A Rivalry of Hearts

Chapter 37

By morning, I’ve alternated between seething in rage and feeling like a complete asshole a thousand times over. I’m so mad William kept his secret from me. So angry on behalf of his fans, whom he’s lied to. And his sister, who’s been relegated to the shadows because no one valued her work until a man presented it. I’ve been there, and I can’t shake my anger over it.

But then again…he was right about me. Not everyone is privileged enough to cling to ideals as tightly as I do. Having well-to-do parents and siblings has always given me a safety net. I can strive for my career and take risks, knowing I can always go home. At the cost of my independence, yes, but I won’t starve.

Meanwhile, William and Cassie faced crippling debt—a situation I’ve never been in—before they were offered the publishing contract. Agreeing to the deal kept Cassie out of the workhouses. Now that I’ve met her, I can’t help but agree that William was right to go to any lengths to protect her from such a fate.

Yet it still hurts. And there’s a jagged piece of my heart that says I told you so. Taunting me that everything I’ve cherished between me and William was never real to begin with. It was always a lie. Always an act.

No, the rest of my heart argues. No, that’s not true. You know which side of him is real. You’ve seen both.

Then why did he keep this secret so long? Why did he have to wait until I gave him my body? Until I begged for the truth?

I don’t emerge from my room until close to noon, and even then I’m not sure of my feelings, or how I’m supposed to face William. Luckily, by the time I enter the common area, he’s nowhere to be seen. There’s only Daphne, who lounges on one of the kitchen cabinets. She opens her eyes when she sees me, then stretches with an adorable yawn.

“You slept a long time,” she says as she hops down to the floor. “Probably from all the moaning last night. Followed by yelling.”

I blush at her words. When I stormed out of the recreation room, I found Monty and Daphne in the kitchen. Monty was sprawled on his back over the kitchen island, smoking a cigarillo, while Daphne sipped cordial from a tiny wooden cup. Neither said a word as I stomped to my room, but the silence was enough to tell me they probably heard everything.

I grimace. “Is…anyone here?”

“Monty and William are helping set up the gala.”

Relief heaves through me. The gala doesn’t begin until this evening. Maybe I can make myself scarce until then and avoid having to face William at all. My heart plummets when I recall the last thing he said to me.

…please come back to me if you find it in your heart to want to work this out.

I do. I really do. At least…I think I do.

But I’m still so torn over how I should feel. I’m not ready to talk to him about it yet.

“Did you choose an item for the auction?” Daphne asks, stealing me from my thoughts.

Panic lances through me. I obviously can’t get rid of my annotated copy of William’s book. Or…Cassie’s book. “Oh, uh, I suppose I’ll offer a personalized copy of The Governess and the Fae.”

“That’s not nearly as exciting as William’s date.”

My mouth goes dry. Shit. His date. I forgot all about that. Now it sends my stomach roiling. I don’t want him to go on a date with anyone else. Even if it’s not a real date.

Of course it won’t be a real date.

Unless William has changed his mind about me.

Unless his heart has shifted now that he’s seen my ugly side. My rage and pride.

I bite the inside of my cheek to divert myself from feeling the tightness in my lungs. A welcome distraction comes to mind. “I just remembered something I’m supposed to give you.”

I return to my room and rifle through the skirt I wore last night. It takes no small effort to force away all the memories of what happened when I last wore it. The male who lifted my hem and tortured me just shy of climax. The way he finally dragged my skirt down and let me ride him?—

I squeeze my thighs together, and my fingers finally close over what I was searching for—the two dance cards. I tuck one into the pocket of my day dress and return to Daphne.

“The event coordinator asked me to give this to you,” I say as I hand the second card over. “The charity receives funding for every space filled by a dance.”

Daphne turns the card over a few times, her furry brow knitting in curiosity. “I’ve never danced before.”

I shrug. “You don’t have to. I know you aren’t comfortable in your seelie form, and I assume the gala caters mostly to humans and seelie fae. But I wanted to give you the card just in case.”

“Hmm.” She turns the card over in her paws again.

