Page 3 of Graciously His

“She needs to go, Nick, we can’t just—”

Grace interrupted. “She keeps giving me food that hurts…” Her voice faded into nothing, and I felt my gut squeeze. She tried again. “Please, I need to get away.”

“Come with me,” I said. “I’ll find you good food. I’ll take you—”

The au pair chose that moment to do her job. I’d forgotten she even existed. She walked up, one finger marking her place in her book, her eyes meeting mine.

“Nate,” she said, “that girl’s mum is looking for her. Let her go.”

I glared, resenting her ability to discern which twin I was. She was the most tenacious in a long line of au pairs and, as my stepmother said, she was more proactive than any of the others. This particular proaction made me decide to forget her name forever. Even now, I can’t tell you the name of this young woman who was studying pre-med during the school year, and who was an annoyingly excellent sitter throughout that summer. Without her intervention, I never would have lost Grace to Nick.

“Yeah,” Nick agreed sycophantically. “Grace should probably go home now.”

The mother yelled again and I looked at the au pair, then at my twin. Three against two. A quick glance at Grace showed her downcast and resigned. Make that four against one.

So I let Grace go.

She didn’t look back when her mother grabbed her elbow and hauled her towards the mouldy-looking house at the end of the road.

Ten years passed before I encountered Grace again.

And the next time, Nick saw her first.

Chapter 2

Grace

Ten Years Ago

Ifound my future husband at the only party I attended during my time at university. I was having a turquoise day, with barely any fatigue or pain, so when an acquaintance invited me over for the evening, I went.

Nick was standing just outside the circle of the chattiest uni students, sipping a beer. I had a vague memory of him, so I struck up a conversation, accepting the beer he offered. I could almost hear Mother’s whispered encouragement as Nick and I exchanged questions and answers about our respective courses (finance and architecture) and about our homes (the nicest residence hall at Otago, and my mom’s increasingly tumbledown house). I remember squinting at him when the conversation flagged, taking a step back to examine his features without seeming too forward.

“I feel like I already know you.” I set aside the beer. “I’m sure I do—and not from seeing you around campus.”

He smiled and shrugged, and an image of that wooden play structure—the one that fell to pieces years ago—came to my mind. With his deep grey eyes and dark brown hair, Nick’s features matched the boy who’d tried to save me from Mother. But no. He didn’t match that boy’s restless, almost frightening energy. He remained the only person in my life who’d ever openly noticed something might be wrong. Maybe that kid—Nate, wherever he was—still thought of me as often as I thought of him.

I asked some vague questions about the park and that day so long ago, but Nick looked confused. I dropped the subject.

The two of us fell together so neatly that I was happy for a while, thanks in part to Mother’s open approval. Nick was sweet beyond what I expected, more than willing to let Mother care for me as she deemed necessary, and highly tolerant of all the quirks and needs of my condition. He persuaded me to drop classes when I became too sick. He never said a word when, after a few months of dating, I dropped out of university altogether.

I was heartbroken—and too exhausted to get out of bed most mornings. The pain that had licked just below the surface engulfed me. My doctor had no idea how to calm the fire, except to tell me to stay in bed, drink fluids, and let Mother help me. I told Nick we should break our relationship off—he didn’t need me dragging his life down any further, not when he had ambitions and goals and a future. Instead, he gave me the surprise of my life and asked me to marry him on the night of his graduation.

It should have been romantic, but it was awkward. We were on the phone after I watched the live broadcast of the event. I should have been there to walk across the stage for my own degree. Nick popped the question during the call, then made a logical argument I could barely hear over the pulsing in my body, the pain that racked me. I can’t remember what he said, but I somehow avoided answering. I wasn’t ready for this. We’d only been dating a few months, we hadn’t been intimate yet, and I had a sneaking suspicion that Nick and Mother had been discussing this entire marriage idea behind my back.

The flare got worse, landing me in the emergency department. The doctors found nothing to go on: I’d tested negative for a number of autoimmune conditions years before and nothing else aligned with my symptoms. They gave me painkillers and sent me home. Mother helped me, as she always did—and her help hurt, as it always did.

I hadn’t seen Nick since before graduation; he’d had to go home to the North Island to help his brother with a startup they’d been planning for years. I’d been half-hoping he might forget me and the entire marriage business, but Mother kept in touch with him.

“You know,” she said, bringing me soup one night, “Nick could be doing all of this for you. He’s such a good boy, always checking in and asking how you’re doing. I know he’d be all too happy to care for you, Graciously, and I’d guide him every step of the way.”

She put the soup down on a tray, eyeing me.

Mother had been a stunning woman in her youth—pictures of her throughout the years hung in every room of the house. I knew she mourned the loss of her looks, which she attributed to the stress of my illnesses kicking off when I was three. I still thought she was beautiful, with her liquid amber eyes, straight nose, and softly curling hair. But Mother wanted to be svelte again. She wanted the thick hair she’d sported as a young woman, rather than the wisps that never seemed to grow past her ears.

“I still can’t believe you haven’t answered Nick’s proposal,” she said, settling the tray on my lap. “He’s such a good listener and he’s been so patient, waiting on you.”

She went on, speaking until I felt incapable of any kind of decision-making. The worst part was that her logic was infallible: Nick was everything she said and more. I didn’t tell her that his doting nauseated me at times, and his patience, kindness, and consideration seemed to prevent the passion I craved from him.