Dread and guilt pool in my stomach, and suddenly I feel sick all over. Bram deserves better than this. He’s a kind boy, one who trusts me and has treated me with respect at every turn.
“He’ll be a good husband,” Emmett says flatly.
“I’m not good enough for him.”
I expect Emmett to protest, but he replies, “Who is?”
I laugh to keep from crying.
“But you will grow to love Bram, I know you will,” Emmett says. “He is patient and kind, and you will love him just like everyone else does. And I swear it, I will not resent you, but I’ll say it just this once. I would have loved you. I would have loved you so well.”
“I know. I know.” He needs to hear it twice.
I pad back over to him and take his warm hand in mine. If everything goes according to plan, this will be the last time I ever touch him.
Emmett looks up at me. “I’ll be in hell when I see you on his arm, when I picture you in his bed, but I will watch, and I will burn forthe rest of my life if this is the only way I get to have you,” he says.
“You’ll find someone too.” I already hate the faceless girl I picture by his side in a white dress. I hope she’ll be beautiful and clever and absolutely nothing like me.
He shakes his head. “I think it was always going to be you for me.”
“Don’t say that,” I murmur. “You never would have seen me. I would have been just another wallflower at a ball.”
He wrinkles his nose a little as he shakes his head. “I would have seen you.”
My chest hitches. I can’t cry. Not yet.
“Do you want me to convince you not to go?” Emmett asks. “Because I will. I will get on my knees.”
“No.” I reply. “Because it won’t change anything.” And I know it’s not actually what he wants, not deep down.
Emmett kisses me softly, one last time. “He’s just down the hall. Third door on the right. Good luck.”
He walks me to the door.
“I have to go,” I whisper, but he’s still holding my hand.
“I know, I know.”
His fingers slip from mine, and it’s over.
Chapter Thirty
Bram is asleep, breathing softly, tucked in the middle of his feather bed. This is the first time I’ve ever been in his room, and I take a moment to look around. Unlike Emmett’s haphazardly placed books and overcrowded desk, everything in Bram’s room has been fastidiously placed: his books, the line of crystals by the window, his rings laid out on the vanity.
I duck my head under the canopy and lay a hand on his shoulder. “Bram.” I shake him softly. “Bram.”
He wakes with a gasp and blinks a few times. “Ivy? What are you doing here?”
It’s not hard to cue the tears; they flow freely down my cheeks the minute I let the dam break. “I just spoke to the queen,” I cry. “She told me I’ve lost.”
Bram sits up in anger. “That’s not her choice to make.”
“They tried to escort me from the palace, but I ran from them,” I gasp. “I had to see you.”
I’ll let him fill in the rest. Bram will want to be the savior here. I can’t feed it to him too easily.
“But I wantyou,” he says urgently. “I was going to pick you.”
