Chapter 15
Fifteen
“Kitty? Why aren’t you with the rest of the group?”
Norman stood just inside the old church, framed by dusty light filtering through high stained glass.
His arms were loose at his sides, but his posture was alert—as if he’d caught her doing something she wasn’t meant to do. A furrow notched between his brows, then smoothed again too quickly for her to decipher.
“I might ask you the same thing,” she said, her voice trailing up in false brightness. “Why aren’t you with the rest of them?”
“I was…occupied.” His tone was mild, but his gaze sharpened as it met hers.
Her pulse gave an embarrassing jolt at her own question. Why should she care where he was either way?
She glanced away, feigning interest in a crumbling column. “Where are your occupations then? Or did you just happen to wander in here?”
Norman exhaled softly through his nose. “You’re deflecting.”
“I’m not. I just find it amusing that I asked first and yet here I am being interrogated like I’m the one caught sneaking communion wine.”
He smiled at that. Not a full smile, but the ghost of it. The polite version. The one he usually reserved for everyone else.
Kitty didn’t like that smile.
“I did wander in,” he said after a moment, walking toward the front pews. “But only because it was part of my occupation. Now, why did you vanish from the group to come here?”
“I didn’t vanish,” she muttered, trailing behind him. “I just walked off. There’s a difference.”
He didn’t reply right away. He stood at the front of the church, gazing up at the vaulted ceiling as though it might offer some clarity.
Light caught in his hair, turning the edges gold. His profile was maddening—quietly perfect. A hint of a five o’clock shadow, the strong line of his jaw, the slight downturn of his mouth that always made him look mildly displeased, even when he wasn’t.
She hated how easily he could look like he belonged somewhere important—and how simply glancing at his silhouette did things to her she shouldn’t be thinking about, especially not in a church.
“I asked first,” she said again, though there was no point anymore.
“I know,” he said, still not looking at her. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“But you were thinking it.”
“I usually am.”
That startled a laugh out of her. “What, thinking judgmental thoughts about me?”
He turned then, finally, and something in his expression made her falter. He looked at her too long. Not accusingly. Not amused. Just—carefully. As if cataloging her face, trying to memorize it or decipher it. Like he couldn’t quite tell what she was thinking.
Then, he tilted his head slightly, and she could feel his gaze on her. “It’s the church where we’ll be married next week.”
Her stomach dropped.
“Oh.”
Norman’s mouth tugged at the corner—dry amusement, almost fond, but not quite.
“It’s also where my parents were married,” he added. “Apparently there was a thunderstorm, and the roof leaked halfway through the vows. My father used to swear that my mother always said it was the most magical thing that ever happened to her—well, both of them.”
“I think he meant it reminded her that the truly beautiful things are rarely perfect,” he continued.
She looked away again, jaw tightening. That wasn’t fair. That was the sort of line that made her heart do something inconvenient in her chest. He wasn’t allowed to say things like that.
Her eyes settled on the dusty altar. Cold crept up her arms, even though the air was still.
She thought of Cynthia, of the way her voice had dropped just slightly when she’d said “I was supposed to be in your place.”
Kitty inhaled, then said—more bitterly than she’d meant to, “It should be Cynthia standing here beside you.”
She watched his pupils dilate—a simple, fleeting moment of surprise before his careful composure reformed.
“It should have been her,” she continued, the words hurting her lips as she spoke them. “You both would’ve made sense. Your parents married here. Hers probably got christened in the same font. It’s all very tidy. You broke the rules, Norman. Because of me.”
He blinked, startled by her sudden sharpness. A shadow flickered across his face—confusion first, then something like anger, though muted.
“That’s what you think this is?”
“Isn’t it?”
He stepped closer, with careful steps—like he didn’t quite trust her not to bolt.
Kitty held her ground, even though her heart was rattling like a jar of pins.
Norman’s brow lifted. “Is that what this is about?”
“No,” she snapped, before softening to a sulky murmur. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
He studied her. She could feel it. Could feel the warmth of it crawling up her neck. She hated that he looked at her like that—like he was trying to strip her bare.
“Cynthia’s never been someone I planned to marry,” he said quietly. “Not even when everyone expected me to. Certainly not now.”
