Chapter Twenty-Two
The long and short of it, Kalila thought as she followed Oliver down a dark pavement, is that I’m terrified.
She was sure—almost certain, in fact—that Oliver was confused.
But none of this was easy for her. She had built very, very strong walls around her heart in the years since it had last been betrayed, and now it felt like those walls could be knocked over with the brush of a feather.
Of course it was terrifying. Every time she allowed herself to be pulled in by the warm, dreamy promise of being with Oliver, something inside her grabbed her by the elbow and gave a sharp tug, returning her to reality.
It was a reality filled with the inevitability of resentment and suffocation.
But perhaps the inevitability part of it was something she’d simply made up to protect herself.
It was definitely something she’d made up to protect herself.
It was easier to avoid all of this. When they’d been caught in the rain, he’d mentioned something existing between them.
Her heart knew what he’d been referring to, even as she’d denied the nature of it when he’d tried to probe deeper.
When he told her he liked her, a part of her had warned her that this was as far as she dare go.
Naturally, she’d ignored that part. Now she was paying the price of her—frankly annoying—insistence on bouncing between being on the very edge of falling in love and locking herself up in an ivory tower filled with microscopes.
She was a sensible woman, though. She knew this couldn’t last—that she’d have to make a decision soon and stick to it. She could either choose love, or she could choose the safety of solitude.
One would think the decision easily made.
“Here we are,” Oliver said, pulling her out of her reverie.
Kalila came to a stop, the skirts of the jade-colored dress she had changed into fluttering about her ankles. She surveyed the building before them.
“I’ve been to the university before, Oliver,” she said dryly.
“I know that,” he said, grinning. “I want to show you something.”
“It’ll be locked,” she reminded him as they went up the steps to the main entrance.
“Never fear,” he said. He reached into his waistcoat pocket, scowling as he pulled out his spectacles. “Not what I meant to retrieve.”
“I think you should wear them more often,” she told him, thinking back to the day she’d stumbled upon him in 107 with his sleeves rolled up and his spectacles balancing on his nose.
He smirked. “While I am most interested in your fascination with my spectacles, what I really meant to retrieve was this.”
A key.
Kalila’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Why do you have a key to the university?”
“You’re better off asking the guard why he so carelessly dropped it,” Oliver said, unlocking the door and ushering her in. The door shut behind them, enveloping them in the calm, still silence of the foyer. “Follow me.”
Kalila obeyed, walking beside him as he led them deeper into the building than she had ever been before. Past the door to the gardens, past 107, past Comerford’s office. Finally, Oliver stopped at a door that nobody had even bothered to close, let alone lock.
“What is this?” she whispered.
“You’ll see,” he said, unable to conceal the excitement in his voice.
He pushed the door open, revealing a long hallway poorly lit by the moonlight that shone through a row of windows.
Leaving her at the entrance, he disappeared into the gloom, the sounds of rummaging betraying his location.
Kalila squinted in an effort to see where he’d brought her.
Without warning, light from a gas lamp illuminated the room, and she saw that the hallway was, other than being dusty, lined with tables and hung with pictures.
“I still don’t know what this is,” she said, making her way toward him. She’d only taken a few steps before she found herself rooted to the floor, her interest captured by a strange creature that sat preserved in a jar. She bent and stared through the glass, fascinated.
Oliver’s voice came from behind her. “Comerford has been putting together this museum for an age.”
Now that he’d mentioned it, Kalila could see that it was in fact a museum, if one could call a narrow hallway such.
She caught sight of an array of microscopes, a collection of plants, and a smattering of large specimens suspended in spirits.
A smile came over her as she turned to Oliver who, of course, smiled at her in return.
“It’s wonderful,” she said, stepping over to the microscope closest to her.
A small rack of slides sat next to it, and a diagram had been framed and hung on the wall above.
Kalila pulled out a slide at random and gestured for Oliver to provide her with a little light.
She gasped as she looked into the eyepiece, a gleeful giggle escaping her. “Marine specimens! Oliver, this is—”
She was cut short by the sound of footsteps and, before she could utter another word, Kalila was pulled into a small alcove that had been hidden behind a woven tapestry of one of the many, many male scientists beloved by her peers.
The gas lamp now extinguished, Oliver held his finger up to his lips, eyes twinkling in amusement as she tried to bite back a laugh of her own.
