Chapter 57
“The Great War” - Taylor Swift
Maeve
A chilly wind whips up from the ocean, wrapping its cool fingers around me as I walk onto the massive terrace extending from the back of the house.
It’s made of large slabs of stone, probably taken from the very hills surrounding us a century ago.
A low wall is the only thing standing between me and a sheer drop onto the jagged cliffs below.
I take a step back before the view gives me vertigo and focus on the waves instead. It’s colder here, away from the heaters set up around the perimeter of the garden, but it feels better. Makes me feel alive. For a minute there, I thought I might suffocate.
I’m hidden from the wedding party still going on on the other side of the villa, although the music floats over on the breeze, punctuated every so often by laughter. After sucking in several large lungfuls of air, I consider my situation.
I did it. I gave up control; I told Pierce how I feel. I passed the ball squarely to him. He opted not to play, but isn’t that part of being vulnerable? If we knew how the other person would respond, there wouldn’t be any risk involved.
The relief from my honesty feels surprisingly good. Not good enough to fill the massive crater in the center of my chest, but it’s enough to numb the pain slightly. I do wish I had grabbed a bottle of champagne, though. That would help even more with the numbing.
Footsteps sound behind me, and I quickly brush away the tears drying on my cheeks. I may have chosen to put myself out there, but that doesn’t mean anyone needs to watch me fall apart. Turning, I expect to find Lux on a mission to drag me back in time for the cake cutting.
But it’s not Lux.
Everything around me stills as I watch him approach. The sounds of the sea and the music fade away until the only thing left is the loud thump-thump-thump of my heart. The chill in the air intensifies, leaving my skin as numb as my chest.
Hanging lanterns dot the perimeter of the terrace, casting a warm glow on Pierce’s face, and I already know that this image will be joining the thousands of others that have taken to haunting me as I try to fall asleep at night.
Each of his steps is measured, and I’m not sure if it’s because he’s afraid I’ll bolt or because he’s questioning his decision to come.
I focus on his suit, which looks as crisp as it did when he walked me down the aisle.
He’s still wearing his jacket, even though the other guys discarded theirs ages ago, but I don’t need to see it to know that underneath, his white shirt is stretching taut over the muscles in his shoulders and arms.
My mouth has gone dry—I couldn’t say anything if I wanted to—and my brain has decided to take a vacation.
A million thoughts swirl through my head.
Why is he here? What does he want? How badly is this going to hurt?
But I can’t speak a single one of them. All I can do is wait for him to come closer and say something.
He stops, leaving enough space between us for a grand fucking piano.
As much as I want to, I can’t seem to tear my gaze from his face. There are new lines on it, giving him an aged look that by some miracle only makes him more handsome. His eyes carry sadness, though, and I wonder if it’s possible that we’ve both been in hell in the past four months.
“You forgot something,” he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a piece of paper.
I spare my discarded speech a single glance before turning my gaze back to his face.
After a few beats, he tilts his head slightly and takes one more step in my direction. “You’re not going to say anything?”
My tongue feels thick in my mouth. “I said everything there was to say.” The voice that comes out sounds like a stranger’s.
Pierce’s mouth pulls to the side as he nods. “Okay.” It sounds so final, like a gavel hitting the block, like the big black THE END on the last page of a manuscript.
Something falls in my chest—a remaining piece of rock that held on when everything else plunged into the ocean?
This is it then. He didn’t come here to talk about my speech.
He didn’t come looking for me because he had things he wanted to say.
He’s leaving. He’s leaving me because I screwed up and realized the truth too late.
I guess he just wanted to rub it in my face one last time.
Do you know what heartbreak tastes like? Metallic and slightly sweet, a little like blood, which might explain why so many people seek it out.
Every part of me wants to lash out, to berate him for causing me pain, to inflict as much damage on his heart as he’s inflicted on mine. But all of those same parts also want to call out, to beg him to forgive me, to plead with him for another chance.
So I say nothing.
Because releasing control and trusting someone means allowing them to make their own decisions without manipulating them into doing what you want.
