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“I’m sorry for demanding your voice, little mouse.” I focused on her lips. They twitched at her family nickname—the same nickname I’d stolen just as I’d stolen her. The same name that complemented the one I’d shed so long ago in ways I couldn’t bear. “I’m sorry for pushing you before you were ready to be pushed. I’m sorry for expecting things you weren’t ready to give. I’m sorry for not finding you sooner. I’m sorry for demanding your thoughts. I’m sorry for believing I had access to your secrets. I’m sorry for not bringing you home from the start.” My head hung. “I’m sorry for so many things but most of all…I’m sorry for being like him.”
That was the main apology festering in my heart. The one thing I knew without question but wanted to ignore.
By stealing Pim, I’d become just like Alrik. I hadn’t abused her physically, but I had continued to abuse her with my demands.
Never again.
If she didn’t want to tell me a single thing about herself, fine.
If she wanted to build our life on shared experiences, so be it.
I would work on my stupid needs and never ask her to share herself with me again.
Because I loved her.
I couldn’t imagine letting her go. If I never saw her again or never knew the true Pim, then it was a price I was willing to pay.
The music built to a crescendo, and I used the pace to twirl and spin and throw her into a dip. She had no chance to reply, and my aching heart had more time to believe things could be repaired.
Then the song ended.
We slammed to a halt.
And our host for the evening officially welcomed us into his home.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
______________________________
Pimlico
“THANK YOU FOR attending tonight.”
A deep, brooding voice jerked my attention from Elder toward the dais at the front of the ballroom.
Stupidly, I thought the music had come from a CD or music player, but I couldn’t be further from the truth. A full orchestra sat on stage. Players relaxed and cleaned their instruments while the host smoothed his tux and prepared to deliver his speech.
Piano, violin, cello, and flutes.
The knowledge that Elder could pick up a cello and become part of them gave me goosebumps on top of the ones he’d already given me.
I hadn’t had time to reply. I wasn’t given the opportunity to cup his cheek and eradicate the self-imposed hatred in his gaze.
Why on earth was he apologising? And what made him think he was like him?
He isn’t.
At all.
My mind ran riot; I had to find a reply that could fix Elder’s shame. We’d skirted around each other for too long. It was driving us insane instead of allowing us to grow closer. The loose paperwork and unfiled experiences of my short life didn’t have the necessary wisdom to repair us once and for all. I had no one to ask what was the best thing to do or say.
I only had myself and my confident then terrified then confident topsy-turvy thoughts.
“Welcome…” the host said in his dark baritone, cutting through my thoughts, demanding my full attention.
The ballroom quietened as hundreds of people focused on the man dressed in an impeccable tux. He wore a simple mask of plain black like a villain, similar to Elder’s ebony velvet mask, not wanting to be known. However, topaz eyes gleamed from the shadows, dancing over his family standing beside him.
A woman in the most incredible gown I’d ever seen—minus the one I wore—smiled encouragingly. She looked like a raven transforming into a swan with her white chiffon and black feathers scattered all over the skirts. Her mask was different to everyone’s and only covered one eye, cutting down her face to her chin in an intricate scrollwork of pearls.
But it was her necklace that set her apart.
Candlelight and chandeliers made it almost impossible to study the heavy diamond choker glittering around her throat. It cut her in half, almost overshadowing her beauty, if not for the royal way she held herself—taming it rather than wearing it.
I’d never thought as jewellery as becoming someone, but I had the strangest sensation that the necklace meant far more than just simple frosting for an elegant evening.
Tearing my eyes away, I looked at the two children standing well behaved in front of the host and hostess, holding hands. A boy who I guessed would look like his father with a matching black shroud over his eyes and a little girl who was the swanling born to the swan.
“Tonight is a significant occasion for us, and we’re honoured you could be here.” Our host, Jethro Hawk, flicked a glance at his wife. “This is the first time the ballroom has been used for happier festivities, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.” His throat worked as if such a simple sentence carried a private weight.