The loud stomping of boots echoed, followed by a grumbled, “Thought I heard something here.”
Silence fell shortly after, though it did nothing to dampen the adrenaline running through Kalila’s veins.
“Who was that?” she murmured.
“A guard, most likely.”
She paused, considering. “Do you think we can return to the hallway?”
He nodded, though neither of them moved. Kalila found herself transfixed by the sight of Oliver bathed in the weak moonlight that filtered through the threadbare tapestry. His face was a work of art in and of itself, all sharp angles and crooked grins.
The very smile she’d been thinking of tugged at his lips. “What are you thinking?”
“That my life has been unusually exciting of late,” she fibbed. It was only half a lie, because her life had never been as exciting as it had been this summer. While she had ushered in some of the excitement on her own, she knew full well that Oliver had also played his part.
And played it well.
“Excitement isn’t unusual for me,” he confided, “but I can’t say I’ve ever appreciated it quite as much as I do now.”
She giggled, unable to help herself. Oliver chuckled at her delight and, for a perfect moment, they simply stood there in each other’s company.
“Let’s go to the roof,” he said, a playful smile still on his face.
“The roof?” Kalila echoed. “What’s on the roof?”
He pushed the tapestry aside for her as they returned to the makeshift museum. “You ask too many questions, Kalila Darwish. It makes it difficult to surprise you.”
“I like questions,” she said as he led them up flight after flight of stairs.
“I know you do,” he replied. It was a statement that could have come off unkind. But Oliver said it with such fondness and appreciation that she felt as though her blood had been replaced with honey.
Just as she was about to complain about being a little too short of breath, they arrived at the top of the university. The roof was large and empty, save for—
“A telescope?!” she gasped, rushing up to it.
“The astronomy students come up here to make their observations.” Oliver came to stand next to her. She could sense his focus on her as she bent toward the eyepiece, tilting the brass body of the telescope up to the stars so she might examine the heavens. “Kalila?”
She mimicked his serious tone when she said, “Oliver?”
“I lied to you earlier.”
“What about?” Kalila asked, distracted by the sight of a distant falling star. If she knew Oliver, it wouldn’t be anything unforgivable.
“Thinking I might fall in love with you.”
At that, Kalila snapped up. She bit her tongue as dread invaded her every cell, wanting so very badly to appear unaffected by what was quite possibly the worst thing she’d ever been told in her life.
“That’s—that’s good, isn’t it?” she croaked, her throat dry. “Now we’ve nothing to worry about.”
Oliver took a step toward her, shifting the telescope away so that nothing separated them. “Quite the opposite, actually.”
Kalila’s dread was dampened by a wave of confusion. “I don’t know what that means.”
“It means,” he said, the words soft and helpless, “I’m already in love with you.”
A strange, terrifying exhilaration pushed all other emotions aside as Oliver’s confession sank in, nestling itself into the heart of her.
Say something, she urged herself. Tell him the truth, tell him—
“Why?” she blurted out. The moment the question left her lips, she considered pitching herself off the edge of the roof.
Oliver, however, seemed rather unfazed by her response. In fact, it rather seemed like he’d expected it, because he gave her his answer with no hesitation.
“I love how passionate you are,” he began, his eyes never leaving hers.
“I love how you can’t give up, even when you want to.
How when you love something, you love it so fully that you unknowingly build an altar to it in your room.
” He offered her a lovesick smile that sent an arrow straight through her chest. “I want to love like that.” A pause, followed by, “I think I already do.”
“I—when did this happen?”
“The very first day you walked into the university.”
Kalila’s voice came out in a hoarse whisper. “That can’t be true.”
“Why not? Why is it so impossible that someone might like—or, in my case, love—you on sight?”
She didn’t know. Her family loved her, she knew that. But being loved so perfectly very often went hand in hand with the knowledge that it was rare and unlikely to ever occur again.
“Could you love me?” he asked, the question coming out in a strangled plea. “As I am?”
The time had come. It was time to choose between love and—well, it was love and fear, wasn’t it?
She could try to convince herself that she was picking between Oliver and the safety of her own company, but she knew that wasn’t true.
It was fear, so comfortable to her by now that it barely registered as such, that awaited her if she refused him now.