A knock sounds at the main door. I have half a mind to hide in my room for fear of encountering William, but the caller can’t be him. He wouldn’t need to knock.

Still, I gather a deep breath before I open the door.

“Miss Danforth!” Cassie’s bright expression greets me on the other side of the threshold.

Damn. That’s almost as bad as seeing William.

She pulls her chin back with a wary look. “Did you mean to frown at me just now?”

My cheeks flush and I wave an apologetic hand. “I’m so sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you. If you’re here for William, he isn’t in.”

“Actually, I’m here to see you.”

I shift awkwardly from foot to foot. “Did William send you here to talk to me?”

She scoffs. “On the contrary, I doubt he’d have let me take so much as a step out of his sight. He doesn’t know I’m here. Will you go to lunch with me in town?”

I’m tempted to refuse, but maybe talking to Cassie is exactly what I need. Maybe getting to know her better will help me understand their arrangement. And my feelings about it.

“Let me get my coat.”

Our destination isa few blocks from the hotel. I offer to hail us a cab, but she insists on walking.

“I feel really great today, I assure you,” she insists on our way. “The cane is mostly for days when my legs feel weak or painful. But I keep it on me in case of dizzy spells.”

“William told me a little about your condition,” I say, mindful not to appear like I’m fussing over her. “He said your mother had the same degenerative disease, and that it’s a mystery to the medical community.”

“A mystery, yes, but I have plenty of tonics and fae remedies that lessen my symptoms.”

We arrive at a café located on the bottom floor of a small building nestled between two taller ones, its circular windows framed with green vines and tiny pink rosebuds. The vines remind me of the ones William locked the door with last night.

I breathe away the memory, a mixture of pleasure and pain.

We sit at a table near a sunny window. Cassie orders food for us, as she’s been here before. Lunch consists of tea, an assortment of tiny sandwiches, and little round confections that are soft and gummy on the outside but filled with a sweet, cherry-flavored bean paste on the inside.

“It’s delicious, isn’t it?” she asks when I taste one.

“It is,” I say with a full mouth. Her expression suddenly falls, making my anxiety rise in tandem. “What’s wrong?”

She purses her lips before speaking. “I lied to you. Sort of. William doesn’t know I came to see you, but I did see him at the hotel already. We had a conversation.”

I halt my chewing. “About?”

“About the secret he told you last night. And your reaction.”

“Oh?” I take a nonchalant sip of tea, but my hands tremble.

She leans toward me and braces her elbows on the table. Then, lacing her hands, she props her chin upon them and watches me through slitted lids. “Miss Danforth—actually, can I call you Edwina?”

“Please.”

“Edwina, then. Do you have feelings for William?”

I nearly choke on my tea. Once I recover, I give her a nod. I do have feelings for her brother. Whether those feelings are good or bad—or both—I’m not sure.

“I thought so,” she says. “Just one look at the two of you yesterday, I suspected Zane was right. That you and William like each other.”

I can’t tell whether her tone is accusatory or merely curious, but my guilt flares just the same. Despite being ten years her senior, I can’t help feeling like I’m in trouble and wanting to do anything to get back on her good side. So I say nothing and wait for her to speak again.

“What William told you last night wasn’t his secret to tell,” she says. “It’s ours. Mine and his. I made him promise to share the truth about our arrangement only with those who either need to know for business purposes or will listen and accept us with an open mind.”

My guilt grows deeper at those last words. They suggest William only told me because he thought there was a chance I would react in an understanding manner.

“Does Mr. Fletcher know?” I ask.

“He does. After I received his offer on the book and got William to agree to my proposal, I confessed that we are a writing duo and explained our arrangement. He was still willing to publish the book and let William be the public face. Though, after the book’s release, he was hesitant to promote it with a tour. Mr. Fletcher wasn’t sure my brother could pull it off, even with William’s acting skills. That’s why his promised tour never came to fruition. Not until he proved himself capable and earned a place beside you on The Heartbeats Tour.”

