It is Alfred’s green book—or not his, but another copy of the same one.
“You did this?”
“Yes. I found it as a desperate young man on a bookstore shelf—and I thank the person who left it there for me. So I hope someone else will find it. And may it help them know their desires and find peace.”
“And what better revenge on William Acton,” I say. “To put him in such company.”
He takes the brown volume from my hand and puts it back on the shelf.
“Indeed. I’d burn all the copies ofthatbook if I could. Just like I burned those broadsheets.”
“What do you mean?”
He sighs.
“That broadsheet in my pocket. I found it on a newsstand with about fifty others. I bought them all and burned them in the street.”
“They must have been sold elsewhere,” I say, laughing through my tears. “It was silly to burn them.”
“Undoubtedly. But I wanted to destroy them all the same, so I did. They made me so angry. They denigrate you, Annabelle, because they can’t control you. They hate you for being what they can’t stand. Beautiful and powerful and not controlled by any man.”
“Not even you?”
He laughs.
“Certainly not by me. Don’t you remember? I am at your mercy. Always.”
“But I am at yours,” I say. “I need you. It’s true. I don’t want to be without you.”
“You will never have to be,” he says, kissing me once more, tenderly.
But I have one more question.
“Then why did you keep one broadsheet?”
“It was foolish. I did it to remind myself that I once believed such dross. Before I met you. I imagined you as something like those caricatures. And then when I met you—” He breaks off. “I shouldn’t have kept it. Not when I knew you could have found it.”
“I thought it meant that you had grown disgusted with me. That you believed it.”
“It could never be, my love.”
He kisses me again, and I let him.
How could I not love this man? He came after me. He wants to protect me, to keep me safe, to give me freedom and a safe haven as no man ever has. All while not restricting me in the least. All while celebrating what makes me myself.
Tears leak from my eyes. I was cruel to deny him the truth for so long. In my heart, I have known for a long time how I feel for him. But I was too scaredto admit it.
Now I look into his eyes, that crisp green, and know the time has come to tell the truth.
“I love you, Alfred.”
He smiles down at me and brushes his fingers against my cheek. He looks, even to my eye, utterly happy and utterly serene.
And then he says the words that I hoped he would.
That I need to hear above all others.
“I know, Annabelle.”
