“I have other criteria, but physical attraction is what draws me to a potential spouse. That may come across as superficial, but I don’t mean to be. I come from a family that has always approached matrimony this way. When a man is ready to find a wife, he chooses someone who suits him and his needs—or our family’s needs—during a predetermined timeline. Love comes later. I have more freedoms than my older brothers and a career that generates personal wealth, so I don’t need to marry for prestige. I’m ready to settle down, simple as that. I’m a touch too pragmatic to wait for the whimsies of love to carry me away before I choose a bride. I apologize if that is unromantic.”
I shake my head. “No, it’s…it’s relatable.” If we’d had this conversation a month ago, we’d have been on the same page. This was exactly how I’d intended to find a husband. Not only did I not have the luxury of time to let my heart guide me, but a logical match felt safe. If I married before someone could see the rougher sides of me, I’d be at less risk of being alone. Less risk of being discovered as the untamed creature I really am—and rejected for it.
You’re a monster.
But that changed after this weekend. I saw what marriage looks like for a true love match. I’ve witnessed vows from the heart. Ever since, a yearning for that has taken root, and it isn’t even about matrimony. It’s about that connection. That kind of relationship. That true knowing between two people. Being seen and accepted.
You love the rain.
Even though I’ve acknowledged this new yearning, I don’t know what to do about it. Ever since I first glimpsed the first human city and fell in love with art, I’ve battled the opposing sides of my heart. The one that seeks comfort. That runs and hides when I’m scared or feels rejected. That avoids crowds and friendships unless they’re forced upon me. That participated in a drunken handfasting out of a temptation to bind myself to someone who will never leave or hurt me.
Then there’s the other side. The one that snuck back to the first human city I saw, to covertly visit galleries, lurking in corners in terrified fascination. The one that took the opportunity to learn to draw, even if it meant donning uncomfortable dresses, mingling with young women I didn’t know, and learning etiquette too. The one that returned to society, even after I’d experienced so much pain the first time. That picked up a paintbrush all over again and bled my heart onto canvas. That took the terrifying step and guided Monty’s hands on my body and asked for what I wanted.
It pulls me even now, one side begging me to accept this kind, straightforward man’s advances, the other telling me to run, to find Monty and tell him what’s in my heart.
My throat constricts at the thought.
No, he already rejected me.
Patrick releases a soft sigh. “Miss Hartford, I know you aren’t interested in me the way I want you to be.”
My pulse quickens. I open my mouth but it’s not like I can lie. Besides, do I even want to?
“I had an inkling even during our dances,” he says. “Your affections were—and likely still are—engaged elsewhere.”
I sink against the back of my chair, shoulders falling as I lose all remaining motivation to keep up my cultivated guise.
He chuckles. “It’s selfish of me, I know. I’m burdening you with having to reject me. Regardless, I’m prepared.”
“You knew…” I shift uncomfortably in my chair. “You knew I wasn’t interested, yet you pursued me anyway?”
“I knew, but I didn’tknowknow. Until you outright state your disinterest, I can’t be sure. Though before you can reject me, I suppose I must first state my intent. I wasn’t prepared to do this tonight, but you are far more direct than I expected you to be. So here it is. I am seeking a wife and am interested in courting you. Will you accept?”
“Why?” My voice trembles. “Why ask if you think you know my answer? Isn’t it going to hurt if I reject you?”
He shrugs. “It might, but it might hurt just as badly to never know if I’d had a chance. Furthermore, don’t you deserve to know how I feel? Or at least my intentions with you? It must feel gratifying to know you’re desired, even for superficial reasons.”
I suppose he’s right. His attention is flattering, and were my heart not so tangled up with Monty’s, I might be more than flattered. I might be elated. Especially now that I’ve dropped my guard, and he hasn’t shown an ounce of disappointment in me. I arrived at our fancy date dressed in casual attire. I slumped in my seat and ceased trying to speak softly. And he’s still waiting for me to reject him.
I’ve never seen myself this way. As someone who could do the rejecting.
Maybe that’s because I’ve hidden myself away as much as I could, all to avoid being rejected. Scorned. Disappointing people—repulsingpeople—when they realize I’ll always be a wild fae creature at heart.
Maybe I hold more power than I’ve ever given myself credit for.
“Now, come on,” Patrick says, his voice full of resignation despite the easy grin on his face. “I’m ready if you are.”
I blink at him. He really expects me to state it out loud? But it’s so obvious. Wouldn’t he rather keep his pride?
His earlier words return to me.
Until you outright state your disinterest, I can’t be sure.
It might hurt just as badly to never know…
My mind catches on that, replaying his words until something clicks into place.
Until you outright state your disinterest…
