“Isaidfrustrating, not interesting.”
“Did you?” he asked, and his sapphire eyes twinkled the way they did when he knew he was getting under her skin.
She flushed and turned away. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come in here. I don’t even know what I was looking for.”
He was quiet for a moment. Then he spoke, “Kitty.”
She didn’t turn.
“I don’t want Cynthia. I never did.”
Her heart stuttered. She hated how easily it reacted to his voice. To his certainty. She hated how much she wanted to believe it.
“And I don’t give a damn about what our fathers wanted. Or what’s tidy. I only care about what I want.”
She spun on him, fire rising in her chest, masked as indignation. “And what’s that, exactly?”
Norman tilted his head again. There was a slow, deliberate pause as he considered her, the curve of his mouth almost smug. “Well. Right now, I want you to stop pretending you don’t know.”
Kitty stared at him, her breath caught somewhere in her ribs.
Norman’s eyes didn’t waver. His expression had softened—no smile now, just the steady pull of honesty that made her feel like her skin was too thin.
Her voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper. “You’re not supposed to say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ll start believing you.”
There was a flicker in his gaze then—a softness edged with something dangerous. “Maybe you should.”
She swallowed, her heart tripping over itself. She stepped back, too fast, too obvious.
The words curled around her like smoke.
Kitty blinked once, slowly. She wasn’t certain what he meant by it—perhaps he didn’t know either—but his voice was low and rough, as though he hadn’t meant to say it aloud. She took a small step closer.
Norman’s eyes—unreadable and insistent—followed her. There was something taut behind them, a wire pulled too tight. His jaw clenched, then relaxed, like he couldn’t decide which mask to wear.
He waswatchingher.
“Maybe I should?” she repeated, with a feigned casualness that sounded terribly out of place in the hush of the church. Her voice echoed softly beneath the arched ceiling, rebounding between dusty pews and empty altars.
The flicker of a smile ghosted across his mouth—a twitch, a shadow, gone too soon. He didn’t answer—he simply stared.
“You’re far too confusing for a bridegroom.” Kitty huffed.
The more she attempted to understand him, the more confusing he became.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, and for a moment, the silence between them bloomed with unsaid things.
Kitty’s breath caught. Her heart had already betrayed her, thudding against her ribs like it meant to break out entirely.
The way he was looking at her now—was it her imagination? It couldn’t be. It was too precise, too pointed.
But just as soon as it began to burn, the fire flickered again—his lashes lowered, his brows drew together slightly, uncertain.
“I should stay away from you,” he murmured, but he didn’t move.
