Bradley settled into a chair across from Lydia and handed her one of the steaming mugs.
I narrowed my gaze on them. What was Bradley doing, meeting up with Lydia?
She took a sip from the mug and smiled. “Mmm… Earl Grey tea with steamed milk and vanilla syrup. You have good taste.”
Bradley returned the smile. “It’s the seasonal special. You strike me as someone who appreciates what’s in season—and in style.”
“So tell me.” She leaned forward in her seat. “Why is my husband trying to destroy our marriage and everything we hold dear?”
Oh, no. He was meeting with her to talk about me? This was not okay. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone.
Bradley let out a sigh and took a long swig of his mug. He glanced around to make sure there was nobody nearby before starting. “You see, George Wickham is a complicated fellowwith a complicated past. Becoming a vampire changed him. He felt… like he needed to give up his friends and family.”
“But why would he do that?”
“Most vampires feel that way, I believe,” Bradley continued. “But George, well, even for a vampire, death has had a way of following him. I think he convinced himself that turning into a vampire made his life—made him—too dangerous, and since then he hasn’t really let himself truly connect with anyone.”
This was going too far. What gave him the right to talk to Lydia about this? To make conjectures about me—no matter how accurate they may be.
Lydia’s brows drew together, the steam of her mug curling up into the shape of little tiny hearts that slowly rose up before dissipating. “But he married me.”
“Most likely, he believed it was the best way to protect you.”
I pulled up Bradley’s number on my phone and glared at it, as if he could feel my outrage through just his contact information. I opened a text chat.
What are you doing, traitor?
Bradley took another sip of his drink and casually glanced at his phone that he’d set on the table.He picked it up and fired off a text.
There are no traitors here, only friends.
You’re meeting with her behind my back to discuss me. I can’t think of anything lower than that.
I’m helping a friend better understand another friend so that their relationship might flourish.
“What’s going on?” Lydia suddenly demanded. She craned her neck to look at Bradley’s phone. “Is he texting you right now?”
“Why yes, he is, as a matter of fact,” Bradley responded.
“What does it say?” She grasped the phone from Bradley and read the texts. Her gaze rose and she looked around. “He’s watching us, isn’t he? I could have sworn someone was following me.” She appeared ready to stand up on the chair and shout my name like a mother hen looking for a troublesome chick.
But instead, her shoulders slumped, and she sank into her seat. “So you’re saying he married me out of guilt? Does he really not want to be with me?”
“I don’t think it was out of guilt. Most guys don’t go around marrying people every time they feel guilty about something. And as to whether he wants to be with you… that’s something you will have to ask Wickham.”
“Thank you, Bradley. You’ve given me a lot to consider.”
“Noproblem, Lydia. Oh, Mason is calling. It’s probably his regular ‘stop meddling in other people’s business and come spend the morning with me’ call. I’m afraid I’m going to have to run.” He stood, gathering his coffee mug into his hand. “Let’s meet up again sometime soon.”
“Bye.” Lydia sat at the table as Bradley walked into the store to return the mug and gave her one last wave before heading down the street. Then she whispered fiercely, “I’m not giving up on us, George Wickham, not by a long shot. One way or another, we will work this out.”
Chapter 7
Icametotheold Austen Heights graveyard that sat next to the church that evening. Snow covered the graves and markers as flakes slowly fell from the sky, resting on the ground in the glow of the old-fashioned lights, giving it a serene, peaceful feeling.
Mary’s choice seemed wise, assuming this was the most isolated locale for our rendezvous. The graveyard sat deserted aside from Mary and a tall gentleman I identified as Frank Churchill.
I raised my eyebrows in surprise. Frank was a werewolf? I knew little about him besides the fact that his aunt owned a perfume factory just outside of town and that Bradley lovedsome of their fragrances. But Frank himself was rather well known. Another high fae set to inherit his aunt’s business.
