Maxwell turned his face away so she might not see the full extent of his injuries. His chest burned, but for once, the pain wasn’t a relief.
“What is it?” Lydia asked, her voice uncertain.
“I’m sorry for summoning you here like this.” Simon softened his voice when addressing her. “But your uncle has a preconception about himself I would like to take steps to disprove, if you would help me.”
“Maxwell?” Lydia’s voice sounded too young, and he wished vehemently that Simon had not brought her here to see him in this state. “Whathappened?”
“It’s nothing.” He smiled, and his lip split again. He let the smile drop. “I just got into a bit of a fight.”
“Over the years you have known him, has he ever made you feel unsafe?” Simon asked.
Lydia frowned. “No, of course not. He has been everything that is good and kind.”
“Has he ever harmed you in any way?”
“No.” Lydia’s voice came stronger now, and Maxwell caught a glimpse of the woman she would be once she entirely grew out of girlhood—a force to behold. “He would never do anything like that.”
“You are certain?”
“Positive,” Lydia said. “To what do these questions pertain?”
“Has he ever raised his hand against you?”
“No,” Lydia said.
“Is his anger ever unjust?”
“Even when Mama hurt him and acted against Thalia, he was calm and collected,” Lydia said, gathering steam. “He is a good man, and I trust him entirely.” She came to kneel before Maxwell, taking one of his hands in hers, the blood on his knuckles a stark contrast to her pale, soft skin. “You are the greatest uncle I could ever have asked for,” she told him. “And Thalia is fortunate indeed to have you as a husband.”
“Do you love Lydia?” Simon asked.
Maxwell clenched his jaw. “That’s different. She’s my niece. I think of her as my daughter.”
“As though your father made that distinction,” Simon said with disgust. “Answer the question.”
“Yes, I love her.”
Lydia squeezed his hand. “I know you do.”
“And you see how that in all the years you loved her, you never did anything to harm her or make her feel unsafe in your presence?”
Maxwell looked into Lydia’s face and knew with a deep, grounding certainty that he would never, ever do anything to hurt her. Such a thing was not possible. He could never conceive of harming such a young, innocent, lovely girl. His father had raised his hand against his mother and them, but he could not raise his hand against Lydia.
But was that enough?
“Thalia makes you happy,” Lydia said. “And I know she makes you so. You’ve been different these past few weeks since marrying her. Like you’ve been living your life in the dark and have finally stepped into the sun.” She paused, her eyes glistening with tears that never fell. “And I believe—I truly believe—that my father would have wanted you to find happiness.”
Christopher.
That Chris would have wanted him to find happiness was undeniable, but Maxwell had always assumed his happiness would come from quiet, resigned contentment at his life, not from a woman.
Not from love, when love could go so terribly wrong.
Except in all his years, it had yet to go wrong. Simon was right: he did love Thalia.
This was love. He loved her.
He dropped his head into his hands.
