“And then I,” Sneaking a peak about like a boy in trouble, he lowered his voice even further. “ruined our damned wedding night.”
More tears fell. “That was also my fault. Not yours.”
His features grew strained.
“They are happy tears,” she promised him. “Look at me. I am the happiest I’ve ever been, because of you.
“You know, I used to be good at things such as this, Daria.” He yanked his cravat hard. “See, I would never have said that before.”
“I do not need the perfect words, Gregory. I just want real ones, and that is what you give me and that is one of the reasons I love you.”
He chuckled softly. “Do you know why, Daria?”
She shook her head.
His expression grew contemplative. She wondered if he saw her, or whether he was lost in his self-revelations. “I didn’t care before. I didn’t need to get it right. No one mattered.” His eyes found hers. “Before you.” Pain glinted in his eyes. “I hate the existence I made for myself.”
“It was lonely.”
He gave a juddering nod.
His vulnerability touched her.
“If you hadn’t been there, we wouldn’t be here,” she reminded.
The moon’s light played with his eyes, giving them a slight sheen.
She lost herself in them; not wanting to blink in fear of losing this moment. “Everything before this, Gregory—”
“Brought us together,” he breathed.
Gregory brushed his lips against hers, a touch more promise than kiss. “There was something I failed to share when you asked about the Poussin above our bed.”
She waited, held within his arms.
“I would never have noticed that painting,” he continued quietly, “had it not been for a somber pair standing before it that day. I took them for a young father and his daughter. A recent widower, I suspected. The girl could not have been more than thirteen.” He paused. “Shortly after, I purchased the piece.”
Daria stilled.Not long after, she’d returned to find it gone.
Warmth rippled through her, subtle and unmistakable, as though every part of her had gone suddenly alert.
“They were utterly absorbed,” he said. “It was they who drew my eye; the purity of their moment.”
Her breath caught. “Me?”
“Who else could it have been, Daria?” His voice gentled, deep with something that hurt and healed all at once. “It was you.”
His forehead rested against hers.
“It wasalwaysyou.”
Her husband drew her in, and held her close, and gave her everything she’d ever dreamed of; and evenmore—dreams, she hadn’t known she wanted, untilhim.
From the moment she’d gone to Gregory, he had given her everything.
Reality came slipping through, unwelcome and unwanted.
Gregory inched back only enough to search her face again. The wool fabric of his flawlessly tailored coat pulled taut. “What is it?”
