anything, which somehow makes him look as though he’s doing exactly what he was sent there to do.”

“Now that you mention it,” I said, looking back toward Marcus, “I have seen a few more security officers around, even in the residential towers.”

Charlotte glanced at me. “Does it bother you?”

I shook my head. “Not really. I remember you told me once that Marcus is very good at what he does.”

She nodded. “He is.”

She slipped her arm through mine again as we continued toward the spa.

“Now,” she said with a sigh, “back to my publisher who remains convinced commercial is an adjective one should aspire to.”

* * *

Sunlight had softened by the time we reached the Blackwood Hall spa, spilling through the tall windows in warm streaks that glided across the stone floors. It was quieter in here, the smell of lavender in the air and the sound of flowing water drifting through the room. We drank chamomile tea in the small room beside the garden and did not move for a very long time.

“Have you told anyone?” Charlotte said. “Properly, I mean. Not the building. Blackwood found out. I mean told.”

I smiled over the rim of my teacup. “No. There isn’t really anyone outside Blackwood Hall.” I said it without sadness. It was simply true. My parents were gone. Sofia was gone. Beyond Blackwood Hall, there was no one I would have thought to call.

“Somewhere along the way, this place has become home,” I said as I looked beyond the windows. “And the people here have become family.”

“Well,” she said softly, “that’s rather nice to hear.” She took a sip of her tea. “Now, tell me how you imagine marrying Alexander.”

“We haven’t really talked about it yet.”

She tilted her head. “That wasn’t my question.”

I laughed. “No,” I admitted. “It wasn’t.”

She waited with the patience of someone who knew perfectly well I would answer eventually.

“I don’t think I’ve imagined very much.” I traced the rim of my teacup with my finger. “Only little pieces.”

“Those are always the important ones.”

“I think I’d like a winter wedding,” I said.

Charlotte’s smile widened immediately. “I can see that.”

“I don’t know why,” I laughed softly. “There’s something hopeful about winter. Everyone talks about spring beginning things, but winter has always felt quieter to me. As though the whole world pauses for a little while and remembers what matters.”

“That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.”

“It doesn’t?”

“You have an almost supernatural ability to find the beautiful version of everything.”

“Thank you.”

Charlotte leaned back in her chair. “What else?”

“I don’t want anything enormous.” I shook my head. “I don’t think Alexander would either.”