Chapter Twenty-Eight
My heart is full after the visit, but the house feels especially empty once Sophie and Elaine leave for the airport.
I keep myself busy to stop myself from wallowing.
Claude is supposed to be back sometime today, and I want everything to be perfect when he does.
I spend hours cleaning the place from top to bottom, and then acquaint myself with Claude’s kitchen, since he’s not here to stop me.
There are still loads of fresh groceries, given his tendency to overbuy, so I have plenty to work with.
I smile when I hear the front door open. Perfect timing. I light the candles on the dining table, open the wine to breathe, and go to greet him at the door.
Claude’s eyes are shadowed and his mouth downturned, but his expression lifts when he sees me. “Nora,” he says. “How was your weekend?”
It takes every ounce of my willpower not to throw my arms around his neck and kiss the weariness off his face. “It was perfect. I can’t thank you enough, but… I tried to do a little something for you in return.”
“You didn’t have to do anything for me,” he says.
Something in my chest twinges at an echo of words I’ve said so many times before. In return, I echo him. “I know. I wanted to.”
I ease his coat off his shoulders and hang it up before leading him to the dining room, where everything is set out.
“Coq au vin?” he asks, eyes lighting up.
“Yes.” I bite my lip. “I’m not expert at French cuisine or anything, but I did my best.”
“Well, it smells heavenly.”
I lean against the table next to his seat, pouring him a glass of wine. “I haven’t added my blood yet,” I say. “I figured you’d want it fresh.”
He looks up at me, his fangs already out and his pupils growing as he looks at me. “You figured correctly.”
The meal is good, the company better. The night is almost perfect.
Almost.
I missed spending time with Claude like this, and yet… every second together is just a reminder of what we can’t have. That distance between us, impossible to cross for our safety. And it is impossible to miss Claude’s exhaustion, even as he does his best to keep the mood light when we eat.
After I clear away the dishes—refusing to let him help—I return to find him sitting in his seat with his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. I hesitate for a moment, and then walk over, grazing a hand over his slumped shoulders.
“What’s wrong, Claude?” I ask in a soft voice, my thumb circling over a tense muscle on the side of his neck. “Where were you this weekend?”
He leans into my touch but doesn’t lift his head. “You don’t have to worry about it.”
“If it worries you, it worries me,” I say. “Talk to me. Please.”
After a moment, he drops his hands from his face. “I was visiting Ambrose. Trying to mend things between myself and the Vulpe Court, see if there was any possibility of altering our contract.”
My stomach twists. No wonder he seems so tired. I wish he had told me beforehand, but… what’s done is done. “And?”
He shakes his head. “Lord Ambrose only took my begging as a sign that this tactic is working,” he says. “He was exceedingly clear. So long as I’m unable to paint, he will make it so I’m unable to have you. For the duration of our contract, and… in perpetuity.”
A part of me suspected it, but it’s something else entirely to hear it aloud. I brace myself against the table, since I suddenly don’t trust my legs to support me. “There’s nothing we can do?” I ask. “He’ll never let us be together?”
There is one thing, of course—he could paint, like Ambrose wants. But somehow I know that wouldn’t be enough. It will never be enough. I will never be anything but a tool to him to use, for Claude’s reward or punishment, and the threat of that will never let us be together in peace.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I never should have drawn you into this.”
“Don’t say that. I’m…” I shake my head, struggling to express myself. “I’m glad I can be here to support you, if nothing else.” No matter how badly it hurts, that will be true.
But the idea of never being together is agonizing. Even if I walk away at the end of the year, how can I live the rest of my life never knowing what it would’ve been like? How can I abandon Claude to suffer Ambrose’s cruelties alone?
Claude takes my hand and squeezes, conveying a thousand unspoken words in that one gesture. “There’s one more thing,” he says, after a moment’s quiet. “Ambrose was getting on me about the rest of the contract. We need to spend more time together, be seen spending time together.”
The thought of pretending to be happy in the public eye feels like swallowing glass, but there’s no avoiding it. “Right.”
“I secured an invitation to a Celeste gathering from a mutual friend,” he says. “We’ll be seen without being too much in the spotlight. I figured that would be most bearable for you.”
Even now, he’s thinking of me. I force a smile. “We’ll get through this, Claude.”
He nods, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. Because we both know the truth: there is no getting through this, because there will never be a happy ending for us.