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It’s like I’m getting to see the real Winnie. Not the person her father told her to be, but just her. And while I can pretend the only reason I demanded to go on a walk with her this morning was to keep her safe, I have to admit to myself that part of me also wanted to have more stolen moments with her that weren’t for show.
I wanted to continue to get to know who she is when her mask isn’t on.
Because one thing I’m quickly learning isWinnie isn’t the person everyone thinks. She’s so much…more. That realization makes me want to know everything there is to know about her. Maybe it’s because I know who I show the world and who I am inside are two different people, and I’ve found solace in knowing maybe she and I are one and the same.
She pulls her hand away from my face and tucks it back into her pocket. The wind hits my cheek, and suddenly, everything feels more cold without her touch. “Your silence tells me you have no plans on trying to smile more anytime soon.”
I smirk. “At least we’re on the same page.”
She narrows her eyes at me, her nose crinkling with the motion. “You know, telling me you never smile only makes me want to get you to do it more.”
I find myself smiling more with you already.I swallow, knowing I will not be admitting that out loud. “You can try. It’s not going to work.”
She nods, a playful smile on her lips. Something tells me she doesn’t believe me at all. “Noted. You can scowl all you want on our walk, but you could at least have a conversation with me.”
People walk by us, probably annoyed that we’re standing in the middle of the pathway, seemingly unaware that there’s anyone around us. It’s rude, and I can’t seem to care. I don’t want to look away from her. Ican’tlook away. She’s captured my attention, and until she stops looking at me like she believes I’m a decent man who deserves to spend a lazy morning with her, I’m not going to break the moment.
“I wasn’t aware you wanted to talk,” I confess, dipping my chin low to look at my shuffling feet. “You were going for a walk alone. I thought you wouldn’t want to talk to me.”
“What if I always want to talk to you?” Her eyes go wide the moment the words spill from her lips. She regains composure as quickly as it happened, but it doesn’t matter. I still saw her reaction. It’s as if she didn’t mean to ask that question out loud.
But shedidsay it out loud. I heard it, and I know it’sdangerous and reckless, but I weave my arm through hers and guide her down the path. “Then, let’s talk.”
She follows my lead easily, our steps falling in sync as we take in the beautiful October morning. The leaves have turned from green to brilliant hues of orange, yellow, and red. Fall is always one of my favorite times of the year. There’s just something about how beautiful Manhattan looks as it prepares for another cold winter that captivates me. Fallen leaves crunch under our feet as the breeze wraps around our cheeks in a way that isn’t too cold but actually refreshing.
“What do you propose we talk about?” she asks, returning a smile from a woman pushing a stroller.
I mull her words over for a moment, relishing in the way her fingertips press against my bicep. “On our way over here, you seemed quiet.”
“I’m always quiet.”
“This was a different kind of quiet. It’s like your mind was somewhere else.”
I feel her arm tense in mine. Something is definitely bothering her, and I want to know what it is. “It’s nothing. It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.” My jaw clenches in irritation. I wish she’d open up to me so I can fix whatever is clearly bothering her.
She takes far too long to answer for my liking. “Why?” she asks, her voice lowered and full of curiosity.
Because despite knowing better, I think you matter to me.“Because it’s obviously something that’s bothering you,” I answer, knowing that answer is safer.
“My friends want me to hang out with them tonight.”
“And you don’t want to?”
“Idowant to. I want to see them. I miss both of them so much. But I also don’t know how to tell them about us.”
I nod, trying to think of what to tell her. The truth is, I don’t really have people in my life who question my decisions. Sure, I have friends. But none of them will bat aneye when I say I’m married. We just don’t care about each other’s lives like that. I understand that for someone like her, someone who has best friends she tells everything to, this will be hard to navigate.
“Tell them we were keeping our life private.”
She glares at me. It doesn’t look as menacing as she probably thinks it does. She’s far too sweet and beautiful to look scary, even when she’s attempting to give me a dirty look. “Emma doesn’t know the word ‘private.’ Margo, maybe. She kept a lot of things from us when she married Beck, but Emma will hound me with questions. She knows me well. I’m scared she won’t believe me.”
I’d forgotten one of her best friends married Beckham Sinclair. He was a year above me in school. He was a nice guy—or as nice as guys come at a prep school full of rich assholes who were all born with a silver spoon and a promise of being someone important in the world.
“We’ll just have to make her believe us. Friends keep secrets from friends all the time.”
She gives my words some thought for a moment. The silence between us is comfortable. I don’t feel the need to prod her with more questions to get her to answer the one I asked moments ago. I know she’ll answer me; she’s just coming up with what she wants to say. “I want to go tonight, but I don’t think I will. They’ll be at the event tomorrow. It’ll probably be easier to make them believe we’re married if we’re together.”
