Chapter 4
“Iris, do you really think this is a good idea?” Violet asked, twisting the fallen pin back into her sister’s hair.
They were in one of the washrooms of Rosemere Manor, a home that belonged to Alex.
He had been visiting it with Tristan when they found gold in the creeks, after which they had asked a few of their friends to join their venture, thus exploding Kisswick’s population.
Iris didn’t mind, knowing that the village would diminish in size after the curiosity had died down.
Just like everything in life, peaks and crests were to be expected.
Such as the current peak with Tristan. It had been one and a half days of attention from Tristan, and Iris had never been happier. Why did her sister have to go and ruin this? Especially right before the little soiree Alex was hosting. Tonight they would ensure the village knew them as a couple.
“What do you mean? I already did this once with Damien. It’s fine.
” The fake courtship was fine. The self-portrait, not so much.
She had come to Kisswick to paint the sea, not herself, because every time she had ever tried to paint herself, she couldn’t see herself.
And how could one who considered themself an artist explain that to anyone else with any modicum of sense?
She couldn’t see herself? Couldn’t conjure the image?
Ugh. Vexing beyond belief. But she would figure that out later.
“That was Damien. This time it’s Tristan as your fake fiancee. Don’t you remember why you didn’t choose him last time?”
It didn’t feel great being rebuffed by her younger sister.
Even if she was only younger by a year. And Iris didn’t feel particularly keen on answering the question directed to her because she did remember the reason.
Or more accurately, reasons. It would complicate everything with Tristan because she already had real feelings for her childhood friend.
She wasn’t sure she could protect her heart.
It would feel too nice to hold him in any way physically, and well, the list went on.
“It’s not like I’m planning to do this again,” she shrugged.
“We’re just doing this for as long as Lester is here, and I can’t imagine he’ll be staying much longer.
This is short lived. Don’t worry.” A sliver of anxiety crawled up her spine.
Once Lester left, Tristan wouldn’t be around her as much. At least, not in the same way.
Her sister was persistent though, and hadn’t dropped her case.
“It might not be Lester next time. There might be another man. What will you do then? You can’t just ask men to protect you.
I thought you wanted this life of a spinster.
Here, in Kisswick, so you can paint. Remove yourself from scandals and societal pressure. ”
“I did. I do. I just…I didn’t expect Lester to show up here. He’s making a mess of everything. But please don’t worry. Once he’s gone, everything will return to normal.” Normal. The word was heavy rather than life bringing.
Iris stood up. “Usually you are the bright shining star cheering me up, Violet. Let’s not worry about this. Just be happy. Tonight we’re eating and dancing. It’s all in good fun.”
And it was enjoyable. It was a pleasant evening.
The entire time Tristan had his hand on her back, leading her from space to space.
For the full duration he sat next to her at dinner, his knee was wedged against her thigh.
Every time he looked at her with those warm brown eyes with the best version of love she’d ever seen.
So engrossed in Tristan’s attention was she that she didn’t have the wherewithal to notice Lester at all.
He was in attendance, since everyone had been invited.
But in her mind, the only people that existed were her and Tristan.
It hadn’t been this way with Damien. With him the fake engagement had been formal. A declaration that everyone accepted, but with Tristan, everything was much more intimate.
And when dinner was over, and drinks were served, Iris felt thirsty. Incredibly thirsty. Like she needed a good long drink from a—
“Lemonade?” Violet winked while extending a small glass her way.
“Yes, please. It’s hot in here, isn’t it?”
Violet only shrugged. “Watching Alex, I really couldn’t say. The man is made of stone.” She tipped her head toward their mutual friend. “Shall we ask the rolling stone? He’s coming our way. Speaking of which, why didn’t you ask this favor or Alex instead of Tristan?”
Iris couldn’t think of a suitable response to that before he closed the distance between them.
“Ladies,” Alex greeted them formally, considering he’d known them his whole life.
“Are you hot?” Violet chirped.
Alex stifled a small cough. “I’m perfectly fine, thank you. Would you like to dance, Iris?”
“A dance with an old friend would be lovely.”
Once the music started, Alex whirled her about as expected not saying a word. Until the final strains of the song.
“Be careful, Iris.” His intense look could not be ignored, and so she didn’t pretend to mistake his meaning.
“I will be.”
“Not for your sake, for his—”
“May I have the next dance with my betrothed?” Tristan cut in.
“Of course,” Alex murmured, transferring the hand in question.
“Aren’t you going to ask me to dance, Alex?” Violet teased under her breath.
With a small huff, as though it were a chore, Alex took Violet’s raised fingers to lead her to the floor.
“Those two are such an amusing pair,” Tristan commented as they waited for the musicians to start up again.
“Yes, they are.”
“You don’t mind watching them dance?” he asked cautiously.
“Of course not.”
“It’s just that you and Alex…well, you know.”
She scrunched up her face, just a tiny bit. “What do you mean?”
“You two were always close. Reading and discussing your books together. I know how much you like him. In fact, I’m surprised you didn’t ask him for help.”
She took a step back. That was two people questioning her decision, and she really didn’t have a good answer for them—at least, not one she wanted to share. “I just…didn’t think of him.”
“Oh.” Tristan’s face fell.
“I don’t think of him like that,” she amended because she felt like she’d somehow disappointed Tristan without meaning to.
“Oh?”
“No. I just…um…I can’t really imagine him convincing people he was in love with me.” And there was a whole lot packed into that statement she realized. How would he take that?
“Fair. The man is a bit of a closed book.”
“I’ll say. For as much as he likes to read, he’s impossible to read.”
“You two always used to laze about reading together. Violet and I rarely jumped in on your book discussion, except perhaps to annoy you or convince you both to engage in a new activity. People always thought you two would end up together.”
Iris laughed. “Perhaps we might have if all I ever wanted in life was to read and then talk about what I just read. I mean, that doesn’t sound half bad. But I wanted something more.”
“What did you want?”
She wanted to avert her eyes, back slowly away from the question, but she couldn’t. There was a deeper part of her that wanted Tristan to know more of her heart, even if she still couldn’t share it all. Couldn’t risk the friendship. Couldn’t risk the stability of their relationship.
But she had to tell him something. Some part of the truth.
“I wanted the butterflies.”
He paused for a beat, and just when she thought he was going to change the subject, he added, “The sweaty palms?”
She nodded, eyes locked on his. “The feet rooted to the spot.”
“The swimming head?”
“The starry eyes.”
Was it her imagination or did he pull her closer? She could feel the heat emanating from his body, and the charged air between them.
“The heart beating out of your chest?”
“The body heat.”
Tristan cleared his throat. They had stopped dancing, and now he was just holding her. “Say ow,” he hissed at her.
“What?”
“Say ow,” and he pinched her, causing her to let out a small shriek.
Her eyebrows squeezed together. Well, that was one way to end the moment—
WHOOSH!
He swept her up in his arms, murmuring, “Turned ankle,” to the onlookers as he casually took them out of the ballroom.
“Tristan, what are you doing?”
She was quite sure she heard him mumble an I don’t know, yet he kept walking until they reached a small room.
Iris had no idea what to expect. Neither did the butterflies inside of her.