“The license?” I asked. “Someone actually gave us permission to marry?”
He nodded and then reached for me, tugging me close. “I didn’t think we’d pull this off, Inez.” One of his arms braced my lower back, and a warm feeling spread down to my toes. The soft linen of his shirt brushed against my temple and I heard his steady heartbeat under my cheek.
“Why are you shaking?” he whispered against my hair.
“I didn’t think you were coming,” I whispered back.
Whit moved me far enough away that he could gaze down into my face. “Why on earth would you think that?”
“You were distant earlier,” I said. “It didn’t feel like we were in this together. And when I saw you last night in the lobby, I worried about what it meant.”
“I had to ask a friend for a favor,” he said, wincing. “And I got carried away acting a part.” He used his index finger to tip my chin upward. “I wouldn’t change my mind about marrying you, Inez.”
“This is probably a terrible idea,” I said. “Isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he said softly. “But the best option we have, right?”
He was correct, but I hated how it sounded like it was our last resort. I glanced down at our attires. Neither of us was dressed for celebration. I wasn’t wearing a new gown, with ribbons and ruffles, or enough jewelry to make me glitter like a far-off constellation. The fabric of my clothing felt heavy and cloying. I was dressed for mourning. And perhaps, a part of me did grieve. I had always thought my wedding day would be under blue skies, inside the church I knew like the palm of my hand, and followed by a lavish breakfast. Surrounded by my parents and extended family, my favorite cousin, Elvira, at my side.
But my cousin was dead, my father was still missing, and my mother was a thief.
We approached the ancient church constructed above the gatehouse of a Roman-built Babylon fortress. Whit led the way, wearing another wrinkled navy shirt tucked into his khaki pants. He hadn’t changed his shoes. His lace-up boots went up his calf, and they were dusty and well-worn. His face bore the marks of our time in the tomb—a bruise had bloomed across his cheek; a shallow gash followed the line of his scruffy jaw. And his eyes were still bloodshot.
I’d done reckless things in my life, but getting married in a secret ceremony surpassed them all. I tried not to think about what Tío Ricardo and Tía Lorena would say if they could see me now. But I heard their admonishments anyway.
Thoughtless. Foolish. Rash.
At least I was taking charge of my own life. Making a decision thatallowed me to do what I wanted, even if it might be a mistake. If it was, I’d find a way through. I always did. I could, at least, trust myself enough to know what I wanted.
And that was to stay in Egypt—however possible.
“Do you know why it’s called the Hanging Church?” Whit said, jarring me from my thoughts. He pointed through the iron gates situated under a pointed arched roof and to the twenty-nine steps leading up to the carved wooden door. “The nave is suspended over a passageway.”
“It’s lovely,” I said, my attention arrested by the twin bell towers flanking the arabesque entrance. It would have looked beautiful adorned in flowers and satin ribbons.
Whit strode forward, and I followed, my heart slamming against my ribs with every step we took in unison. Together we climbed, and then he pulled the heavy door open. He tossed a glance over his shoulder, meeting my gaze swiftly. His expression was unreadable in the dying light of the day. The spread of purple light swept across the sky as the evening prayer rose higher into the burgeoning night.
“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice quiet.
“Am I ready?” I repeated. “No. I can’t believe we’re about to do this. Ten minutes ago, you were going to marry someone else. Five minutes ago, I didn’t think you were coming. But now you’re marryingme, and we’re here. When we walk through that door, this silly idea will become real. My mind feels fuzzy all of a sudden. Does your mind feel fuzzy?”
Whit let the door swing shut. His chin dropped, his attention straying to the toes of his boots. When he lifted his face again, his expression was carefully neutral. He contemplated me in the dusky light and seemed to come to a decision. “We don’t have to do this, Inez. We can walk back to Shepheard’s and pretend—”
“But then what?” My voice turned shrill. “Tío Ricardo still controls my fortune. I have nothing, not even a place to sleep. I must vacate the room on the tenth of January. By the way, it’s theninthof January, in case it’s escaped your notice.”
“You’ll think of something,” Whit said, grinning. But the smile didn’t quite meet his eyes. “You always do.”
“I’m tired of trying to plan six moves ahead. Pretending to be a widow and lying to my aunt so I could come to Egypt, sneaking out of the hoteltwice, and then stowing away on theElephantine—”
His voice was kind, his fist still closed around the door handle. “Olivera, I know.”
“I don’t have another option,” I continued. “And I need to stay in Egypt. My mother—”
Whit released the handle and stepped closer. He placed his hands on my shoulders, bending his knees so that he could meet my eyes. His breath brushed against my mouth. “Sweetheart, Iknow.”
The endearment felt like a soft touch, smoothing away the knot of tension pressing against my temples. He rarely used them—only when I was inconsolable or in mortal peril. His nearness overwhelmed my senses. This towering man would be my husband—if I wanted. It seemed incredible, impossible. Excitement pulsed in my blood. I wanted Whit, but I also wanted control of my life. Saying yes to Whit meant my uncle could no longer dictate my plans, my future. It meant I could stay in Egypt.
No more planning. No more stratagems. That kind of behavior reminded me of my mother. And I didn’t want to be her; I didn’t want to inherit something that could hurt so many people. And suddenly, I remembered that I already had.
