15. Jealousy #5
Everett stood before the library fire, letting its warmth seep into his bones even as cold dread settled in his stomach.
The familiar comfort of book-lined walls offered little solace tonight as moonlight spilled through leaded windows, casting long shadows across the floor.
He heard her soft footsteps in the doorway but couldn’t bring himself to turn, afraid his face would reveal too much.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he managed, his voice steadier than he felt.
“Neither was I.” Her voice came from near the door, the distance between them an almost physical ache.
He turned then, letting his carefully maintained mask slip for once. Let her see the truth of him, the weight of secrets he’d carried. Her eyes widened slightly at whatever she saw in his face, and he realised how lost he must look, so far from the confident physician she’d known.
“What I’m about to tell you…” His voice roughened. “You must understand, I never meant for any of this to happen.”
She moved closer, drawn perhaps by the raw honesty in his voice. The sight of her approaching made his heart leap even as guilt twisted in his gut. “Tell me,” she said.
The confessions poured out like poison from a wound. The death tolls, the faulty pipes from compromising quality, the coverup that reached into Parliament itself. With each revelation, he watched the horror dawn in her beautiful face, hating himself for putting it there.
“And you?” The words seemed to cost her. “Where do you fit in all this?”
“I was sent to stop you without my knowledge.” He forced himself to meet her gaze, to let her see the truth in his eyes.
“To find cause to discredit your work before you could prove the connection. But then I met you—brilliant, dedicated, fearless you—so I pretended to help him by stealing your research while, in fact, I was protecting you.”
He stepped closer, drawn by some magnetic pull between them. The familiar scent of her made his head spin. God, how had he let himself fall so deeply?
“I can’t let them destroy you,” he said softly, willing her to understand everything he couldn’t quite say. “You must believe I am on your side, Emma.”
Tell her about the marriage ultimatum, his conscience prodded. Tell her everything. But looking at her now, seeing trust war with doubt in those remarkable eyes, he couldn’t bear to give her reason to question his feelings. To let his father’s manipulation taint what lay between them.
“There’s more, isn’t there?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
For a moment, he wavered. But then she swayed toward him slightly, unconsciously, and his resolve hardened. The ring in his pocket, his mother’s ring that had waited generations for the right moment, suddenly felt heavy.
“Yes,” he said softly, reaching for her hand. “There is one other thing I need to share.”
Her eyes widened as he lowered himself to one knee, the movement deliberate and weighted with meaning. The ring caught the lantern light as he withdrew it, the antique diamonds sparking like captured stars.
“This ring has been in my family for generations,” he began, his voice low. “My mother wore it until the day she died, and her last wish was that it would go to someone worthy of its legacy. Someone extraordinary.” His thumb stroked across her knuckles. “Someone like you, Emma.”
She drew in a sharp breath, her free hand flying to her mouth. “Everett…”
“I know this isn’t a conventional courtship.
God knows nothing about us has been conventional.
” His lips quirked in a brief smile. “But I’ve never been more certain of anything than I am of this—of us.
You challenge me, inspire me, make me want to be worthy of the way you look at me.
” He squeezed her hand gently. “I love you, Emma. Will you marry me?”
For several heartbeats that felt like eternity, she just stared at him, tears gathering in her remarkable eyes. "Do you promise you'll always be honest? That you won't mislead me in the name of shielding me?"
"No," he said quietly, watching her smile fade. "I can't promise never to protect you. But I will promise to consider that there might be more than one way to shield what we both hold dear."
"Everett—"
"Listen to me, Emma. You see the world in absolutes—right and wrong, truth and lies. But sometimes protecting what matters means finding the path between." His voice gentled. "I'll promise to trust your strength if you'll promise to trust that there might be more than one kind of justice."
She studied him for a long moment, her mind weighing evidence against instinct. "I... I promise to try," she said finally. "To listen, even when my heart screams there's only one right way."
"Then yes," he whispered, "I promise to try as well."
When his hand trembled as he slipped the ring onto her finger, she laughed—not the pure joy of blind faith, but something richer, tempered with understanding.
He rose, pulling her into his arms, and as their lips met in a kiss, they both silently acknowledged that love meant learning to bend without breaking.
The ring sparkled on her finger, a testament to generations of love stories. But none, he thought, quite as remarkable as theirs.
“I am yours,” he whispered against her hair. No matter what happens.