Chapter 25
The door to Nathaniel’s study stood ajar, and Phaedra peered in to see him seated at his desk, his brows pulled together over the pages of a heavy leatherbound ledger. She rapped softly on the door frame, suddenly unsure.
He looked up, his expression clearing.
“Miss Mercer, good evening!” He lifted from his seat, and Phaedra could not help but note the wariness of his stance, and how the surprise in his features morphed into something more guarded. Maybe this was a mistake, after all.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Hawthorn,” she said, her hand lingering on the door knob. “I see that you are occupied. I shall leave you to your work.”
“No, wait!” he called out as she turned to leave. “Stay. Please.”
Phaedra turned back, taking a hesitant step into the room.
She knew it was not merely her imagination, this feeling that something had shifted between them.
As if some unnamed rule had been broken by their earlier familiarity, leaving them with no guidance on how to proceed in its shattered absence.
The same.
The thought flew into her mind, and she knew it to be the only rational answer.
They should act the same—be the same—as before.
Because, all things considered, nothing had truly changed.
What had happened had been but a moment of weakness, both of body and of mind, but they were still the same.
He was her patron, and she was here to fulfill a contract.
Nothing less, nothing more. Even if every fiber of her body screamed otherwise.
“I did not mean to interrupt you,” she said, motioning to the book before him. “I was merely hoping we could move on to the next entry. Seeing as how the current painting is finished.”
“If I am honest, Miss Mercer,” he said, the ghost of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips, “any interruption that would take me away from such tediousness is a welcome one.” He pushed the ledger closed, the worn leather creaking from the multitude of pages it held together.
“I would very much like to read on as well, but…” A crease formed between his brows. “Are you sure you are well enough?”
She watched his eyes wander over her, and although she knew he was merely looking for signs of her ill-being, she could not stop the tremor racing down her spine.
She could still feel the press of his body against hers, the warmth of his breath heating her skin, and it was all she could do not to step back, to move away from the orbit of the memory.
She pulled her sketchpad to her chest, gripping it with both hands, the touch of the paper grounding her. And when his gaze finally returned to hers, she managed a smile that was almost genuine.
“I am,” she said. Then added, “And thank you. For your thoughtfulness.”
He quirked a brow, his own smile mirroring hers. “I have done nothing. Please, have a seat.”
Phaedra took the offered chair before his desk, and pulled the pad onto her lap, opening it to a fresh page.
It was difficult not to look at him, to follow his fluid movements as he retrieved the journal and opened it, or the gentle glide of his fingertips as he traced the delicate pages to find the place where they had left off.
To know it was that same hand that had curled around her waist, its heat branded into her skin. It was a relief when he finally spoke.
“This next part is even more damaged, I’m afraid. There are missing pieces here and there, but I hope what remained will be enough.”
Phaedra nodded, and he began to read.
Sunday, the 26t- — ———- ——
- —— — could not hide away forever. But not even in my wildest fantasies have I expected this. —- ———- - —- —- heart seemed to stutter in bewilderment, my mind but an echo of a singular thought:
So this is what it is like to be seen.
Had I not been invisible my entire life, - — — —— - - ——- ————— the sheer bliss that comes with this simple act. But — - — - — —- ——- what favor of the gods I have gained that allowed my life—my existence—to shift in such a dramatic way, but I am ———- ————
————- — think it was the beauty of the fabric that swayed him. Hidden away in that box, he could hardly perceive the wonder it truly was. But to see it displayed on someone is another thing entirely. Even if it was not the person he wished to see it on.
- ——— - — —— ——- —— my adoration for the dress did not lessen since the day it had first graced my body.
— ——- - — - —- ——- - - ——— that I feel it to be more a second skin than merely a piece of wardrobe.
Something that is so fused with my being that sometimes I do not know where I end and it begins.
- - ————- —- ———- - — ——- —— - — mine to a degree even he cannot deny.
He must have felt it. He must have seen.
That must be why he did not disapprove. