Chapter Thirty-One #2
She didn’t know what possessed her to do it, what drove her to put the book on a side table and close the gap between them.
But in one moment, she was standing there staring up at him, and in the next her lips had met his.
For a moment, Max’s body stiffened with surprise, but just as quickly he’d wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him.
They broke apart, but only for a moment.
The second time they kissed, Max took her face in both hands and pressed his forehead to hers before he kissed her a second time, then a third.
Vesper felt a sensation like hummingbirds fluttering in her rib cage, like she was being lifted by a thousand invisible strings.
The only thing she cared about—the only thing she could think about—was Max.
She wanted more of this, she wanted more of this feeling; she wanted a hundred more moments like this one.
She wanted … Max.
The realization stunned her, like a bolt of lightning running through her veins.
She wanted Max. It made no sense on paper.
They came from entirely different worlds, they shouldn’t have been able to relate to each other at all, and yet Max had always found a way to make Vesper feel like they were on the same side.
He’d opened the door into his world, but he’d been just as interested in understanding hers.
Other men in this city might have considered a female reporter uncouth, but Max had never been daunted or intimidated by her profession.
He’d never minded her stubbornness, or her tenacity.
She vaguely remembered the comment from that museum security guard.
He’d called her odd, and she’d internalized it.
She’d believed she was too strange, that she’d always have to choose between being herself, or being acceptable. But what if she’d had it wrong?
“I have one more thing for you,” said Maximilian. “Wait here.”
“All right.”
He took her hands in his and kissed them before heading out the door.
Even when he was gone, her heart wouldn’t stop thundering in her chest. She closed and opened her eyes, waiting to wake up from whatever impossible dream this was.
But this was no dream. She was still standing in Maximilian’s den, still waiting for him to come back.
All her life, she’d felt pulled in two directions, torn between the desire to be herself, and the desire to be acceptable.
For maybe the first time, Vesper saw a third direction, a direction that didn’t force her to choose because there was someone who already loved her exactly as she was.
The option was there, just within reach.
Vesper imagined what it would look like to grasp that possibility.
She imagined telling Maximilian exactly how she felt about him when he returned, and she imagined the kind of love they might built together. She was so close to it, but …
It won’t work.
The voice in her head was hers, the part of her that years of training had taught to be skeptical, cynical. That inner voice’s tone was cool, dismissive.
You and Max won’t work because you can’t. Look at you and look at him. You come from completely different worlds. How could you possibly build a life together when you have nothing in common?
Vesper felt a familiar tightness in her chest, an old anxiety that never went away.
You know what will happen, that inner voice said. The same thing that’s happened every time you let your guard down. He’ll leave. He’ll hurt you, and you’ll be left worse for it.
Vesper tried to swallow, but a lump had formed in her throat. The constricting sensation in her chest was only worsening.
Air, I need air.
Her eyes searched the room, but its lone window appeared to be painted shut. The warmth Vesper had felt before was doused like a candle thrown into the sea as the panic and anxiety roiled inside her in a maelstrom. Vesper ran from the den, blinking back tears.
“Vesper?” In the distance she thought she heard Maximilian’s voice, but she no longer trusted herself to discern the difference between what was real and what was in her head. She didn’t turn in the direction of that voice, and instead picked up her pace as she hurried down the corridor.
In the main room, guests were still dancing, enjoying their winter wonderland.
Her vision blurred as her eyes stung with tears.
She didn’t know where to go, so she bolted out the door to the back garden until she reached a lake behind the house.
It was small, freshly frozen. Only when Vesper sat on a bench at its edge did she let the tears finally fall.
“Vesper?”
Vesper turned. To her surprise, she found Ada walking quickly across the grass. She rubbed her arms, shivering as she joined Vesper.
“Ada.” Vesper’s voice was weaker than she’d have liked it to be. “What are you doing here?”
“I saw you run outside.” There was concern in her friend’s voice. “Are you all right?”
Vesper had no idea how to answer that question. Her heart felt like glass, shattered into a million tiny pieces. After a moment, she shook her head. Ada sighed, then eased down, so that she was sitting beside her.
“You don’t have to tell me anything,” she murmured. “We can just sit here, if you’d like?”
Vesper nodded, suddenly more grateful for Ada than she’d ever been before. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” Ada gave her a soft smile, then reached up and tucked one of her dark curls behind her ear.
In the moonlight, something caught Vesper’s eye: the bracelet on Ada’s wrist. It was a simple golden chain with two charms on it, one made of amethyst, and one made of gold.
She focused on the latter, then frowned.
“Ada,” she said. “Could I see your bracelet for a second?”
Ada looked surprised. “Of course.” She held her wrist and turned it, so that both charms were more visible.
The amethyst charm was carved into the shape of a small heart, but the golden one was carved in the shape of a honeybee.
She recognized the design instantly. It was the exact same honeybee she’d seen on the hatpin in Francis’s room.
“Ada…,” she said slowly. “Is there any chance you’re missing a hatpin shaped like a honeybee?”
Ada shrugged. “It’s possible. I have all sorts of bee-themed trinkets. My mother buys them for me as a nod to our surname.”
Vesper frowned. “Your surname?”
“Bickerton.” Ada’s smile was beatific in the moonlight. “It means ‘beekeeper’ in old Victerran. That’s how my ancestors made their fortune actually, beekeeping and honey production.”
Vesper went very still. “I have one more question,” she asked. “How well did you really know Francis Gladwell?”
Ada cocked her head for a moment, then a slow smile spread across her face. “Ah, Vesper, I think it’s time we had a little chat.”