Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
F redrick
She said she loves me. I didn’t say it back. She deserves to hear those words from the man she loves. To be told she is loved.
A million times a day.
What if I can never utter those words?
The truth is no one has said them to me since my mother two decades ago. If any woman from my past did feel love for me, I didn’t let them get close enough to tell me.
Or maybe they knew if they said those three words?—
They’d never see me again.
Freya is safe. No longer in the Kings’ inner circle, the Hoax has no use for her. With Erwin’s words outlasting his life, everyone knows Freya is loyal to the Kings. Pearl is safe in her mother’s arms.
The universe has aligned so that Freya can go out into the world and find her soulmate, and our marriage is new enough to be annulled. She can return to Glasgow and, I don’t know—bump into someone at a grocery store, as we’ve seen in those romance movies from the early 2000s we’ve watched together.
He’ll bump into her, making her drop a watermelon she carries. The fruit will burst, sticky pink all over them. They’ll look into one another’s eyes and—boom—fall in love. I want that moment for her. I want her to have what I have.
That lightning-strike energy moment I had when I saw her.
She can find someone, marry, and have children. Maybe that friend, Arran, the one behind the boat bar I saw her talking to at her All Hallow’s Eve party. The one from the island. He’s easygoing, carefree, surely affectionate, and able to tell her he loves her.
They had an easy way with one another—no strain, no tension between them, just a beautiful woman and a man with no damage. And children. She’s ready for children. Would I be cursing my children from conception?
Maybe it would be better not to pass on the Frisque name because with it comes my genes—depression and alcoholism from my mother and possible narcissism from my father.
Though selfless, the idea of her with someone else feels so wrong.
We are a pair. We finish one another’s sentences. We happily wear matching sweaters, for goodness’ sake. Our worlds shrank when we came to Inverness, yet we began to thrive in one another’s company.
As for children, my gut clenches at the idea of another man even touching her, much less putting a baby in her.
I’ve learned that it’s not about me, though, and it’s time to act on the lesson in the most painful way possible. I need to make the ultimate sacrifice. Set her free. But I’ve also learned?—
I don’t make Freya’s decisions for her.
I’ll do what I must, and Freya will decide.
I sit at the rolltop desk in the living room, pen my note, propose her freedom, and seal the envelope. I leave the letter for her. She will seal our fate.
That night, I sleep in the small guesthouse that used to be MAWR-vein’s before I took over, moving her to the larger one. I tossed and turned all night, wondering if I’d done the right thing and if I had, knowing I should have at least done it in person.
When I wake up, I hate myself for being such a coward. I accused Freya of pushing down her emotions, not facing them head-on. Then, I penned my deepest fears and hid. Prickles rise on my skin, sharp and uncomfortable. I rub a hand over the back of my neck. “Why did I leave a letter and run?”
I need to find her. I owe it to her to explain my offer in person. God—what was I thinking? I can’t win her back, it’s too late, I’ve made so many mistakes. Still, she deserves to hear the words in the letter straight from me .
There’s no way she’s still here; surely, she left last night. Still, searching the house first and then traveling to Norse Garden to find her makes sense. I enter the front door. All is silent.
I stand in the foyer momentarily, feeling the house's emptiness without Freya.
I glance up the daunting stairway. The main bedroom will be empty. The bed was unslept in, the covers cold and stark, and pulled taut with MAR-vein’s tight tucks. The table that has been set for two every day since her arrival will now be set for one.
I don’t bother retrieving the newspaper from the foyer table.
There’s no one to read it now.
I hear a bark followed by little paws. Merry gallops across the foyer floor to greet me. “Merry! You’re here? I thought you’d go with—” I lean down, scratching her behind her ears. I thought Freya would take the puppy back to Norse Garden with her.
I was clear in the note that Merry belongs to her. Joyeux is mine.
I don’t let hope fill my heart as I climb the stairs. She must not have wanted the constant memory of the gift of the dog. I go to open the bedroom door. My pulse thrums in my ears, perspiration dampening my brow.
