“If you don’t care about your wages, what do you want from me?” She slapped her hands against her skirts, frustration seeping out as she squinted through the dim light. “Because I don’t understand.” Except that was a lie. She did, very much, but she couldn’t permit herself to follow that line of thought, not if she was going to do what she needed to do.
“I want—I need you to go away. To leave me be.” He’d turned to face the bare stone wall. Staring at the cracks instead of looking her in the eye. As if to do so was somehow beneath him. His shoulders rose and fell as if he was taking a deep breath. “I’m going to America, Isabelle.”
“America.” Her knees buckled as she whispered the word—the name—the land a world away.
“I leave the day after the festival.” His voice was resigned.
“Why?” Why hadn’t he told her? Why had he behaved as if he cared about her, as if he was being honest with her, when he was hiding this? Her lower lip quivered. She pressed down with her teeth to hold it in place, to keep control, even as another wave of hurt rippled through her.
“Rabbi Raphael has a cousin who has a theater company, which needs a stagehand.” He straightened, pressing his hands against his lower back. “It would be an opportunity to start anew in that community, make new friends, meet new people, be regarded highly without the burden of my past.” He waved a dismissive hand, still not turning around. “There’s nothing for me here anyway.”
Nothing.She was nothing to him. Not that she was supposed to be.
And he was everything to her. She wanted to scream it, but again her tongue held fast to the roof of her mouth. The pressure welled between her eyes as she struggled to contain the painful emotions swirling within her, to keep them in, keep her dignity. She sucked in a shaking breath.
“I suppose not,” she managed, the statement surprisingly clear. She exhaled, slow and steady, like she was supposed to. As if she was all right. “But why so soon?”
Aaron turned around slowly, a haunted look in his eyes. “I’m more of a liability than an asset to you. Because while you might not think very much of me, I still hold you in high regard. In the highest regard.” His voice shook a touch, yet he kept his chin level, leaned back against his table, his body closed to her. “But under the circumstances, I think it best if we say goodbye now.”
“You aren’t coming to the last festival?” Dash it all, her voice cracked. She glanced at the large crevice in the plaster above his head, following its tributaries, focusing on the here and now and the real to force herself to remain steadfast and calm, to not lose her dignity.
He wasn’t worth it.
And a lump choked off her air at the lie. He was—a hundred times over—but he couldn’t be. She had to force him not to be.
“You no longer need me.” He tilted his chin, his voice firm. “Besides, it’s better this way. We’ve both made our choices, and this is the only option.”
“Yes, you should be rested for your journey.” The words were strangled at the end, and she moved her gaze from the ceiling to a spiderweb in a corner, following the fragile strands that somehow held together to create something beautiful in the darkness.
“You should focus on your upcoming marriage.” His entire body slumped this time. “Weiss will make a good husband.” His jaw tightened but the words were sincere, and she hated them—hated him, at least in that moment. “He wants to do right by you, and his goals are your goals.” Aaron ran a hand through his thatch of black hair, like she had in the garden, but with no pleasure on his face. “You will be happy with him.”
“Will I?” Because right now happiness was so . . . far-fetched.
“Yes. If you let yourself be.” He waved a hand toward the door. “Which means you need to go.” He moved now, brushing past her to the exit.
“But what about us?” she followed him, her voice bordering on a pleading whine.
“There is no ‘us.’ You’ve said as much already. I might not be brilliant, but I do listen to you. I’ve seen the writing on the wall. I’m not going to continue to hurt—” He spun around, frustration marring his features. “We had what, a few kisses? A few conversations? That isn’t an ‘us.’ That was a desperate attempt by you to sabotage your goals because you’re afraid. Because you’ve realized that whomever you marry will be a person, not an object you can manipulate. Someone with their own wants and needs and feelings, that you can’t control any more than you can control your own. You want to use what happened between us as an excuse to ignore that. To put everyone back into the little boxes you’ve crafted: whether they’re a witch or wolf or prince or villain. Including yourself. I’m not going to be part of that, watching you craft a story that best fits your version of events.”
And every word was a wound, like a dagger in her.
“It was more than that. It is more than that.” And now the tears were brimming, threatening to fall. She squeezed her fists to keep them at bay. She would not, could not be weak. Not now. Not when she could least afford it.
“Then why can’t you say the words?” He shook his head, his jaw clenched beneath his beard. “I’d give up my life to make sure you aren’t hurt, but why won’t you live for me? For us?”
She stared at him. She needed to speak but her throat closed tight.
He shook his head in disgust. “Leave. Go back to your world, play heir to the throne, save your father’s legacy. Perhaps then you can learn to get over your fear so you can love Weiss. Or at least try to. Because like I said before, no matter what I think of him, he’s a person too. Not a chess piece on a board or what have you. You’d be better off if you allowed yourself to treat him as such, and him to do the same. No matter how frightening. Fear doesn’t become you, Isabelle.”
Fear? She blinked. She wasn’t afraid. She was doing the bravest thing she could, sacrificing desires for duty.
“But as of now, I—I can’t speak to you anymore. And if you care about me even a little, you will let me be.” He pressed a finger into his chest. “Leave, Isabelle.”
She stepped forward. “Aaron—”
“Now.” He indicated the door before swinging it open, filling the space with sunlight and cold. “You’re the one who has to stop the bleeding.”
Her heart twisted beneath her rib cage. That was what it was like, wasn’t it? An oozing, festering wound that would not stop? Unless they made it—unless she made it. Unless she was the strong one. Unless she was the one who freed them both.
