My cheeks flush and I wave an apologetic hand. “I’m so sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you. If you’re here for William, he isn’t in.”
“Actually, I’m here to see you.”
I shift awkwardly from foot to foot. “Did William send you here to talk to me?”
She scoffs. “On the contrary, I doubt he’d have let me take so much as a step out of his sight. He doesn’t know I’m here. Will you go to lunch with me in town?”
I’m tempted to refuse, but maybe talking to Cassie is exactly what I need. Maybe getting to know her better will help me understand their arrangement. And my feelings about it.
“Let me get my coat.”
Our destination isa few blocks from the hotel. I offer to hail us a cab, but she insists on walking.
“I feel really great today, I assure you,” she insists on our way. “The cane is mostly for days when my legs feel weak or painful. But I keep it on me in case of dizzy spells.”
“William told me a little about your condition,” I say, mindful not to appear like I’m fussing over her. “He said your mother had the same degenerative disease, and that it’s a mystery to the medical community.”
“A mystery, yes, but I have plenty of tonics and fae remedies that lessen my symptoms.”
We arrive at a café located on the bottom floor of a small building nestled between two taller ones, its circular windows framed with green vines and tiny pink rosebuds. The vines remind me of the ones William locked the door with last night.
I breathe away the memory, a mixture of pleasure and pain.
We sit at a table near a sunny window. Cassie orders food for us, as she’s been here before. Lunch consists of tea, an assortment of tiny sandwiches, and little round confections that are soft and gummy on the outside but filled with a sweet, cherry-flavored bean paste on the inside.
“It’s delicious, isn’t it?” she asks when I taste one.
“It is,” I say with a full mouth. Her expression suddenly falls, making my anxiety rise in tandem. “What’s wrong?”
She purses her lips before speaking. “I lied to you. Sort of. William doesn’t know I came to see you, but I did see him at the hotel already. We had a conversation.”
I halt my chewing. “About?”
“About the secret he told you last night. And your reaction.”
“Oh?” I take a nonchalant sip of tea, but my hands tremble.
She leans toward me and braces her elbows on the table. Then, lacing her hands, she props her chin upon them and watches me through slitted lids. “Miss Danforth—actually, can I call you Edwina?”
“Please.”
“Edwina, then. Do you have feelings for William?”
I nearly choke on my tea. Once I recover, I give her a nod. I do have feelings for her brother. Whether those feelings are good or bad—or both—I’m not sure.
“I thought so,” she says. “Just one look at the two of you yesterday, I suspected Zane was right. That you and William like each other.”
I can’t tell whether her tone is accusatory or merely curious, but my guilt flares just the same. Despite being ten years her senior, I can’t help feeling like I’m in trouble and wanting to do anything to get back on her good side. So I say nothing and wait for her to speak again.
“What William told you last night wasn’t his secret to tell,” she says. “It’sours. Mine and his. I made him promise to share the truth about our arrangement only with those who either need to know for business purposes or will listen and accept us with an open mind.”
My guilt grows deeper at those last words. They suggest William only told me because he thought there was a chance I would react in an understanding manner.
“Does Mr. Fletcher know?” I ask.
“He does. After I received his offer on the book and got William to agree to my proposal, I confessed that we are a writing duo and explained our arrangement. He was still willing to publish the book and let William be the public face. Though, after the book’s release, he was hesitant to promote it with a tour. Mr. Fletcher wasn’t sure my brother could pull it off, even with William’s acting skills. That’s why his promised tour never came to fruition. Not until he proved himself capable and earned a place beside you on The Heartbeats Tour.”
I don’t know whether to feel vindicated now that I know Mr. Fletcher is aware of the truth. If he approves of theirarrangement, why should I be so offended by it? Yet there’s more to my annoyance than that.
