“I know,” he said, still not looking at her. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“But you were thinking it.”
“I usually am.”
That startled a laugh out of her. “What, thinking judgmental thoughts about me?”
He turned then, finally, and something in his expression made her falter. He looked at her too long. Not accusingly. Not amused. Just—carefully. As if cataloging her face, trying to memorize it or decipher it. Like he couldn’t quite tell what she was thinking.
Then, he tilted his head slightly, and she could feel his gaze on her. “It’s the church where we’ll be married next week.”
Her stomach dropped.
“Oh.”
Norman’s mouth tugged at the corner—dry amusement, almost fond, but not quite.
“It’s also where my parents were married,” he added. “Apparently there was a thunderstorm, and the roof leaked halfway through the vows. My father used to swear that my mother always said it was the most magical thing that ever happened to her—well, both of them.”
“I think he meant it reminded her that the truly beautiful things are rarely perfect,” he continued.
She looked away again, jaw tightening. That wasn’t fair. That was the sort of line that made her heart do something inconvenient in her chest. He wasn’t allowed to say things like that.
Her eyes settled on the dusty altar. Cold crept up her arms, even though the air was still.
She thought of Cynthia, of the way her voice had dropped just slightly when she’d said“I was supposed to be in your place.”
Kitty inhaled, then said—more bitterly than she’d meant to, “It should be Cynthia standing here beside you.”
She watched his pupils dilate—a simple, fleeting moment of surprise before his careful composure reformed.
“Itshouldhave been her,” she continued, the words hurting her lips as she spoke them. “You both would’ve made sense. Your parents married here. Hers probably got christened in the same font. It’s all very tidy. You broke the rules, Norman. Because of me.”
He blinked, startled by her sudden sharpness. A shadow flickered across his face—confusion first, then something like anger, though muted.
“That’s what you think this is?”
“Isn’t it?”
He stepped closer, with careful steps—like he didn’t quite trust her not to bolt.
Kitty held her ground, even though her heart was rattling like a jar of pins.
Norman’s brow lifted. “Is that what this is about?”
“No,” she snapped, before softening to a sulky murmur. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
He studied her. She could feel it. Could feel the warmth of it crawling up her neck. She hated that he looked at her like that—like he was trying to strip her bare.
“Cynthia’s never been someone I planned to marry,” he said quietly. “Not even when everyone expected me to. Certainly not now.”
Kitty’s throat tightened, but she clung to her scorn like armor. “Well, she seemed to think otherwise. And honestly, she’s not wrong. She fits better. You two match. You both probably have coat-of-arms tea sets and a fondness for fox hunting.”
Norman gave a small laugh, surprised and low. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re frustrating.”
“I prefer it to being tedious.”
