Anna-Marie insists on walking me to the door like I might disappear if she doesn’t keep a hand on my arm. We talked for hours over tea gone cold. One of which I spent the entire time convincing her not to rally against the town on my behalf.
Grady’s store is suffering because of me. It’s undeniable. Three times I tried to wear a veil to hide my scars and three times he tore the fabric into scraps, before carrying me off to the bedroom.
“You can stay the night,” she says for the third time. “Henry’s working late, and Keegan won’t mind.”
Keegan, blissfully unaware of adult tension, gurgles from his blanket on the floor.
I smile despite myself. “If I don’t get back before supper, Grady will worry.”
The walk home is short. Too short to brace myself.
Mrs. Calder is standing outside the dry goods shop, basket hooked over her arm, speaking in low tones to Mrs. Linton. They pause when they see me.
“Afternoon,” I say politely.
Mrs. Calder’s smile is thin and practiced. “Good afternoon, Mrs. McKinnon.”
She doesn’t move aside.
Instead, she tilts her head toward her companion and speaks just loudly enough to carry.
“Such a shame,” she says. “A man works his whole life to build something respectable, sends all the way off for a wife… and this is what arrives.”
Mrs. Linton sucks in a sharp breath.
My chest tightens.
Mrs. Calder clucks her tongue. “Poor man. You can’t help but pity him. No chance to choose properly, of course. Beggars can’t be choosers.”
Her eyes flick to my face then.
I stand frozen, every instinct screaming at me to shrink, to disappear, to apologize for existing.
“I hope,” she adds lightly, “that he doesn’t expect the town to pretend it’s something it isn’t.”
Mrs. Linton murmurs something I don’t catch. I don’t want to.
I step around them, my spine rigid, my pulse roaring in my ears. I do not cry. I do not speak. I walk.
Each step feels borrowed.
By the time the store comes into view, my hands are shaking so badly I have to stop and press them against my skirts.
This isn’t about me.
This is about him.
About what it costs Grady to stand beside me.
When I reach the store, the bell above the door rings cheerfully, traitorously.
Grady looks up at once.
“Rose,” he says, smiling. “I was just thinking about—”
He stops.
The smile fades as he takes me in, the way I won’t quite meet his eyes, the way my shoulders are too tight.
