Heat pools between my thighs, an ache I can’t suppress. I tug the front of his coat, pulling him against me. “Free pass accepted.”
He lowers his lips to mine.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
TWO WEEKS LATER
WILLIAM
Idon’t know when I became so certain of my own defeat, but maybe I always knew, deep down, that I never stood a chance against Edwina. Not even my actor’s charm combined with my sister’s lovely words can hold a candle to Edwina’s genuine passion. She’s the full package. She puts her heart and soul into her work, and her readers respond in a way I don’t think they ever will to me.
So it’s no surprise when Edwina strolls into Barley and Mint Public House with an enormous grin on her face. Monty, Daphne, and I are already waiting for her at one of the booths. Monty and I rise from our seats as she approaches, and Daphne hops onto the table in her pine marten form.
Edwina trembles from head to toe. “I got it. I got the contract.”
I pull her into my arms at once. “Congratulations, love. You fucking deserve it.”
There isn’t a part of me that doesn’t mean every word.
She does deserve it. She deserves the world.
Today was our post-tour meeting with Mr. Fletcher at Fletcher-Wilson’s headquarters in the Earthen Court, located just down the street from the pub. Even though the sales forA Portrait of June, Etched in Solacewere massive during the tour, I knew he wasn’t going to offer me the contract. Even if he did, I was prepared to reject it unless subsequent books were published solely under Cassie’s name. I’m not certain that’s the right choice. Maybe my sister is happy with our arrangement. Maybe she even claims it’s what she wants. But what she deserves is recognition for her work. She deserves to be valued without my face stamped over her beautiful creativity.
Whatever the case, my career as a poet is over. I want to act. I want to return to the stage. Edwina has given me that courage. That burning ambition. A renewed competitive drive.
Maybe this time I’ll aim for roles I’m better suited for.
“I’m so happy for you,” Daphne says as Edwina and I break apart. “I urged Mr. Fletcher to pick you during my tour review—no offense.” She says the last part to me.
“None taken.”
“Oh, I think we were all rooting for Edwina,” Monty says, clapping his hands. “I was on William’s side for an entirely other purpose. Speaking of, how would you rate my matchmaking skills?”
Edwina arches a brow. “Matchmaker? You’re going to try to take credit for our relationship?”
Monty shrugs. “I’m building my portfolio.”
“What is with you and matchmaking?” Daphne says.
“Love is torture,” Monty says, “and I like torturing people.”
“There is one problem,” Edwina says, looking at me sidelong. My stomach falls, but I can already guess what she’s about to say. “It’s going to take six months for Mr. Fletcher to secure my citizenship. I’ll have to return home in a couple of weeks when my visitor’s pass expires.”
I squeeze her hand in a gesture of comfort. “Will you be able to keep your apartment in the meantime? Or will you stay with your parents?”
“I’ll stay with my parents. They’ll let me live at the estate without pressuring me to marry, so long as I assure them my career is secure. Besides, I want to spend time with them before I move. I won’t get to see them as often anymore.”
“And you’re sure you want this?” Even she must hear the unevenness in my tone. “To live here?”
She faces me with a serious expression. “With all my heart.”
Her words convey so much more than surface level. She wants this. Living here. Us. She’ll come back.
I may worry every minute she’s gone, fearing something might befall her while we’re apart, but I need to learn to let go. To stop feeling so responsible for those I love.
“We’ll write,” she says, and this time she’s the one offering the reassuring squeeze to my palm. “I’ll write until you’re sick of me.”
“That will never happen.”
