“Don’t fall for a commoner?” I demand. “Is that what you’re trying to tell me? Because, sister dear, pot calling kettle black, because that’s exactly whatyoudid.”
To give Fenella credit, she’s had years to learn how to ignore my jerk tone. Because that was what that was. “Are you falling for her?”
“No,” I snap before I can even think about the question.
“I’m more worried about Sophie falling for you,” Fenella says.
“Well, don’t,” I tell her. “Because there’s no way that someone as great and nice and as much of a little sister as everyone thinks of her as would ever fall for me. Trust me on that.”
I put on headphones after that and manage to ignore Fenella for the rest of the flight. I focus on the movie because I don’t want to think about Sophie, or whether I’m falling for her.
Some days I worry that it’s already too late.
And then the next morning will come, and Sophie will smile at me so brightly, like one of the stars shining on her mural, and I’m reminded that she is too good for me. That Fenella shouldn’t worry about me hurting Sophie, because unless I get my head into the game and stop comparing her to stars, and thinking she’s as comfortable to be around as one of my old concert T-shirts, then I’m going to be the one walking away with my heart in pieces.
And I’m not about to let that happen again.
25
Sophie
It’stheseconddaysince Ashton left and I try not to count the hours until he’s back.
I shouldn’t think about his being gone and how I feel about that.
I feel kind of sad. Miserable, actually. And I shouldn’t.
I tell myself it’s only because I miss having company, but that’s not true because I’ve always been happy having time to myself to paint.
And that’s what I do while he’s away—I finish my painting of an ocean landscape, with a whale breaching in the distance, and moonlight making the waves sparkle.
I don’t miss having company. I miss Ashton’s company.
The next morning when Mrs. Theissen brings me my daily pot of tea, I invite her to join me.
“I’m sure you’re super busy,” I add. “But maybe just a cup?”
I’ve known Mrs. Theissen my entire life, but it wasn’t until I stayed at the castle that I understood just how much she does for the family.
Mrs. Theissen pauses, and indecision sweeps across her face, probably for the first time. “Maybe just a cup,” she finally agrees. “Two sugars, please,” she instructs.
And then we sit in silence for a moment, and I wonder what I’ve done. To invite her to share a cup of tea with me means conversation, small talk. Getting to know her.
It’s not that I’m opposed to this, but Mrs. Theissen is very reserved. Stoic and serious. Dressed all in grey, jacket and skirt, with a white silk blouse buttoned to the top. Black shoes with no-nonsense heels.
She is British, after all.
Today, Ed, the giant orange Maine coon, has deigned to visit, and takes up most of the couch. As I fix her a cup of tea, Mrs. Theissen tries to push the cat off to the side, but he keeps butting his head against her knee. She finally gives in and begins to stroke his back with a resigned expression.
I hand her a cup and lean back in the chair.
“How are your toes?” she asks politely after we’ve sipped.
When someone asks about my toes, the tiny digits flex instinctively like they’re a flower searching for the sun. It would be cute if it didn’t hurt so much. “Almost back to my normal colour.”
“And Mr. Carrington? He’s returning today?”
“Tonight, I think.” I wait for the lecture that usually comes after someone mentions Ashton. I wait for the well-meaning advice that suggests I not get too close.
