Later, at Aileen’s house, we sit by the window while dusk gathers.
She has not been her chatty self all day.
Finally, she says, “You never told me what happened that night. When you left during the storm.”
I stare at the fading light. “We sought shelter.”
She hits me softly with the towel she is holding. “That is not what I meant, and you know it.”
I do not answerimmediately.
She studies me. “You disappeared into a storm with a man no one fully understands, and you returned changed.”
I swallow. “I feel…” I search for the word. “Pulled.”
“Pulled?”
“Yes.” I exhale softly. “Toward him. I cannot explain it. I do not know much about him, and yet I feel as though I know everything that matters.”
Aileen’s brows knit together. “That is precisely what worries me.”
I look at her.
“Men like him,” she says carefully, “are difficult to see through. I understand that he is magnetic. Anyone can see that. But have you asked yourself why?”
“Why what exactly?”
“Well…is it because he is mysterious?” she asks gently. “Or because you genuinely enjoy being with him?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Perhaps I will have to get to know him better.”
Aileen leans closer. “What do you actually know about him?”
I think of the church. Of his voice low in the dark. “We spoke of his mother. She was the most important part of his life. He carries that still.”
Aileen’s expression softens slightly.
“He told me a little about what he does. As the Broker. The kind of arrangements he facilitates. Political understandings. Discreet negotiations.”
“And his loyalties?”
“He has served my father for years,” I say. “And he has worked for Charles on certain…undertakings.”
Her eyes widen slightly at that.
“He knew about the ring,” I continue. “He did not judge me. He could have revealed it at any time. He did not.”
“And that makes you trust him?”
“Yes. No. There is more to it. But I fail to put it into words.”
Aileen studies me carefully. Then her expression shifts—just slightly. “And was that all you did during the storm?” she asks lightly.
Heat rises to my face before I can stop it. “We talked,” I say carefully.
“Only talked?” she presses, one brow lifting.
I look away, and she laughs softly. “I only want you to be careful,” she says at last. “He may be charming. But charm is a weapon in the right hands.”
