“I knew Emmie, too. I saw how much she loved you, how proud she was of your strength. Do you really think she’d want you to sacrifice your happiness as penance?”
The question hit harder than it should have. Sybil had spent years assuming her sister’s final thoughts had been of abandonment and betrayal.
“She would want you to be happy,” Cassandra added gently. “To find love and companionship and all the things she was denied.”
“You’ve spent years punishing your parents by denying yourself happiness,” Anthea continued. “How has that served anyone?”
How has it served anyone? It hasn’t. My parents are still distant, still carrying guilt. I’m still carrying mine. Nothing has been resolved.
“I don’t know how to want things for myself,” Sybil admitted in a voice barely above a whisper. “For years, everything I’ve done has been for others. I don’t know how to be selfish.”
“Wanting your husband’s affection isn’t selfish,” Cassandra said firmly. “It’s human.”
“But what if I want more than he’s prepared to give? What if this attraction means something deeper for me than for him?”
The fear that’s been haunting me for days.
“Have you asked him?” Anthea inquired with characteristic bluntness.
“Asked him what?”
“What he wants from this marriage. What his feelings actually are.”
As if I could simply walk up to the Duke of Vestiaire and inquire about the state of his heart.
“I couldn’t possibly?—”
“Why not? You’re his wife, Sybil. You have every right to know where you stand.”
“Because what if the answer is that I don’t stand anywhere?” The words came out raw, vulnerable. “What if I’m building this into something it’s not?”
“And what if you’re not?” Anthea challenged. “What if he’s been waiting for you to permit him to care? What if your insistence on boundaries has been preventing him from offering you everything you’re afraid to want?”
Everything I’m afraid to want. Love, partnership, a real marriage.
“I should go,” Sybil said suddenly, rising with unsteady movements. “Rosalie will be wondering where I’ve gone.”
“Sybil—” Cassandra began.
“Thank you for the tea,” Sybil interrupted, already moving toward the door. “It’s been most illuminating.”
She made her escape before either friend could offer more uncomfortable insights though she could feel their concerned gazes following her.
Think about what they said. Really consider whether Emmie would want this self-imposed exile from happiness.
But thinking was treacherous. Thinking led to wanting, and wanting led to the kind of vulnerability that had destroyed her sister.
Safer to maintain distance.
The problem was, after three days of Hugo’s heated looks and careful patience, she wasn’t sure those boundaries were still intact.
Or if she wanted them to be.
Lost in thought, Sybil barely noticed her surroundings as she climbed the front steps of their London townhouse. Anthea’s words echoed with uncomfortable persistence, challenging assumptions she’d held for years.
Do you honestly believe Emmie would want this for you?
The question had shaken something loose inside her chest, some long-held certainty about duty and sacrifice that suddenly felt less solid.