I don’t know whether to feel vindicated now that I know Mr. Fletcher is aware of the truth. If he approves of their arrangement, why should I be so offended by it? Yet there’s more to my annoyance than that.

“I hate that he lies to his fans, obscuring the truth from them. Doesn’t it bother you that he’s turned your title into a farce? Making up a story about some great lost love named June?”

She snorts a laugh. “For one, we aren’t completely obscuring the truth. The copyright page discloses me as the author and William as the performer. For another, William didn’t make up the idea of June as a former lover. June in my title refers to nothing more than a month. It’s our fans who’ve made the leap. Yes, he’s used it as fuel for his role’s backstory, and he makes vague statements or provides broody anecdotes that allow our readers to continue believing as they already do. They’re going to speculate whether we want them to or not.”

“Wouldn’t you rather they knew the truth? The real meaning behind your words? The real stories that live behind your poetry, and not the act William puts on?” I don’t mention that if I’d known the truth I might not have ridiculed A Portrait of June so relentlessly. I never thought the poems were bad, in my heart of hearts. Only that William was pretentious and—as an automatic result—anything he said or did was too. Including what I assumed was his poetry. For the love of all things, how did he hide his anger when I made fun of his sister’s poetry to his face?

“Do you want your readers to know the truth?” Cassie says with an arched brow. “Which parts of your books come from the deepest aspects of your soul and which are mere whimsy?”

She has a point. I remember how embarrassed I was when Jolene assumed I’ve experienced every sexual scenario I’ve written about. “No, but I write fiction.”

“So? Who says poetry must be autobiographical? If I want anonymity, I should be allowed to have it. It’s no one’s business who my poems are about or if they are based on real experiences. Those words and emotions are mine. You see William as a fraud but he’s more like my shield. He bears the brunt of everyone’s expectations and speculations, while I get to create. That’s all I want to do. Please don’t hold that against him.”

The hollow ache in my chest abates the slightest bit. Maybe I have judged William too harshly. Yet so much pain remains.

I blow out a heavy sigh. “I hate that he lied to me. William Haywood isn’t even his real name.”

Her expression turns hard. “He’s my brother, Edwina. He may not have been born a Haywood but he deserves my family name. It just so happens that it’s his stage name and our pen name. That doesn’t mean he’s been dishonest with you about his identity.”

The edge in her tone slashes through my indignation, making my argument seem as frail as a worn piece of parchment.

“You’re judging him too harshly,” she says, and everything inside me echoes that she’s right. “This isn’t some grand scheme; it’s our shared art. He’s the public face, and I’m the creator. We’re a team. I don’t want the spotlight. He does. He wants this for me, but I want this for him too. The popularity of our book will breathe life into his career.”

My shoulders slump. I know all about his failing career, but not once did I consider how much this might save it. “I just…I suppose if he told me from the start, I wouldn’t have been so hurt.”

She gives me a withering look. “If he told you from the start, you might never have given him a chance. You’re clearly prejudiced against our arrangement.”

Normally I’d bristle at such an accusation…but she’s right. I never gave William the chance to explain before I shoved a wall of my ideals between us. While I still feel like it’s dishonest to their fans, I do understand both William’s and Cassie’s side better now.

I give her a tight smile. “I’ll try to have an open mind. Can I ask you something out of a genuine desire to better understand?” At her nod, I say, “Is this really your dream? The poetry book? This arrangement you have with William?”

“It’s a step toward it,” she says. “I want to attend college and I want to write a play that my brother stars in before I die. The doctor gave me a prognosis of six more years.”

Shock surges through me, even more so by the nonchalance in her tone. “Six years? What do you mean?”

“My symptoms have progressed much faster than my mother’s, plus I have my own additional ailments I’ve had to deal with.”

I stare at her open-mouthed. Is this why William has spoken about her not having time? Why he’s so desperate to make her happy? It’s not just that she’s human and fragile compared to him. It’s not just that she suffers from ailments. It’s that she has a tangible prognosis. A timeline.

She gives me another withering look. “Don’t look at me with such sad eyes. I have every intention of living to a ripe old age.”

