He considered. “I do. I had not realized it until now.”
“What changed?”
He did not answer at once. But when he did, his voice was quieter. “I stopped measuring myself by my mother’s impossible standards, I suppose.”
The honesty caught her off guard.
At the final hoop, the competition narrowed. Adelaide, Cassian, and Beatrice stood closest, their balls clustered together. Beatrice struck first and missed narrowly, her groan theatrical.
Adelaide stepped forward next. She adjusted her grip, aware of Cassian’s attention, then struck. The ball passed through cleanly and came to rest just beyond.
Cassian went last. For a moment, he did not move. He looked at the ball, then at the hoop, then at Adelaide. Something unspoken passed between them, fragile and uncertain.
He struck.
The ball clipped the edge of the hoop and rolled through, coming to rest beside hers. A small, satisfied sound escaped him before he could stop it, and the others applauded.
“You have won,” Adelaide declared.
“Wehave won,” he corrected her.
The game at an end, they returned to the house.
Adelaide and Cassian lingered behind for a moment longer, the lawn quiet around them.
Cassian rested the mallet against his shoulder. “You played well.”
“So did you,” Adelaide replied.
They stood there, neither quite ready to move.
For the first time since their wedding, Adelaide thought she glimpsed not the man he believed himself to be, but the one he might yet allow her to know.
The evening was equally as enjoyable, and then the morning followed.
The house remained full, but it had softened, conversation flowing. Adelaide found Cecilia in the small sitting room overlooking the garden the day before they were supposed to leave. Her friend was sitting near the window with her embroidery, though her attention seemed to be elsewhere.
“May I join you?” Adelaide asked.
Cecilia looked up and smiled. “Of course.”
Adelaide took the chair opposite her and folded her hands in her lap. For a moment, she said nothing, and Cecilia did not rush her.
“I do not know what to make of him,” she blurted out.
Cecilia set her embroidery aside. “Cassian?”
“Yes.” Adelaide hesitated. “He is… gentler, more present, and I find myself waiting for the moment it will disappear.”
“Because you expect it to.”
“Of course I do. It is what happens every time I let myself believe that he will change. It might not always happen in the same manner, but it happens nonetheless.”
“Then your question is not whether the change is real, but whether it is lasting.”
“It is,” Adelaide sighed. “It is, and I do not know if I can trust it.”
Cecilia folded her hands together. “That is fine. You see, trust does not simply arrive fully formed. It is built over time, and you have that.”
