The bids rise higher and higher in rapid succession.
Thirty. Thirty-five. It jumps to forty. Then fifty, with a trio of bidders battling to get the better of each other.
“Fifty-two,” says the woman at the front, her eyes still locked on me as she fans her ample bosom with her dancing card.
“Fifty-three,” her rival shouts.
“Fifty—”
“Two hundred.”
The voice calls out from the very back of the crowd, and my heart lurches as I see the auburn head peek above all the rest.
Edwina.
She’s here.
Our eyes lock across the crowd and I rise from my seat.
I can’t see her fully, but from how she’s grown two heads taller and the way she splays her arms, she must be balancing on a chair. It reminds me of the first day we met, when she stood on a chair to spout awful poetry before getting tangled with me in a bet.
She raises her hand, empty without a bidding number. “Two hundred sapphire rounds,” she shouts, almost breathless. “Did I do it right?”
Silence echoes back as the bidders turn to look at her.
“That’s Edwina Danforth,” someone whispers. “The romance author.”
The woman at the front huffs. “Two hundred and one?—”
“The bet,” Edwina shouts. “I bid the dissolution of our bet.”
I take a step toward the edge of the stage, my mind spinning to comprehend what she’s saying, what she’s doing.
More whispers break out in the crowd, and even the auctioneer looks puzzled.
“What is she talking about?” someone asks.
“Can we bid intangibles?”
Edwina raises her hand again. “My heart.” Her voice cracks on the word. “I bid my heart, Will.”
My breath hitches at the sound of my name. Not my full name. Not my stage name. Just…me.
I race down the stairs at the edge of the stage and make a beeline for her. The crowd parts in gasps and startled exclamations, but I only have eyes for her. Finally, the sea of bodies parts enough to give me a full view. She’s outfitted in that gorgeous fucking dress that I once had my hands beneath, and the way her crooked updo spills loose frizzy tendrils all around her shoulders only enhances her beauty. Because this is a bold and uncaring kind of beauty that eclipses all else.
I stop before her. With the height of the chair, she stands slightly taller. My fingers yearn to touch her, but I don’t dare until I know she wants me to.
Her eyes glaze behind her lenses, and her bottom lip quivers. “I’m sorry I’m so stubborn, Will. You’re right about me. I get so high on my ideals that I judge others for not following them too.”
“You don’t ever have to apologize for being stubborn,” I say, my voice as rough and uneven as hers. “I love that about you.”
Her eyes widen.
“I loveyou, Edwina, exactly as you are.”
“You love me?”
My mouth curls. “I love you.”