I sit back in my chair, dumbstruck.

“There’s something you should understand about William,” Cassie says. “Did he tell you about Lydia? My mother?”

“He told me she died. That his father left her.”

“Do you also know how fae and human aging work in Faerwyvae?”

“I know fae used to age slowly,” I say, “but have begun aging as quickly as humans do. Yet most still cease aging once they reach maturity. Meanwhile, some humans have experienced slower aging.”

“Those who are in romantic partnerships with fae,” Cassie clarifies. “There has been proof that platonic fae partnerships—like friends or family—can slow human aging, but romantic relations are the most effective. When Lydia met William’s father, she experienced a drastic improvement in her health conditions, but he left us when William went to university. My mother didn’t want William to know because she knew he’d worry. So he didn’t find out that his father left or that Mother was ill until after graduation.” Cassie’s gray eyes glaze, and her voice takes on a quaver. “William blamed himself for not being able to do more. For not being enough to make Mother well.”

My own eyes fall under a sheen as I imagine what that must have felt like for him. He probably hated himself for having enjoyed his time at university while his mother was suffering.

“He never should have felt responsible for her health,” Cassie says. “No one should be put in that position. To be honest, I can’t even blame his father. I never want someone to love me and stay with me just to keep me alive. But William can’t let that go. He carries guilt that he wasn’t enough for Lydia and that he isn’t enough for me either. He hates that all the debt we accumulated during Mother’s final years of medical treatment fell under my name after she died. Since our parents never married, neither William nor his father held any legal burden for me or the debt. That made William feel guiltier than anything. Nothing I can say will lessen his sense of shame, which is why he dotes on me like he does. Why he wants to be responsible. He wants to give me everything while I’m alive.”

A tear trickles down my cheek. How can I blame him? Even I want Cassie to have everything, and I hardly know her. It crushes my heart that William considers himself inadequate just because he isn’t all-powerful. At the same time, I realize what a marvel it is that he was brave enough to open his heart to me. Me, a human he’s worried he could fail.

Me, who fled from him at my first chance.

“He’s afraid he’ll be like his father,” Cassie says, speaking straight to my heart. “He’s afraid that if he has a human lover, his love won’t be enough. Which is why I worry for him almost as much as he frets over me. I fear he’ll be too preoccupied with making someone else happy that he’ll sacrifice his career and all the things that make him who he is. Two people shouldn’t need to be so entwined.”

I study her face, her wary expression. “Are you telling me this to warn me away from him?”

She shakes her head. “I’m asking how much you care about him. It’s one thing if you love him. It’s another if he’s just a fleeting fancy.”

I recoil at the thought of William being nothing more than a fleeting fancy, as she put it. Yet the prospect of loving him sends my heart skittering. Fluttering. A renewed sense of that giddy feeling.

It doesn’t scare me this time.

It doesn’t remind me of how things went with Dennis Feverforth.

Because this feeling is tethered to more than just fickle words and illusions.

It’s tethered to the man who assured me my words are beautiful.

To the man who slept in a chair beside my bed the night I drank myself into stupidity.

To the man who shared his vulnerable past with me.

Who jested with me, flirted with me, and confessed his feelings in the pages of our playful book.

I rise to my feet, beautiful and terrifying words on my tongue. “I love him enough that I won’t let your fears for him come to fruition. I won’t let him lose himself in me. But…I won’t push him away either.”

Her lips curl into a smile. “You’re going to forgive him?”

I search for the remnants of anger I felt for him. They’re there, but they’re nothing but ashes compared to the blaze in my heart. “I already have.”

She rises with the aid of her cane and takes my fingers in her free hand. “You should tell him to his face.”

My chest lifts. It’s still full of clouds, but I’m ready to disperse them. Together. With William. I’m still scared, but it’s not enough to stop me. My legs tremble with my sudden burst of eagerness to get back to him.

Cassie gives me a knowing grin. “Let’s get…” She blinks. Once. Twice. Her expression slips. Her already pale complexion goes a shade lighter. Then, with a flutter of her lashes, she slips to the ground.