When they disappeared around the corner, I snapped into action. I used the restroom, numbly washing my hands in the sink after, far too aware of the lingering stench of Arielle’s floral perfume in here.
I stepped out, and my feet moved automatically, carrying me toward the deck. I couldn’t possibly return to the ballroom, not after witnessing that.
What bothered me the most wasn’t that Arielle had fucked Darryl.
It was that after promising to stick by my side through this, she’d abandoned me. That she showed none of the guilt or confusion that I faced with my blooming feelings toward Ursuline. That Arielle was enmeshed in this society and comfortable with her role in it.
I pulled on the handles of the double doors that led out to the deck that overlooked the bay, accessible from both the kitchen and an entrance closer to the ballroom. This was a gorgeous place to watch the sunset, and I’d taken advantage of the view as often as possible.
Adirondack chairs and fairy lights decorated the space here, meant to be enjoyed, and a propane fire pit graced the center area, which rarely got used. My gaze traveled to the lonely figure standing by the railing.
Ursuline waited for me, staring out at the sea.
A gravity settled over me, as heavy as the salt-soaked air.
And I traveled to them, like my path was predestined.
Chapter 12
The night sky stretched before me in an array of soft blues, blacks, and purples, studded by starlight.
I wanted to reach out and touch it, as if the surface would be as velvety as it looked. I wanted something soft to soothe the ache in my chest.
I stepped up beside Ursuline by the deck railing, and their shoulders relaxed, even if they didn’t verbally acknowledge me. I’d spent enough time around Jason to learn to read the signals. The breeze was heady and cool, swirling around my limbs, dizzying my mind. The distant susurration of the water lapping the shore formed a sweet melody, one I needed to hear in the moment.
I clutched at the railing, the grain of the weathered wood imprinting in my palms. “I can’t do this.” The words escaped me, even though I’d tried to restrain them. “Following their rules…marrying when I don’t love her…it’s killing me.”
It was the first time I’d admitted the truth out loud, and something tight inside me unspooled.
Ursuline turned toward me, and I faced them.
They stood inches away from me, towering above. The elegant arch of their nose, those imperious brows, their firm lips—everything about them mesmerized me. And with the way their dark eyes glittered, with the same intensity as the stars above, I couldn’t look away. The tension broiled between us, growing stronger and stronger with every second.
Denying myself felt foolish when the woman I was promised to marry had fucked another man in the bathroom during our engagement party.
No love would be lost between us.
Mere inches separated me from Ursuline, and the ache in my chest expanded, a longing so ferocious I could barely breathe. One that promised to consume me body and soul. Just the smallest taste, and I could die happy.
I needed to know what it felt like to be possessed by them, to be theirs, even if only for a few stolen moments.
“I just want to be able to choose,” I murmured, the words barely audible. Because I hadn’t chosen this engagement. I hadn’t chosen to come here. I hadn’t chosen my path in life. And the truth left an indelible mark on my soul.
One moment, I was staring up at Ursuline, my whole soul pleading for them to close that distance.
The next, they succumbed.
Ursuline stepped forward, wrapped their hand around my nape, and they leaned in.
The moment their lips pressed against mine, my soul soared.
A thrill rose inside me, tentative and trembling at first, but it fast rose to the power and fury of the tide. This kiss was my early sketches, pencil scratching on paper, the expansion of my chest as my soul poured out of me onto the pad. The prickle of the forbidden across my shoulders, because if my parents caught on to what I was doing, they’d be furious. I’d frequented quiet corners, abandoned rooms, anywhere I might not get caught.
Because a Durand didn’t indulge in whimsy.
Except my art had never been whimsy, just as this kiss was anything but pale or fleeting.
Living on the surface, refusing to dive beneath, had never been for me. I craved the colors, the depths, the thrills, the spark of creativity, the pulse, the pulse, the pulse of the blood pumping inside me.
