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“I love how many different ways you find to celebrate,” Monique said after a minute, closing her eyes and tilting her head back, soaking in the sun. She’d done that a few times since we’d eaten lunch an hour or so ago. “You are such hopeful people.”

Kalise’s smile was warm, though her eyes were sad. “We are. It’s what I love most about Marish. We are a people who look to the future with excitement and enjoy each moment the Goddess grants us.”

A man called from across the Square. “Kalise!”

She turned her attention, covering her eyes from the glare of the late afternoon sun. Then she smiled again and waved toward whoever had called for her. “Have a wonderful Leafwake, my lady,” she offered as she curtsied.

“You as well,” I said, managing a mostly-there smile.

I watched as she cut through the crowded square and hugged a man a decade or so younger than her. With him, a woman carried a small infant, a blanket resting over her shoulder to keep the sun from shining in the baby’s eyes.

Monique sighed, the sound wistful.

I glanced toward her.

“You know,” I said lightly, “I never did end up asking if you and Arden were planning to wait some time.”

Her cheeks flushed, and I smiled.

“That’s my answer, then. I suppose I’ll get to find out how Marish handles pregnancy soon enough then.”

She scrunched her nose even as she laughed. “If the Goddess is willing.”

My skin itched, and I pulled the blanket higher, trying desperately to not look so obvious about inhaling the lingering pine and wisteria. This time, the itchiness didn’t fade, and it felt like my skin grew even tighter. I held back a groan. Amaria stepped onto the pavilion a minute later, her keen gaze taking me in.

“How much longer until you ask when you can go back?”

I grimaced. “Is it that obvious?”

Shelby frowned and circled my wrist. “I promise it’s not. Amaria and I just know you better.”

Monique’s snort was almost a guffaw. “And I’m predisposed to understand. It’s not obvious at all to most of the people here.”

I sighed in defeat. “Can we head back? Or is it a massive faux pas? We stayed way later than this on the equinox.” Until just before sunset, actually. “But I feel like I’m about to come out of my skin.”

Shelby stood at once. Those with us immediately focused on her. Tegan’s conversation with Vincent cut off, and Arden started toward us. She didn’t seem to care, helping me to my feet without touching the blanket I kept tucked against my stomach like it was a damn heat pack and I was on my period.

“Shall we?” Tegan asked, offering his arm in the same fashion as when we’d made the walk to the Central Square. I only managed a nod, not trusting my voice.

I couldn’t breathe as my hands shook while I tore the lighter quilts off my bed, the aroma of the soap they used to wash them the only scent clinging to the fabrics. There was none of the wisteria that had still been there when I’d left this morning. I flipped my pillow over and nearly sobbed. The sweater wasn’t there. His pillow didn’t smell like him, either, washed with the rest of the bedding.

Desperately, I turned toward the bathroom, but the shirt of his I’d left on the vanity was gone, too. I scrambled to the wardrobe and flung it open. Tears lined my lashes and then fell over them. The three shirts that had been piled in a heap on the bottom shelf weren’t there anymore. I grabbed one that was now hanging instead, but the pine wasn’t on it. It didn’t even have the smell of the damn soap.

I wiped the tears away and tried to breathe, tried to think. How had I gone from not needing any kind of support or validation at all a month ago to crumbling without his scent plastered all over me? What in the omega hell was this?

There was no rationality, no way to reason myself out of the anguished panic that clung to me. There was only the horrid knowledge that he was gone and I was alone and there was nothing of his left here.

I spun in a circle, praying something had been missed while we’d been eating dinner, that the servants had managed to leave something of his in our bedroom.

Nothing. There was nothing. I twisted my hands into my skirt to keep from scratching at my skin.

I wouldn’t curse the employees. They worked so damn hard and never complained. I remembered working a labor-intensive job with little external validation. It was crappy more often than not. I wouldn’t curse them, but gods did I want to in this moment.

The sofa.

I ripped the door open and practically sprinted down the covered hall. I missed a step halfway down the spiral staircase and cursed breathlessly as I slid the last portion. I heard at least one rip as my dress caught in the spindles of the stair rail.

“Fuck,” I gasped.