“I hate that he lies to his fans, obscuring the truth from them. Doesn’t it bother you that he’s turned your title into a farce? Making up a story about some great lost love named June?”
She snorts a laugh. “For one, we aren’t completely obscuring the truth. The copyright page discloses me as the author and William as the performer. For another, William didn’t make up the idea of June as a former lover.Junein my title refers to nothing more than a month. It’s our fans who’ve made the leap. Yes, he’s used it as fuel for his role’s backstory, and he makes vague statements or provides broody anecdotes that allow our readers to continue believing as they already do. They’re going to speculate whether we want them to or not.”
“Wouldn’t you rather they knew the truth? The real meaning behind your words? The real stories that live behind your poetry, and not the act William puts on?” I don’t mention that if I’d known the truth I might not have ridiculedA Portrait of Juneso relentlessly. I never thought the poems were bad, in my heart of hearts. Only that William was pretentious and—as an automatic result—anything he said or did was too. Including what I assumed was his poetry. For the love of all things, how did he hide his anger when I made fun of his sister’s poetry to his face?
“Do you want your readers to know the truth?” Cassie says with an arched brow. “Which parts of your books come from the deepest aspects of your soul and which are mere whimsy?”
She has a point. I remember how embarrassed I was when Jolene assumed I’ve experienced every sexual scenario I’ve written about. “No, but I write fiction.”
“So? Who says poetry must be autobiographical? If I want anonymity, I should be allowed to have it. It’s no one’s business who my poems are about or if they are based on real experiences. Those words and emotions are mine. You see William as a fraudbut he’s more like my shield. He bears the brunt of everyone’s expectations and speculations, while I get to create. That’s all I want to do. Please don’t hold that against him.”
The hollow ache in my chest abates the slightest bit. Maybe I have judged William too harshly. Yet so much pain remains.
I blow out a heavy sigh. “I hate that he lied to me. William Haywood isn’t even his real name.”
Her expression turns hard. “He’s my brother, Edwina. He may not have been born a Haywood but he deserves my family name. It just so happens that it’s his stage name and our pen name. That doesn’t mean he’s been dishonest with you about his identity.”
The edge in her tone slashes through my indignation, making my argument seem as frail as a worn piece of parchment.
“You’re judging him too harshly,” she says, and everything inside me echoes that she’s right. “This isn’t some grand scheme; it’s our shared art. He’s the public face, and I’m the creator. We’re a team. I don’t want the spotlight. He does. He wants this for me, but I want this for him too. The popularity of our book will breathe life into his career.”
My shoulders slump. I know all about his failing career, but not once did I consider how much this might save it. “I just…I suppose if he told me from the start, I wouldn’t have been so hurt.”
She gives me a withering look. “If he told you from the start, you might never have given him a chance. You’re clearly prejudiced against our arrangement.”
Normally I’d bristle at such an accusation…but she’s right. I never gave William the chance to explain before I shoved a wall of my ideals between us. While I still feel like it’s dishonest to their fans, I do understand both William’s and Cassie’s side better now.
I give her a tight smile. “I’ll try to have an open mind. Can I ask you something out of a genuine desire to better understand?” At her nod, I say, “Is this really your dream? The poetry book? This arrangement you have with William?”
“It’s a step toward it,” she says. “I want to attend college and I want to write a play that my brother stars in before I die. The doctor gave me a prognosis of six more years.”
Shock surges through me, even more so by the nonchalance in her tone. “Six years? What do you mean?”
“My symptoms have progressed much faster than my mother’s, plus I have my own additional ailments I’ve had to deal with.”
I stare at her open-mouthed. Is this why William has spoken about her not having time? Why he’s so desperate to make her happy? It’s not just that she’s human and fragile compared to him. It’s not just that she suffers from ailments. It’s that she has a tangible prognosis. A timeline.
She gives me another withering look. “Don’t look at me with such sad eyes. I have every intention of living to a ripe old age.”
I sit back in my chair, dumbstruck.
“There’s something you should understand about William,” Cassie says. “Did he tell you about Lydia? My mother?”
“He told me she died. That his father left her.”
“Do you also know how fae and human aging work in Faerwyvae?”
“I know fae used to age slowly,” I say, “but have begun aging as quickly as humans do. Yet most still cease aging once they reach maturity. Meanwhile, some humans have experienced slower aging.”
“Those who are in romantic partnerships with fae,” Cassie clarifies. “There has been proof that platonic fae partnerships—like friends or family—can slow human aging, but romantic relations are the most effective. When Lydia met William’sfather, she experienced a drastic improvement in her health conditions, but he left us when William went to university. My mother didn’t want William to know because she knew he’d worry. So he didn’t find out that his father left or that Mother was ill until after graduation.” Cassie’s gray eyes glaze, and her voice takes on a quaver. “William blamed himself for not being able to do more. For not being enough to make Mother well.”
My own eyes fall under a sheen as I imagine what that must have felt like for him. He probably hated himself for having enjoyed his time at university while his mother was suffering.
“He never should have felt responsible for her health,” Cassie says. “No one should be put in that position. To be honest, I can’t even blame his father. I never want someone to love me and stay with me just to keep me alive. But William can’t let that go. He carries guilt that he wasn’t enough for Lydia and that he isn’t enough for me either. He hates that all the debt we accumulated during Mother’s final years of medical treatment fell under my name after she died. Since our parents never married, neither William nor his father held any legal burden for me or the debt. That made William feel guiltier than anything. Nothing I can say will lessen his sense of shame, which is why he dotes on me like he does. Why he wants to be responsible. He wants to give me everything while I’m alive.”
A tear trickles down my cheek. How can I blame him? Even I want Cassie to have everything, and I hardly know her. It crushes my heart that William considers himself inadequate just because he isn’t all-powerful. At the same time, I realize what a marvel it is that he was brave enough to open his heart to me. Me, a human he’s worried he could fail.
Me, who fled from him at my first chance.
