Chapter 20
For two nights now, I’ve replayed that moment at the gate when the awful man came for Stella. Only in the dream, I don’t send him away. I turn her in.
It’s not me in the dreams—I know that. It’s the me from the mirror. The one with blood on his mouth and an insatiable hunger for power. But it scares me all the same.
I remember when Stella first arrived. All I cared about was getting her out of my life as quickly as possible. It was the same with all the women before her. There were a few who made an attempt to unthaw my frozen heart. Jessica came close, but I remained a coward clothed in self-proclaimed superiority.
As seen by the way I treated Stella up until very recently.
But the other night brought everything into perspective. I made her feel safe.
The way she relaxed in my arms was euphoric. I’ve never been responsible for making someone feel secure before, never been someone people go to for protection. I was the lesser of the two evils between me and Orrin, but never a haven.
Stella’s is the first real trust I’ve ever earned.
I’m going to break it, I think to myself, pacing in front of the fireplace in the library. Stella’s trust is so new and fragile. I wasn’t even sure she was capable of it until the other night. And me with the sloppy hands and misaligned gaze set on goals that don’t matter are going to completely shatter it.
“Al?” I turn at the sound of her voice. She stands in the doorway, a dressing gown tossed over a deep, coral pink nightgown. Her curly brown hair is a mess, the mass of it pulled over one shoulder. She looks sleepy, her eyes blinking slowly. And as I search her face for the features that I’d at first found so repulsive, I come up short.
It’s as I told her. She isn’t beautiful the way her portrait on the wall behind me is, but neither is she ugly. There”s almost an invisible veil over her features and rather than looking deformed, they are simply unclear to me.
“Don’t you look fetching in pink,” I smile, though the expression doesn’t reach my eyes.
“What’s going on?” She asks, walking over to meet me in front of the fire, concerned. “You don’t look well.”
“Well, aren’t you full of compliments.”
I sit on the couch, pretending to be as indifferent as I used to be. Perhaps if I try hard enough, I can get back there. But to what end?
Do I even want to go back to the castle? Do I want to marry a woman like Carissa, living life as strangers who wed for money?
One glance at Stella and I shake my head. No. I don’t want that.
But the uncertainty of these new feelings, the lack of control—and worse, the fear of pain—are almost debilitating in their grip.
“Al, come on. What’s wrong?” she insists, sitting on the low table in front of me. Narcissus finds her almost immediately, meowing as he clambers onto her lap.
“How come you don’t cuddle me that way?”
Stella smacks my knee. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Ow,” I complain, rubbing the spot even though it didn’t really hurt. “Mean kitty.” When she reaches out to smack me again, I scoot back. “Okay, okay! I haven’t exactly been sleeping well the last few nights.”
Her face falls. “Are you…are you having second thoughts?”
It takes me a moment to understand what she means; the concept is so foreign and wrong to me. “What? No! Stella, of course I’m not having second thoughts about sending that disgusting man away. I am having second thoughts about letting him leave with his skin still attached to his body though.”
She bites her lip, looking shy as the firelight dances across her face. “Sorry, I just…trust is hard for me. I trust you, but every second that I’m not with you, doubt starts poking at it, trying to tear it down.”
“Well then I guess we’ll need to have a bed brought in here, so I won’t have to leave your side,” I say, only half teasing. She rolls her eyes. “Right, being serious now. It makes sense that your trust is a little rickety. I mean, I haven’t exactly given you my trust yet. Maybe you would feel a little steadier if I did…”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know,” I tap my thigh, thinking. What would it take for me to fully trust Stella? If she knew me—really knew me—and didn’t run away.
But that would require me to be honest about things that I haven’t spoken of to anyone. Ever.
Is it worth it? I look at her, focusing not on her blurred features, but on her eyes. They’re so expressive, showing me worry, hope, and a fear I know all too well.
The fear of rejection.
“I want to trust you,” I say, certain of my decision. “I want to tell you the truth.”
I almost tell her not to think differently of me once she hears the story, but I refrain. Would it really be trust if I demanded to own her reactions the way Orrin always did with mine? I don’t want to be her monster.
“I’ve mentioned my parents a little bit,” I begin, anxiously bouncing my leg. Stella nods patiently. “My mother is fiery—like you. She never lets anyone tell her what to do. It’s nearly got her killed more than once.”
“Sounds like I would like her,” Stella smiles.
“Oh, she would love you. So would my father,” the smile my mother’s memory brought slips from my face at the thought of my father. “He was calmer than Mother, with a quiet but stern way about him. And even though he intimidated people without trying, I never once felt afraid of him. He always ensured that my brother and I felt loved.”
I leave out the small detail that my father was the Duke of Roburry and that my brother inherited the title. I want Stella to judge me, not the former heir to the duchy.
“My brother and I were being groomed to take over for Father when he was ready to retire,” I explain, bypassing the details as I study the fire licking against the stone. “But my father was concerned that my brother may not be well suited to authority. He thought my brother was too apathetic. So, he began turning more and more of his attention on me, preparing me in ways that he didn’t prepare my brother.”