No matter what she chose, she’d have to swallow the risks and uncertainty that came along with it.
The moment for wayward, private thoughts had passed.
She had to choose, and she had to do it with her whole chest.
Well? What will it be?
Kalila took a breath. “I could,” she said, the walls around her heart finally reduced to rubble. Her own doing. “It terrifies me, but I could.”
*
He had her.
Well, maybe not quite, but this was as close as he’d ever come to it.
Kalila stood before him, a vision in green satin, her short curls ruffled by the wind. She blinked up at him with an odd expression on her face, one that was equal parts mortified and delighted.
He loved her. It felt so damned good to say it aloud—so good, in fact, that he’d barely worried about how she might respond. That was how desperate he’d been to let her know.
She began to wring her hands together. “Everything we were discussing—all of it could come to pass.”
“What could?”
“The resentment,” she whispered. “And the suffocation.”
Oliver held her gaze for a long, silent moment. “Do you really think that?”
She turned to look at the skyline, a rosiness creeping up her neck. Letting out a long exhale, she said, “No. No, I don’t. I’ve run out of excuses.”
“Are you sure?” he teased. “I’d be willing to hear one more.”
“Perhaps you ought to come up with one,” she retorted.
“If you can’t, then neither can I,” he told her. “You’re far smarter than I could ever hope to be.”
She placed her chin in her hand and let out a hum of acknowledgment.
“And she doesn’t even try to spare my feelings by denying it!” he said, pressing his hand against his heart.
She broke out into laughter, the sound lilting and sweet. “You’re free to revoke your declaration of love, if you like.”
Oliver took both of her hands in his. “I could never do that. I love you with every fiber of my being, Kalila, and I’m too far gone to ever be able to take it back.”
Biting her lower lip, she asked, “What do we do now?”
“Well, we have the seminar to attend tomorrow,” he said. “What we do every day after that is entirely up to you.”
“The seminar,” she groaned, pulling away from him and burying her head in her hands.
Oliver frowned. “You don’t mean to attend?”
“No,” she said, her misery plain. “I thought I’d return to Painswick before it took place.”
“And now I’ve ruined your plan by telling you I love you, is that it?” Oliver asked, entirely too pleased with himself.
“Precisely,” she said, straightforward as ever. “And now I haven’t the faintest idea of what to do. All I know is my days as Dameer Rafiq are over.”
Oliver shrugged. “I can’t say I’m sorry to see him go.”
“I am, in a way.” She sighed and wrapped her arms around herself. “I don’t think I’ll ever see such freedom again.”
I’ll make sure you do, he thought.
“There’s still time to make this right,” Oliver reminded her. He’d sensed something in her, something that told him she couldn’t possibly be willing to forgo this particular battle. “I’ll try to work it out.”
“Oliver, don’t—”
“I know, I know,” he said, feeling his skin warm. “I’ve disappointed you before with similar promises.”
“It’s not that,” she said, “it’s just that I don’t think there is a way to work it out.”
Oliver gathered her close, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. “Will you let me try, at least? Consider it an apology for not having done so before.”
Kalila propped her head against his shoulder, growing very still as she fell into deep thought. Finally, she tilted her head back, her face aglow. “All right. Just know that I won’t be upset if you do not succeed.”
He chuckled. “Your confidence in me is nothing short of inspiring.”
“You’ll let me know how it goes, won’t you?”
Perplexed, Oliver regarded her, wondering how it was he knew what she was about to do before she did.
A spark flickered in those wide eyes of her, a spark that told him that she’d be unable to sit the seminar out.
Hard as she tried to keep it under control, her curiosity would eat away at her.
Absolutely nothing would keep her in that townhouse.
He was as certain of that as he was of his own feelings for her.
“Of course I will,” he promised.
“Wonderful.” She pushed herself up on her toes to drop a kiss on his jaw. “Although it will be a shame to be the last person to hear of what occurs.”
“Indeed.”
She frowned at him. “You sound unconvinced.”
“Me?” he asked, all innocence. “What could I possibly have to be unconvinced about?”
“I’m not going to that seminar.”
“I know that. Your days as Dameer Rafiq are over. You said so yourself.”
She pressed her lips together before speaking. “Yes, well. Good.”
That he knew she would, in fact, attend went completely and purposefully unsaid.
“Good,” he said, “is right.”