She slides away from me, and I tense, half expecting her to open the other door, bolt, but she only buckles her seatbelt, staring straight ahead, her hands folding in her lap.
I’ve never felt the weight of a silence like this one, and my jaw is clenched enough to cut glass as I watch her, the car rolling from the curb.
I’d like for her to say something, anything, but she remains silent and I don’t ask her to speak in front of the driver.
We drive down the coast, the ocean appearing and disappearing as the road winds along the cliffs.
The property my house is situated upon backs up to the ocean. There is a second house perched on the cliffs, which used to be my favorite place in the world. But that was before.
As we approach Grandmont, I finally break the silence, but it’s not Katarina I speak to, but my driver. “Hank, take us to the White House.”
Katarina finally looks at me. “We’re going to America?”
The corners of my lips turn up automatically. “No. Not that White House.”
The gates open and Hank pulls onto the property, then immediately turns right, taking the small road that winds around the estate, all the way to where the land gives way to the ocean.
There is enough moonlight, that it sparkles off the water, the roar of the ocean heard over the purr of the car engine.
“Why are we here?”
I sigh. “Seemed like the right place to have this conversation.”
She gives a small jerk of her chin, her lips pressing into a thin line. The driver parks and opens my door. I climb out and circle around to help Katarina, but she doesn’t take my offered hand.
Instead, she passes me, then stops to first take in the ocean, before her gaze travels to the cottage.
In the moonlight, the crisp white paint is less noticeable, but the cottage still looks impressive, with its large overhangs, and fresh flower boxes, perched on the edge of the cliff.
It’s a house all to itself with a kitchen, living room with large fireplace, dining room, and three bedrooms upstairs.
Rebecca and I spent many nights here, and I think for her, she imagined it was a house all our own, where we lived a life like I wasn’t a duke. She played pretend here.
But it was all make-believe.
Katarina pulls her cover tighter around her shoulders and I reach for her, automatically responding to her need for warmth, but she steps out of my grasp, moving just out of my reach.
She has the grace of a queen, her head held high, and I take a moment to admire the majesty of her uptilted chin. The strength that carries her through this moment.
I’ve never met her equal and I doubt I will again.
And while I’m glad to see her strength returning, I also… I hate that I took it from her. Every person needs a safe haven, a place or a person where they’re allowed to be soft. Vulnerable.
Has she ever had that?
“Let’s go inside,” I say, offering my arm.
“Fine.” She doesn’t take it, instead, she moves ahead of me, walking toward the door.
I close the gap between us, stepping next to her, and open the door, inviting her inside, even as I flick on the lights and press a button to start the fire.
I had it converted to gas during the renovation, a way to quickly heat the place when I needed it.
The fire roars to life. Katarina moves into the living room, stopping in front of the fire, her back to me as she holds out her hands.
I follow, pulling my jacket off and stopping to settle it around her shoulders.
Her gaze snaps to mine, her eyes filled with an accusation I can’t refute. “A little cold isn’t going to hurt me.”
