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Maybe they could help me. Bernard had known him the longest, but he was also the least willing to push him. Étienne, maybe. He seemed to have some sort of power over all of the men in the castle, a natural leader. When he spoke, others listened. Maybe he could convince Jacques that I was trustworthy.
But still, Jacques wouldn’t give freely of himself. Not without something in return. If I wanted him to open up to me, I would have to open to him in return. He was not the type of man who gave something for nothing. A plan began to form in my mind.
Someone at my door tapped softly. “Come in,” I said, expecting to see one of the men I’d just left.
Instead, Jacques entered, and I stood hastily, tugging the hem of my short bathrobe down to ensure that I was fully covered. Jacques’ gaze followed the movement, and I saw him linger for a moment on my bare legs.
“I’m sorry,” he stammered, and I realized with some shock that he was nervous. He was nervous? I was the one he’d run out of the castle! “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything —”
“It’s all right,” I said. “I was just getting ready to take a bath.”
“I can come back later, or…” Jacques trailed off awkwardly.
“No, no, it’s okay,” I said, thinking wistfully of my carefully prepared bath, getting cold in the next room. Still, this was more important. And who knew if I would get another chance to speak with him? “I wanted to talk to you.”
“And I you,” Jacques said. “Étienne seems to believe I owe you an explanation. And he’s usually right about these things, so I probably do.”
He was still hovering awkwardly in the doorway. “Would you like to sit down?” I asked, and he nodded gratefully. We arranged ourselves in armchairs in front of the fireplace, and I waited patiently for him to continue.
“It’s...difficult,” he said finally. “To talk about these things, I mean. I’m not sure how to begin.”
I nodded sympathetically. This was my chance to put my plan to the test. “It’s hard to start,” I said. “But it can help, to share with someone. I learned that after my separation.”
This was a trick I’d learned as a counselor: some patients had a hard time opening up to a stranger. If I shared something of myself with them, they often felt more comfortable with me. They needed to feel like they were sharing with a friend, someone they knew and trusted.
Jacques started. “I forgot you were married,” he admitted. “Why—how did it end?” He flushed. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”
“No, it’s okay,” I assured him. I nibbled at my bottom lip for a moment, trying to decide where to begin, how to explain.
“Luis and I married very young,” I said. “Too young, probably. He was my first boyfriend, and he was...stable. Predictable. I liked that, I didn’t have that in other aspects of my life. I could depend on him. At least, I thought I could.”
I faltered. I’d never talked about this with anyone before, no one had ever asked. If my relationship with my sisters had been different, better, I might have spoken of it with them, but they had never shown any interest.
Jacques was watching me with a quiet intensity. “But you couldn’t,” he said. “Depend on him, I mean.”
“No,” I said quietly. “After we were married, he changed. He wasn’t the man I thought he was. He was colder, more controlling. I always knew he had a short temper, especially when he drank. After we married, he was drinking more and more. I started to become afraid of him, which I never had been before.”
Jacques leaned forward, gripping his armrests, his knuckles bone white. “Did he hurt you?” he asked. “God help me, if he ever laid a hand on you —” His dark eyes blazed with a cold fury.
“Nothing like that,” I assured him, oddly touched by his concern. “He never hurt me physically. But emotionally…” I trailed off as I considered how to phrase it. “When we met, Luis liked that I was intelligent,” I said. “He liked showing me off to other people, his smart girlfriend. After a while, that changed. It was like he saw me as a threat; he wanted me to be smart, but he didn’t want me to be smarter than him. If I was excited about something, he accused me of talking down to him. He wanted me to quit my job, to stay at home to cook and clean. It was like he was trying to erase me, who I was, and make me into something else, his idea of a perfect wife.”
I trailed off, a little surprised that I had spoken for so long, shared so much. Jacques’ gaze was intense on mine. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice shockingly tender. “You didn’t deserve that. Any of it.”
