“He was very young, wasn’t he?” Penelope nodded slowly.
“Barely twenty,” Odette murmured. “And now I’m all he has. And I know he cares about me. I really do. But sometimes it feels like he’s holding on too tightly.”
Penelope did not know how to respond.
“Do you think that makes me ungrateful?” Odette asked.
“Not at all,” Penelope said firmly. “It makes you human. You went through something very difficult. Grief is a complicated emotion. I understand it better than you think.”
“Do you really?” Odette asked, surprised.
“My mother died when I was very young,” Penelope admitted. “I was only seven.”
Odette gasped at that. Even Apollo stopped his wandering and came to sit beside Penelope, sensing the tension.
“But over the years, I have come to accept it as a part of life,” Penelope smiled.
“Did you feel lonely, too?”
Penelope’s lips parted, then closed again. She thought for a moment before answering.
“I had my sister,” she said. “Isadora. She practically raised me. She was only twelve when our mother passed, but she stepped into that role without hesitation. I don’t know what I would have done without her.”
Odette hugged her knees tighter. “It must be nice. Having someone like that.”
“It was.” Penelope said. “Even now, she’s my anchor.”
“I always wished I had a sibling. Someone who could understand me without me having to explain everything.”
Then Odette looked up, her brows furrowing. “Will you… do you think you’ll give me siblings someday?”
Penelope blinked, caught off guard. “I—” She hesitated, thinking back to her conversation with the duke. She did not want to disappoint Odette. So instead, she said, “That’s not a question I have the answer to, Odette.”
“Oh,” Odette said, her gaze falling back to her lap. “So that means no.”
“No,” Penelope said softly, “it doesn’t mean no. It means I don’t know what the future holds.”
A part of it was a lie. She did know what the future held, as the duke had made his intentions very clear. She just did not havethe heart to break the news to Odette, and perhaps a part of her hoped that things would change in the future.
Odette’s throat bobbed as she swallowed.
“I don’t know what to call you,” she muttered. “You’re not really my mother. And ‘stepmother’ sounds so… cold.”
Penelope smiled, a little sadly. “Then don’t call me anything you don’t want to. You can just call me Penelope.”
“Father would think that is too rude,” Odette giggled. “He does not like it when I call people by their names.”
“Well,” she said lightly, “if your father raises an eyebrow, I’ll take full responsibility.”
Odette tilted her head, thoughtful. “What if I called you something else?” she asked. “Not Penelope, and not... stepmother.”
“What did you have in mind?” Penelope asked, amused.
“I don’t know yet. Something not awful,” Odette frowned.
“That’s a good place to start,” Penelope laughed.
Odette tugged up another blade of grass, twirling it between her fingers. Her gaze flickered toward the well again. “Do you think she would’ve liked me?”
