Chapter 14 #2
The fact that Hamish is watching with what appears to be judgment.
“I’m pretty sure we look like robots,” Clementine says.
“Maybe. But the real question is whether we look like robots in love from the early twentieth century.”
She laughs.
And I catch myself staring at her with something dangerously close to admiration.
Clementine is beautiful.
Truly beautiful.
Quite possibly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.
Her laughter fades.
Our eyes remain locked.
For a moment, I feel as though I can read her.
Or maybe I only imagine I can.
Then she steps away and clears her throat.
We’ve stopped in front of the window.
Outside, night has fully fallen.
Only our reflections remain in the black glass.
“Maybe we should try talking,” she suggests. “Like a real couple. See if we can find the right tone.”
I take a deep breath and attempt something solemn.
“This manor stands as a monument to our eternal and undying love.”
Clementine stares at me.
“Are you serious?”
“It was an attempt.”
“A terrible attempt.”
She immediately adopts a dramatic tone.
“Oh, Brodie, my heart overflows like a torrent of unspeakable emotions.”
I blink at her.
“Nobody has ever spoken like that.”
“Neither have you with your ‘undying love.’”
We stare at each other for two seconds.
Then, without warning, we both dissolve into laughter.
Clementine leans against the windowsill, tears gathering in her eyes.
I laugh so hard my stomach hurts.
I can’t remember the last time I laughed like this.
Just because two complete idiots are trying to impersonate romantic ghosts.
Eventually, the laughter fades.
Clementine looks at me.
Her cheeks are pink.
Her eyes bright.
That navy sweater is doing absolutely nothing for my concentration.
It makes her porcelain skin glow.
Makes the color of her eyes look impossibly deep.
“We don’t need to act,” she says at last, more serious now. “We just need to pretend we’re... together. The village will see whatever it wants to see.”
She’s right.
Again.
I should nod.
Compliment her common sense.
Move on to the practical details.
Instead, I remain standing there, aware that we’re closer than we were a few minutes ago.
Aware that the space between us has narrowed without either of us noticing.
Suddenly, Hamish gets to his feet.
He crosses the living room with purpose and slips through the front door Clementine left cracked open.
As if he’s decided his presence is no longer required.
Or maybe he’s simply tired of watching us embarrass ourselves.
“Well,” I say, clearing my throat. “We should probably establish some rules.”
Clementine nods and returns to the sofa.
I take the armchair opposite her, putting a safe distance back between us.
“Where do we appear together?” she asks.
“The market. This weekend. Perfect opportunity. The entire village will be there.”
“And what exactly do we do?”
“We walk around. Talk. Let people watch.”
“And if someone asks questions?”
“We give vague answers. Act like we don’t fully understand what’s happening ourselves.”
She nods slowly.
“And what absolutely can’t we say?”
“Nothing too specific. No dates. No details we can’t justify. We leave room for doubt. Suggest things. Never directly confirm anything.”
“This is complicated.”
“It’s storytelling. The story has to stay blurry enough for everyone to fill in the blanks with whatever they want to believe.”
We keep discussing details.
How long we should stay at the market.
What we should buy.
How to handle Maggie or Moira if they corner us.
But I’m distracted.
I keep noticing things I shouldn’t.
The way Clementine tilts her head slightly to the right when she’s thinking.
How she bites her lower lip when she hesitates.
How that navy sweater really does make her eyes stand out in a way that feels absurdly dangerous.
The photograph comes back to me.
Brodie and Mairenn.
Turned toward one another without touching.
Connected by something invisible.
Something solid.
“What are you thinking about?” Clementine asks.
“Them. The way they must have looked at each other. Like they did in the photograph.”
“You think they knew?”
“Knew what?”
“That they were going to spend the rest of their lives together when they decided to build this manor?”
I think about it.
About Brodie building a manor for a woman the village looked down on.
About Mairenn agreeing to live there with him, away from everyone else.
About all the mornings they woke up in that room we just visited.
All the evenings they spent looking out over the garden together.
“I think they chose each other,” I finally say.
Clementine doesn’t answer.
She stares through the window toward the garden hidden in the darkness.
I leave well after ten o’clock.
The manor windows glow warmly as I climb into my truck.
For a moment, I sit there with my hands on the steering wheel and the engine off.
I just spent three hours planning how to convince people I’m possessed by a romantic ghost.
The problem is that I don’t need to act attracted to Clementine.
I don’t need to pretend her hand felt natural in mine.
I don’t need to fake the way her laughter hit me like a bolt of electricity.
And that photograph.
Brodie and Mairenn.
The way they leaned unconsciously toward each other.
It won’t leave my mind.
Because I’m beginning to understand something I never wanted to understand.
The plan is going to work.
Perfectly.
Not because we’re good actors.
But because the truth is already there.
“Oh, hell,” I mutter into the empty cab.
I start the engine and drive slowly back toward the castle, fully aware that I’ve crossed an invisible line.
That the plan we just created is dangerous for a reason I never anticipated.
One day, the lie is going to reveal the truth.
And I have absolutely no idea what I’m going to do when that happens.