Am I seeing things?
Freya’s seated at our table as she is every morning, the sun streaming in, glittering off her ring, her light hair shining. My chair, across from hers, is empty. I catch a whiff of her floral perfume, confirming she’s real.
She wears her thin white robe, sipping coffee. Merry trots over to say hello to her.
“This tastes funny. Or is it a smell?” Looking down at the dog—“Merry, did you?” —she sniffs the mug. “Nope. Def the coffee.”
Hearing her voice, my heart lunges in my throat. I clear it away. “Didn’t you get my note?”
“Och! You scared me!” Startled, she turns to me. “There you are! My God! Where have you been? You haven’t even heard the news.”
Why is she here? My voice sounds strange. I feel dazed. “What news?”
“The sweetest news ever!” Her face beams as she’s barely able to contain her excitement. She pops up out of her seat, prancing over to me. She leans up, kissing my cheek. “Leah reached out. She’s giving Ophelia her surname and making a new extract.”
The only thing that matters is me and Freya, where we stand. What choice has she made? “That’s good. But Freya?—”
She keeps talking excitedly. “That’s not the best part! Leah’s legally changing her name to Ophelia Pearl! Isn’t that just darling? She said it was a tribute to us for taking such good care of her daughter.” Her hand goes to her heart. “I was so touched and told her you would be as well.”
“Of course…yes.” What is Freya doing here?
She leaves me, going back to her seat at the table. Pushing the mug of coffee as far from her as possible, she says, “Can you make me a tassie of tea? I can’t get it perfect like you do.”
“Absolutely.” I move without thinking. My mind is so focused on what I said in my note—how I told her she could leave, be free, single, a millionaire, our marriage annulled. How is she still here?
There is only one answer…
She has not read my note. She does not know of my offer. That’s why she’s still here.
My heart sinks as I remember the words I wrote, my pulse racing in my eardrums as I penned my proposal.
Freya,
You’ve said the words to me you so deserve to hear. I can’t say them. I don’t know if I ever can.
You deserve a man who doesn’t send a driver to bring you to his home and doesn’t keep you captive under the guise of your safety. Did I want to keep you safe? Absolutely. But I brought you here because I was filled with a selfish need to have you since the first moment I saw you.
You deserve so much more. You deserve the world.
Now, I know better. All that matters is that you have everything you want and need. Stay if you wish. Nothing would make me happier.
Or go free.
I’ll have the wedding annulled and give you half of everything I own. Take Merry, please, and leave me Joyeux .
Fredrick
Now, she looks up at me expectantly, wanting me to sit, chat, and pour tea.
I slide into the chair. My chair. The one I always sit in. I lift the kettle, filling her favorite delicate teacup only halfway. I tip the milk pitcher, a dot of cream swirling through the tea. My stomach turns, knowing I can’t take the coward’s way out. This time, I’m forced to tell her in person.
I hand her the tea.
She takes a sip, nodding with approval. “Perfection.”
My throat is tight, my words choked. Finally, I say, “My note. Did you read it?”
“That was real?” Her head cocks to the side. Her light brow furrows.
“Yes.”
She stares at me until she reads in my eyes that I’m serious. “I laughed when I read it. I thought it was a joke. I thought you were attempting to be more lighthearted.” She shrugs. “I mean, I did think you’d taken it a bit far by sleeping somewhere else in the house last night, but I was so tired I passed out after only waiting about five minutes for you to come to bed.”
“I meant it.”
She puts the teacup down. The glass clinks as the cup rests in the saucer. Her eyes lock with mine for what feels like a full minute.
I don’t look away .
“Och! Goodness. You poor thing!” She moves her chair back, coming over to me. “Scootch back.”
Obeying, I push my chair back.
She slides into my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck, and says, “Fredrick. Don’t you know a thing about islanders?”
I think about the people I know from their small island.
