It makes her brave.
She’s been waiting all season for the impossible. For someone to swoop in and save her, to tell her what to do and make it all right. But that’s not going to happen. This imperfect life with their mothers screaming, their fathers amused and useless, Christopher snickering—this is her goddamned romantic novel, and she’s not letting their mothers decide what becomes of them without asking them first. She’s going to save herself, and Rosalie, and rewrite this damn ending.
“You don’t get to decide what happens to our lives, tomydaughter,” Mother starts.
“Enough!” Catherine hears herself yell, marching down the stairs.
Her voice rings around the foyer and everyone turns to look at her. She stops on the bottom step and stares around at all of them with her hands on her hips. “You cannot unilaterally make decisions about my life, about Rosalie’s life—however well-meaning.”
“Exactly. It is not your—” Mother starts.
“You can’t make decisions like this for us either. Much less without even talking to me about it,” Catherine adds, looking to her mother, forcing the words out, even though they come out choked and tight.
Mother looks over at her. “Catherine—”
Catherine shakes her head and steps off the stairs. She takes a deep breath and gestures to the second floor.
“If everyone would please make their way up to our sitting room, so we may discuss this like civilized people for the love of all that’s holy.”
Christopher and Lady Jones both laugh while Mother and Lady Tisend just stand there staring at her.
“Now, if you would,” Catherine prompts.
She waits, tapping her toe, while Lord Tisend and Father come and take their wives’ arms. Both of them grin at her while leading Mother and Lady Tisend toward the stairs. Christopher and Lady Jones follow them up, giving her proud nods and smiles, and Catherine feels the tension begin to leach out of her shoulders.
She doesn’t think she’s ever been that loud before.
She watches almost hazily as Rosalie drops her bonnet and walks quickly across the foyer, the two of them alone now. Catherine opens her mouth, to laugh, to sob, to greet her, but Rosalie doesn’t give her a chance. She reaches up and cradles Catherine’s face in her hands, pulling her into a deep, needy kiss.
Catherine wraps her arms instinctively around Rosalie’s delicate shoulders, holding on tight as her tongue slicks into Catherine’s mouth. They both groan, the sound loud in the now-empty foyer, but it doesn’t matter. They’re together, and they’re kissing in the middle of her house, unafraid. Catherine could stay just like this forever.
Eventually, Rosalie pulls back, looking up at her, her eyes wide and dark, lips red. “That was by far the hottest thing I haveeverseen.”
Catherine laughs, leaning in to rest her forehead on Rosalie’s. “Yeah?”
“You should be bossy more often,” Rosalie says eagerly.
Catherine leans down for one more kiss. “I’ll try,” she says, stepping back so she can take Rosalie’s hands. “Would you care to tell me what the hell is going on?” she asks, instead of pushing Rosalie against the railing and rucking up her skirts.
“Well, my mother has decided we’re to move in with Aunt Genevieve for the foreseeable future and be scandalously in love away in the country, if you’re interested.”
Catherine blinks at her. “Oh, um—”
“While your mother would much prefer we stay here, figure things out, and live at home, separately. I suppose we’d slowly have to win her over to get to stay the night at either house together.”
“That sounds—”
“I’m a bit more partial to being lovers in the country, if you are.”
Catherine pauses, squeezing Rosalie’s hands. “Wait. You said we’d be scandalously in love in the country?”
Rosalie’s eyes go wide. “Oh. Yes. Um, if you’d like. I—I’d love to... love you in the country, if you’re willing.”
Catherine feels the grin spread across her face, her chest loosening, a giggle falling from her lips. “I’ll be in love with you wherever we are, but the country would be nice.”
Rosalie’s face splits in an answering, beautiful, glorious smile, and they grab at each other, pressing their smiles together, too happy to kiss properly, laughing.
She’s never felt this happy before. She’s never felt so herself. Never felt so supported, so cherished, so loved. And loving Rosalie—it’s like breathing the most wonderful mountain air,expanding, and brimming, and just on the pleasurable side of fabulously painful.
