That helps ease the tightening in my chest. “Dennis was so enamored with my writing that he sought me out by way of letter, going so far as to procure my address at college. I was honored to attract such a dedicated admirer, so I wrote him back. After that, we began a friendly correspondence. One that soon turned romantic. He professed to have fallen in love with me through my words. The things he said to me, the way he truly seemed to read into my very soul, convinced me that was true. I started to fall for him in turn, and for the first time, I got to experience the whirlwind romance many of my peers had already had.”
“Were you never courted before that?”
I shake my head. “I’ve been late to everything, it seems. I debuted in society years later than most girls. People were already calling me a spinster by then. My first social season was so horrendous, I refused to participate ever again. That’s when I set my mind to furthering my education. I had no proclivity for matrimony and still don’t. Dennis was the only exception. AfterI fell in love with him, marriage and romance were all I could think of. I couldn’t write. I could hardly sleep. I just wanted more. More sweet letters. More professions of love. Most of all, I wanted to meet him in person.”
“Did you?”
A heavy sigh escapes my lips. “Eventually, yes. He lived on the other side of the country, but he was just as desperate to meet me as I was him. We set a date and exchanged letters daily. He wrote about all the things we’d do together, the way he’d sweep me in his arms and pepper me with kisses. I’d never been so excited in my life. The world looked brighter. My heart was constantly flipping. My grades suffered, as did my writing, but I thought it would be worth it. Maybe I’d soon be married and would no longer be interested in a career. Maybe I’d want to run a household like my married sisters did. Like my parents wanted me to.”
William furrows his brow. Even he can tell where my story is going. “What happened?”
“We met,” I say, my voice cracking slightly. “Turns out, my words are more beautiful than I am.”
Silence falls in the wake of my confession, and it takes me a few moments to realize William is no longer at my side. I halt and find him stopped several feet back, an agonized look on his face. Then his expression hardens. “Explain.”
I’m startled by his reaction, by the curl of his fists, the hard set of his shoulders. I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes. “He took one look at me, and…and there was nothing but disappointment on his face. We’d exchanged portraits, but…”
My words get lost in the tightness in my throat. I still remember the way Dennis looked at me. The way he pulled his chin back. The way his smile turned into a grimace. I shared some of his disappointment, for it was one thing to stare at a man’s unmoving portrait and another to see him animated,expressive. To hear his voice, so stilted compared to the lovely flow of his pen. So nasally when I’d imagined a rich baritone.
I clear my throat. “We proceeded with an incredibly awkward date, and we even spent the night together. That was the end of it. He never contacted me again. Never renewed his confessions of ardor. It was over, and I wasn’t even heartbroken. Not really. It felt more like waking up from a dream. The love I thought I felt wasn’t real, and I was almost relieved. I shifted my focus back to my studies, my writing, and I never looked back. Ever since, I’ve vowed to put my words first, for he was right. My words are more beautiful than me, and I’m all right with that. My words deserve all my time and?—”
“No.” William runs a hand over his face, rubbing his jaw before he locks eyes with me, expression brimming with agony once more. “Edwina, no. Please tell me you don’t truly believe that.”
I wave my hands in a reassuring gesture. “I’m really all right with it. It’s just the truth and one I can handle. I love my career?—”
“Edwina.” The sound of my name, so harsh on his lips, silences me. He strides up to me, anger flashing in his eyes. “Don’t say another idiotic word and listen. I’m only going to say this once.”
He’s so close I have to angle my head to meet his eyes. I swallow hard and give him a nod.
“You are beautiful,” he says, voice deep and melodic. “Your words are beautiful. There is nothis is more beautiful than thatwhen it comes to you. Your beauty and the beauty of your work are separate entities. Dennis fucking Feverforth was an idiot. He put you on a pedestal. He didn’t deserve the eyes he assessed you with or the heart he professed to love you with if he couldn’t separate himself from the fantasy he built around you and take you for the prize you are.”
His chest heaves as if he couldn’t release the words fast enough. Meanwhile, I’m frozen in place, reeling.
I blink at him. Once. Twice.
A blaze of heat melts over my cheeks. I shake my head. “You…you called my words smut and drivel.”
He throws his head back with a heavy sigh before returning his gaze to me. “I didn’t mean it,” he whispers. “It was a wicked thing to say, but it was more of an act. You must know by now that I present a specific persona to my readers.”
I have noticed, and I’ve liked seeing more and more of the real him recently. Still…
“You said the words, William. If you can’t lie, then it must have been true at the time.”
“Technically, I stated no direct lie.”
I open my mouth to argue, but as I think back to our first meeting, I realize he’s right. He didn’t outright say he dislikedThe Governess and the Fae, even though he did insult it with his flippant attitude and harsh words. Fae are famous for their deception, and an indirect insult he didn’t mean doesn’t count as a lie. While I’m annoyed he finds it pertinent to put on an act around his fans, I can’t say I’m any better. I’m the one who pretended to be an expert seductress, and that wasn’t a matter of deception. My lie was outright.
He steps closer, pulling me from my thoughts. “I like your books, Edwina Danforth.”
Nothing could have shocked me more. The way he stated those words…
He nods as if reading my mind. “I couldn’t say that if it wasn’t true. I like your books and your words and your passion for your writing. While I may have resented you for a while, as I associated you with my horrible experience in the play, I don’t feel that way now. I don’t resent you at all. Weenie, I?—”
My heart thuds against my ribs as I wait for him to finish that sentence. His gaze is so intense I don’t know if I want to shrink away from it or bask in it forever. The silence that stretches on in the wake of his unfinished statement grows heavier with every breath. His shoulders are tense, his fingers curling and uncurling at his sides as his blue irises dart from my eyes to my lips, then down the length of me. His fingers flinch again.
Does he…want to reach for me? Touch me? Or am I reading too much into this?
Finally, he moves, slipping his hand effortlessly into mine. I’m almost disappointed when all he says is, “Let’s go home.”
