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If I was dreaming, I’d do it.
But this is reality, and it’s reality I need to get hold of.
He reaches out and my breath stalls in my lungs. His fingers close around my glass as he slips it from my weakened grasp. ‘You’re trembling.’
‘I am...?’ I look down at my fingers and sure enough they’re unsteady. But it’s more to do with the wild energy now pulsing through me in the aftermath of my dream, my wild fantasy too. ‘It’ll pass.’
He places the glass on the bedside table and the photo catches his eye. He smiles. ‘I remember when that was taken.’
I look at the picture, let memories dance to the fore... ‘It was a lovely day.’
‘You and Gran had taken the kids pumpkin-picking.’
‘And you’d refused—said it was for youngsters.’
He shrugs. ‘Gran still roped me in, though.’
‘Because she played on your macho instincts.’
His laugh is gruff. ‘“You can’t expect us girls to carry all the big ones...”’ He mimics his grandmother, his voice as soft as his expression.
‘Well, they were rather heavy—especially the one we used for the carriage.’
‘Ah, yes—that scene for the Halloween Fairy Tale Ball.’
‘It was Katherine’s favourite event of the year.’
‘That and Christmas.’
We both stare at the picture, remembering the woman with the huge heart and feeling the massive imprint she’s left on our own.
‘I miss her.’
The quiet confession falls from his lips and I put my own insecurities aside to reach for his hand, squeeze it softly.
‘Me too. She was an incredible woman.’
His eyes lift to mine and I can’t breathe, seeing the obvious pain there, the pain that’s now morphing into something else. Something heated and desperate. I feel the fire unfurl deep within me, my fingers burning around his. I wet my lips, search for something to say—something that isn’t Kiss me.
This connection is about grief. Nothing else. Nothing more.
‘I should go,’ he says.
I nod. He should go. I can already feel the boundaries between us blurring. Our lives entwining. It’s too easy to forget how different we are. That this is the world in which he belongs. I’ll always be on the outskirts looking in, no matter what Katherine wanted otherwise.
He lets go of my hand, starts to walk away.
‘Edward?’
He pauses, looks at me over his shoulder.
‘I know you don’t think I deserve all this—the inheritance, the castle, the estate...’
‘That’s not—’
I raise my hand, shake my head, cutting off the denial he doesn’t need to give.
‘I know I don’t deserve it. But it’s an opportunity I don’t want to waste. It’s an opportunity for me to do so much good—the kind of good Katherine did...’