“Hard-working, trustworthy, loyal.” I add, “Possibly to a fault.”
Perched on my lap, she slips a cool hand on either side of my face, bringing me close enough to smell the scent of her floral perfume. “When we married, I said till death do us part. I meant it. I know you did as well. My brother never would have let you bring me here if you didn’t.”
“But…I—I can’t say those words you need to hear.”
Her brow knits. “What words?”
I stare at her, begging her to say them for me because I cannot.
“You mean those three wee words that make the world go round? I love you?” She laughs. The sound is like music to me. “You’d best love me; I went off the pill after—a few weeks ago.”
“Wait…what?”
“Seeing you with Ophelia Pearl started my biological clock ticking like crazy! I tossed the contraceptive pills in the trash.” She waves a hand through the air. “Truly didn’t think ye would mind since you suggested the same months ago. ”
My heart hammers in my ears. She’s ignoring the considerable admission I’ve just shared with her. That I can’t tell her I love her. It’s too much for her to process. She’s doing that thing where she pushes her emotions down, ignoring them.
I press on. “Freya. Did you hear what I said?”
“Aye, I heard you.” To my disbelief, she starts to laugh. “Fredrick. If you loved me any more than you do now, you’d be a psycho stalker.” She tilts her head. “You kinda already are psycho for me.”
“I’m not capable of love?—”
She puts a finger over my lips. “Hush. Don’t ever let me hear you say that again.”
I put my hand over hers. “But?—”
“Haud yer wheesht! And that is NOT a polite way of saying to be quiet, so you’d best heed my words and hush. Now listen to what I have to say.” She holds up a hand, ticking things off on her pretty fingers. “Do you trust me?”
“With my life.”
Tick. A finger goes down. “Would you make sacrifices for me?”
“I would die a thousand deaths for you, ma chérie,” I say.
Another finger is gone. “Am I the first thing you think about when you wake up?”
“Every single morning. And the last thing on my mind when I go to bed.” I don’t tell her, but often, I dream of her as well.
A third finger is ticked off. “And when you say ma chérie?” Her arched brows raise. “You’re the French one here. Please tell me if you know what that translates to?”
“My darling.”
“Exactly.” She gives her lawyer nod of confirmation, getting closer to winning her case. “I’m your dear, your darling. Your words, not mine. You have been calling me ma chérie almost since I first arrived. You wouldn’t say that if you didn’t feel love.”
“You sure you don’t want…a different kind of man? A different life? You didn’t have a choice in coming here…” I don’t know what to say.
“I love you. I love our life. I love our story.” She kisses me softly and sweetly, a kiss I feel throughout my body. “As long as I can tell you I love you as much as I want, I’ll wait forever to hear you say it back.”
“You will?” I ask.
“Aye. That’s real love.” She smiles. “You’re protective, reliable, and loyal, even leaving the Kings’ inner circle the moment they released me. You’re always there for me. If I were to choose a man from a lineup, those are the attributes I would want.”
“And you are everything I’ve always wanted.” I touch her face, telling her everything I can. “I’m so sorry I wrote that note. I slept in the guest house and missed one night with you. I should have come to you. I should have told you what I felt—I should have been more courageous.”
“What are you talking about? I got a great night of sleep without your snoring. ”
Of course, my sweet, perfect Freya makes light of this moment. “I don’t snore.”
“You do, but not to worry.” She gives a silly waggle of her brows. “I won’t kick you out of my bed. The buttercream icing on the wedding cake is that I find you extremely handsome.”
Shocked, relieved, ecstatic, I joyfully joke back, gesturing to the blue-and-green cashmere sweater I wear, one from our collection. “Handsome and well-dressed as well, I hope?”
“Aye.” She starts to laugh, but the sound chokes off, and she goes quiet. Has she changed her mind? Her skin pales, turning a funny shade of green, looking, as the Scots say, peely weely. Unwell.
“Och. No.” She bends at the waist, erupting her partly digested breakfast all over my chest.