Pierce turns slowly on his heel to head back to the house, a pensive look on his face, but stops before actually reaching the door he came through minutes ago.
I watch him as he hesitates, my eyes on those broad shoulders in his tuxedo, wishing I had appreciated them more while they were still mine to touch.
“Did you mean it?” His voice is quiet but still manages to pierce the night air and what’s left of my heart.
It takes me several seconds to gather my wits enough to form a response, long enough that he angles his body so he can see me. “The speech?” I say, unsure of what he’s asking.
Waves crash against the rocks below, sending up a spray that I imagine hitting my skin, cold and biting.
“Yes,” he responds in a measured tone.
Emotion clogs my throat, and I raise my fist to my lips as I do my best to clear it before answering him. The taste of metal is still in my mouth, and I suspect it will be there for a long time to come. This isn’t the kind of wound you recover from in a week.
I consider lying to him, telling him it wasn’t true, that I just wanted to see what he would do if I said those things.
At least then I’d be able to walk out of here with a modicum of pride left.
But I don’t. Maybe it’s because of the emotional wreckage that is my heart, or because I’ve finally had to face the consequences of my own actions, but either way, I can only be honest with him from here on out.
“I did.” My voice wobbles, but I force the words out.
I’m not sure what I expect—for him to nod again and walk away? Or maybe say “it was good knowing you” and give me one of those heartbreaking forehead kisses before he leaves my life for good?
He doesn’t do either of those things, though, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the second you try to predict someone’s actions, they’ll do the complete opposite.
His movements slow, Pierce turns back around until he’s facing me again.
The pensive expression is gone, replaced by a blankness that doesn’t allow me a single glimpse into his mind.
I have no idea what he’s thinking or feeling right now, and it makes me nervous.
I keep my feet grounded, though, determined to trust him no matter what.
Every single step he takes toward me feels like an artificial heartbeat, echoing through my chest and emphasizing the emptiness of it.
Only when he’s close enough to touch does he stop and look down at me, letting the paper in his hands drift to the ground.
My fingers long to reach out and feel his stubble, already growing back after his prewedding shave.
“And who were you referring to?” he asks in a low tone that makes my core throb with need. “When you said you lost the only guy you’ve ever truly loved?”
I swallow the lump of emotion barricading my throat. “I thought that would be obvious.”
Pierce shifts, bringing us even closer, close enough I can smell his cologne, and that alone nearly wrecks me, but he doesn’t lay a hand on me. “I thought a lot of things were obvious, and I was wrong. So I’m going to need you to spell it out for me.”
Moisture blurs my vision, and I quickly blink it away. How could there be any mistaking what I meant? Unless he knows about my breakup and thinks I was referring to Preston. “You,” I whisper, praying for courage. “I was talking about you.”
“Maeve,” he growls, and something leaps in my belly. “If you’re playing with me . . .” He doesn’t need to finish the sentence. His tone says it all.
I shake my head, desperate to move to the part where he’s touching me again, if that part’s ever coming. “I’m not.” My breath comes out ragged, as if I’ve just run up a hill. “I meant it.”
Instead of kissing me the way I need him to, he considers me, probably looking for evidence of a lie in my face. He won’t find one, because nothing I’ve ever said before has been truer.
I push on, needing him to believe me. “I was an idiot. I was scared out of my fucking mind, Pierce. I thought—” My voice breaks as I recall the haunting fear that plagued me every time I thought about how deep my feelings for him ran.
“I thought you would hurt me, that I would be safer with someone I didn’t really care about. ”
“What changed?” He still hasn’t touched me, hasn’t shown any evidence that he’s willing to give me another chance. Nothing except for a tiny softening of his eyes. Still, it gives me hope.
Sniffing, I brush at the tears dampening my eyelashes. I need to pull myself together. “Moment of clarity, I guess,” I say quietly. “And my sister.”
His brows flicker down in confusion. “What does Vivienne have to do with anything?”
I rub my bare arms. The night air is causing gooseflesh to break out all over my skin. “She made me confront some of the things I was avoiding. Namely, how I feel about you.”