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“To the outside world, I had everything. Everyone believed that I did, and so did I. But deep down, I had lost so much. There was always this emptiness within me, especially after my mother’s death and my father’s abuse.” He sighs and moves toward the bed. I slither further away.
“Agatha and I met when my mother used to take us out on her promenades. We soon visited her home with her parents. After my mother died, those visits stopped. But I would sneak out and find my way over to her house, waiting for the moments she’d be in the garden with her governess. She’d make up an excuse to stay outside longer and sneak away to play with me. Her parents knew and out of sympathy, allowed me to stay, though I never went inside.” A slight smile attempts to show up on his face, but he swipes it away with his hand.
“I guess in some way, she helped keep my mother’s memory alive. She became like a flower in a field of thorns. Not only did we used to play together, but as we grew, we confided in each other. I trusted her with all my secrets, and she trusted me with hers. Soon, we trusted one another with our love, and we made promises that we reaffirmed together, up until the day of our wedding.” He groans.
“The betrayal was immense. The pain, even more so.” He looks up at me through strained lenses. I swallow, and my heart knocks against my chest.
He continues, “Losing her meant losing the only good part of my life I had left. It broke through every promise we’d made, shattering what resembled nothing more than a farce, a grand longstanding illusion. It released all my father’s ugly words like a swarm of bees. And with nothing more to lose, I snapped.” He sniffles and scowls as if angry at the tears I can see brimming his eyes.
A surge of anguish moves over me, gathering in my throat, and chokes me up. This is the most connected I’ve ever felt to him. It might not be wise, but I stop pulling away. I can’t help myself. For the first time, looking at him is like looking in a mirror. The last thing I want is to feel as if I had anything in common with this man. The beast that he is, I’ve always been secure that I never would.
“Oh, Adam,” I croak. “How did you lose your mother?” I ask, as the sensation of being stabbed repeatedly in the heart by tiny pins runs through me.
He shudders and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I can’t bring myself to…” he starts but puts his hands on his upper thighs and looks up at the ceiling, clearing his throat.
His admission moves me to talk about something I hardly talk about. “I’m sorry for your losses,” I begin, as the unvisited wound inside me gapes open. “I didn’t know my mother. All I’ve ever known is my father. The pain of losing her seemed too great because he barely spoke of her. I’ll never know what she looked like, what she smelled like, what her hugs felt like or her kisses.” I sniffle.
“She died giving birth to me, and I’ve lived with the guilt of taking her from my father.” Gasping, my eyes fill with tears, and Adam moves over to me. I raise my hand at the sense of urgency which screams that I can’t let him near me. “My father is all I have left,” I say, wrapping myself in a hug.And you’re the one who has taken him from me, who has punished him and threatened him.And me? I’m a traitor for thinking of you, for feeling what I feel toward you. You don’t deserve my affection.
“Olivia,” Adam grunts. “I didn’t know,” he groans, reaching out to me and stopping himself as I recoil. “I’d like to continue our conversations over dinner. Will you join me?” he asks, straightening himself.
His face is pained, and I can tell he’s struggling with all this emotion. However, his invitation to continue the conversation over food gives me hope. By sharing with each other, his broken and murdered heart will beat again, and he might be encouraged to spare my life. Or he’s too shattered to think of anyone but himself. In which case, I’m not sure I can enjoy the food.
The traitorous side of me, however, knows that I’ll enjoy hearing him open up more to me about his pains. Pain I should think he deserves, but I don’t. This is a terrible idea. But so far, everything I’ve ever done since I’ve met him has been a terrible idea. Gulping, I agree to dinner like the imbecile I am. Because it’ll require an internal battle to resist him, and I have too little time left to waste, fighting with myself.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Adam
“Carlson,I’dlikeyouto prepare an intimate dinner in the garden for myself and Miss Primrose,” I say, looking away from him and straightening my shoulders.
“The garden, sir?” he asks.
“Yes. The garden. Is that so strange?” I look at him.
This man, always so stoic and unmoved by anything, seems to be flabbergasted. His mouth opens and closes three times in a row, and his jowls jiggle.
“Oh, no. Sir. Not at all. It’s just that you’ve never requested eating in the garden.”
Carlson has also never spoken this much.
“Yes. Well, I think Miss Primrose will appreciate the fresh air, and the evening is a bit warm tonight.” Pulling at the collar of my shirt, I clear my throat.
His single eye widens before he nods. “Aye, sir.”
At the risk of giving the old man a heart attack, I stop him on his way out of my study. “Oh! And how have the rose shrubs been faring?”
He turns around and smiles at me. He smiles now? What in the hell has gotten into him? “Well, sir, they’ve been faring well.”
“Good.” I nod. “Please prepare an arrangement for the table.”
Carlson turns and practically skips away, leaving me with my mouth hanging open. Well, ‘skip away’ is a bit of an exaggeration. He doesn’t skip. However, for his usual military gait, that quick pep in his step can certainly pass for one. He must have gotten good news today.
Unable to focus much on the accounts, courtesy of that strange experience, as well as what fate might hold for the coming days, I’ve removed myself from the desk. The clock ticking away above the door tells me it’s time to meet with the rest of the staff. Up and out, I go, toward the ballroom where the house staff await me. They’re all grinning when I come into the room and though they try to hold it in upon seeing me, they can’t help the happiness pouring out of them.
“Have I missed something?” I ask. “Seems all my staff are full of glee today which is quite different from the usual gloom and doom. What has made everyone so giddy? Have you been informed that I’m dying?” I crease my brows.
Gloria grins. “Oh, you’re quite the jester! No, sir. We’re just so happy for you!”
