Like Lydia, he’s got a smear of kohl around his hazel eyes, though his is not as dark as hers.
I remember thinking his hands were too big for his body, but he’s grown into them now. Everything about him is bigger, sharper, harder to look at. But his face is the same. There are those high cheekbones, sharp jaw, full mouth, straight eyebrows, and clever eyes. He’s always been breathtaking.
Emmett lays his hands on Lydia’s shoulders, a casual intimacy in it, the kind of gesture that passes between two people very used to touching each other. “It’s not her,” he says, voice thin.
Lydia looks up at him, her brows knitted together. “What do you mean?”
Emmett’s eyes well with tears, but the line of his jaw is hard. “It’s not her, Lydia. It’s a trick.”
“A trick?” I raise my voice. I hate them talking about me like I’m not here.
Emmett doesn’t so much as look at me. It’s as if he can’t bring himself to.
“I should have told you years ago, Lydia. Ivy died the night of her wedding.”
I cross the space between us and hit him on the shoulder. “I’m very much alive.”
“Selkies and other Unseelies can shape-shift. Tell her nothing,” Emmett begs.
I take Lydia’s hand in mine and tug her toward me. The way she looks at me with fear and hesitation shatters what little is left of my heart.
“It’s me!” I exclaim.
Emmett ignores me completely. “I couldn’t bring myself to tell you she was gone. I couldn’t bear it. I’ve tried to protect you.”
He looks so broken, but it’s not me he’s looking at.
“Emmett,” I say loudly enough that he’s forced to turn to me. “It’s me.” My voice cracks.
He stares at me in silent, awful suspicion.
“We once got caught at a coaching inn in the rain together. You told the innkeeper our names were Fern and Edward Bennett from Nottingham.”
He presses his mouth into a tight line and shakes his head. “I told Bram that story.”
I search my memories for something that only he and I would know. “We were together the night before Bram and I became engaged. The nightdress I wore was white with a pale pink ribbon. I left the ribbon in your bed.”
His eyes are cold as he regards me. “I told Bram that, too. I’ve confessed everything.”
Confessedlike I’m just something he’s guilty of.
I turn to Lydia; we have a lifetime of memories Bram could know nothing about. “Remember when you were eight you had recurring nightmares about falling out our upstairs window? Papa had to install a lock on it just to get you to sleep.”
Lydia glances anxiously to Emmett.
“Stop looking at each other,” I snap. “Look at me.”Please just look at me.
“It’s true,” she says softly.
Emmett shakes his head. “You don’t know what the real Ivy told Bram about you, or what you told Bram the first time you were here. Nothing is to be trusted.”
With one last agonizing look at me, he tears himself away.
“Emmett!” I scream after him. “Emmett, please.”
His steps slow. It’s as if he can’t help himself.
From the end of the hall, he halts. Then turns back to me, like it pains him.