Stella is silent as I speak, but she’s smart enough to know that this story doesn’t have a happy ending.
“My father eventually became ill. No one knew what was wrong with him, but he lost energy quickly, becoming bedridden. He was in the process of formally making me his successor when he passed away.”
Before Stella can offer words of comfort, I glare at her. “Don’t pity me yet, Freckles. The story gets worse.”
She doesn’t respond, meeting my gaze without so much as a flinch.
“When I arrived one morning to check on my father before he died, my brother was there. I assumed my father was asleep and I fought with my brother. I had never wanted my father’s position and all the responsibility that came with it. I was angry that my brother’s poor behavior meant that I had to take his place.” I shake my head, disappointed by the memory. “My brother accused me of being weak and stormed from the room. I was so angry with him that it took me a few minutes to realize that my father wasn’t breathing.”
Despite my fears that Stella will hate me once she hears the end of the story, I hold her gaze, determined to make her hate me to my face.
“On his bedside table was a cup. My gut told me there was something off. So I took the cup to an apothecary and he confirmed my fears. Poison. My brother had murdered my father, but instead of taking this information to the court, I disposed of the cup and never spoke of it to a soul. I went to my father’s burial and watched my brother feign tears, never warning my mother that the man who killed her husband stood holding her arm.”
I feel the backs of my eyes burning, but I refuse to cry. I hate myself for what I didn’t do, but I won’t let Stella see how much. Not if she’s going to hate me too.
“I regret not making my brother pay for the murder of my father,” I say, choking on my own emotion. “But that’s who I am, Stella. I’m a coward. I do whatever gives me the most comfortable outcome. I don’t sacrifice and I’m not generous. I want your trust, but I don’t deserve it.”
I’m prepared for her to call me selfish and leave. Or to give me some speech about how I’m not as cowardly as I think. What I’m not prepared for is for her to sit beside me on the sofa and take my hands in her own.
“Don’t pity me,” I growl, trying to stand. But she yanks me back down.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she hisses, defiant. “You don’t deserve pity, Alistair. What you did was wrong, but you don’t need me to tell you that.”
“Then what do I need?”
She seems to grow taller in her seat, looking more equipped to lead than I ever dreamed of being. She’s almost regal, even with her messy hair and disarrayed nightgown.
“You need someone to look you in the eye, knowing who you’ve been and what you’ve done, and choose to stay. Not because you can give them something or because of a potential they hope you’ll grow into. But simply because they care about you as you are.”
I shake my head. “You can”t care about me. The rain is always gonna come if you’re standing with me, Stella. Even if I don’t make the same mistakes again, I’ll still be paying for the old ones.”
She shrugs. “Then let it rain. I’ll be here.”
Taken aback, I blink as a few tears break through my walls. “Why? Why would you do that?”
“I met you under duress,” she says, squeezing my hands. “I was afraid, and you were rude and apathetic. If anyone was going to choose to run from you, it would be me. But I’m here, Al. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere, because…I know it’s not been long,” she looks down, suddenly insecure, “But I feel like I know you. Not just the cowardly you that let your brother walk free or the you who rejected me for not being pretty, or the you that Milly dotes on. Not just the you who brings me paints or the one who argues with me about explorers or the you who builds a fire when you can tell I’m cold and too stubborn to admit it.” She smiles ruefully, her green-eyed gaze soft. “I feel like I know the center of you where everything else stems out from, and I think that gives me the authority to say that you’re worth sitting next to as you are.”
I wait a moment until I’m sure I won’t sob, then I squeeze her fingers the way she squeezed mine. I despise the vulnerability coursing through me, cracking me open like a corpse to be dissected. But strangely, I trust Stella to be the one poking around.
“You do know me,” I assure her quietly, too self-conscious about the words to say them very loud. “I don’t think anyone in my life has ever known as many parts of me as you do. It’s terrifying, but it also feels…”
“Nice,” she says, completing the thought. “It feels nice to be known and accepted for it.”
“You know,” I tug her closer, putting my arm around her shoulders, “You’re worth sitting beside too.”
She lets me pull her back against the sofa, propped against my side. “Yeah?”
“Mhm. We’re quite the pair, damaged and untrusting.”
“But we trust each other.” She says it like a question, and I resolve to take away any lingering doubt in her mind. I’ve failed at so many things, but I won’t fail at this.
“Yes, we do. And Stella?”
“Hm?” She tilts her head on my shoulder, meeting my eyes.
I’m taken aback by how close our faces are—and shocked by how much closer I’d like them to be. Where did that come from? It takes me a second to shake away the intrusive thoughts, stowing them away for closer inspection later.
“Thank you for listening and not running from me,” I whisper.
“You’re welcome. Thank you for trusting me with your story.”
I smile and rest my head on hers, content as Narcissus finds his way over to our laps, pawing our hands until we pet him.
All my life, I’ve wanted to be chosen. Not second best, not the spare son, not Orrin’s brother. Just Alistair, someone’s first choice.
And while I don’t know if Stella would choose to be this close to me if we were both free of the manor, I’m starting to realize that I want her to. And whether or not she does, I think I’m starting to choose her.