Kitty’s throat tightened, but she clung to her scorn like armor. “Well, she seemed to think otherwise. And honestly, she’s not wrong. She fits better. You two match. You both probably have coat-of-arms tea sets and a fondness for fox hunting.”
Norman gave a small laugh, surprised and low. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re frustrating.”
“I prefer it to being tedious.”
“I said frustrating, not interesting.”
“Did you?” he asked, and his sapphire eyes twinkled the way they did when he knew he was getting under her skin.
She flushed and turned away. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come in here. I don’t even know what I was looking for.”
He was quiet for a moment. Then he spoke, “Kitty.”
She didn’t turn.
“I don’t want Cynthia. I never did.”
Her heart stuttered. She hated how easily it reacted to his voice. To his certainty. She hated how much she wanted to believe it.
“And I don’t give a damn about what our fathers wanted. Or what’s tidy. I only care about what I want.”
She spun on him, fire rising in her chest, masked as indignation. “And what’s that, exactly?”
Norman tilted his head again. There was a slow, deliberate pause as he considered her, the curve of his mouth almost smug. “Well. Right now, I want you to stop pretending you don’t know.”
Kitty stared at him, her breath caught somewhere in her ribs.
Norman’s eyes didn’t waver. His expression had softened—no smile now, just the steady pull of honesty that made her feel like her skin was too thin.
Her voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper. “You’re not supposed to say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ll start believing you.”
There was a flicker in his gaze then—a softness edged with something dangerous. “Maybe you should.”
She swallowed, her heart tripping over itself. She stepped back, too fast, too obvious.
The words curled around her like smoke.
Kitty blinked once, slowly. She wasn’t certain what he meant by it—perhaps he didn’t know either—but his voice was low and rough, as though he hadn’t meant to say it aloud. She took a small step closer.
Norman’s eyes—unreadable and insistent—followed her. There was something taut behind them, a wire pulled too tight. His jaw clenched, then relaxed, like he couldn’t decide which mask to wear.
He was watching her.
“Maybe I should?” she repeated, with a feigned casualness that sounded terribly out of place in the hush of the church. Her voice echoed softly beneath the arched ceiling, rebounding between dusty pews and empty altars.
The flicker of a smile ghosted across his mouth—a twitch, a shadow, gone too soon. He didn’t answer—he simply stared.
“You’re far too confusing for a bridegroom.” Kitty huffed.
The more she attempted to understand him, the more confusing he became.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, and for a moment, the silence between them bloomed with unsaid things.
Kitty’s breath caught. Her heart had already betrayed her, thudding against her ribs like it meant to break out entirely.
The way he was looking at her now—was it her imagination? It couldn’t be. It was too precise, too pointed.
But just as soon as it began to burn, the fire flickered again—his lashes lowered, his brows drew together slightly, uncertain.
“I should stay away from you,” he murmured, but he didn’t move.
“Then do,” she whispered, because he had wounded her pride more than she’d like to admit, and she’d rather be the one to turn than be left again. “You already have—all morning.”
“No,” he agreed, voice tight. “I won’t.”
He reached out. She couldn’t say who moved first—only that suddenly his hand was cupping her jaw and then his mouth was on hers.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t polished or patient or practiced. It was breathless and raw and entirely too real, and it melted her bones from the inside out. Her mind, ever ready with cleverness, emptied entirely.
She was vaguely aware that her hands had gripped the front of his coat, pulling him closer, even as her head screamed at her to stop this—this thing that wasn’t supposed to happen.
Because it wasn’t supposed to. Because she wasn’t supposed to feel like this—so hot and cold and stunned and furious and wanted and utterly terrified.
But Norman was kissing her like he’d been waiting to do it forever.
And Kitty… Kitty let him.
His mouth moved against hers with a tension that seemed to war between hunger and hesitation, as though even now he didn’t quite believe it was allowed. The scratch of his stubble brushed her skin, and his hand slid around to the back of her neck.
He held her like a secret, one he was too afraid to say aloud.
Then, suddenly—too suddenly—he pulled away.
Kitty blinked, dazed, her lips tingling. Her fingers were still curled in his coat, and she felt the ragged rise and fall of his chest beneath her palms.
“This is wrong,” Norman said, voice hoarse. His expression had shuttered back into sternness, but there was something behind it—panic? grief? Shame?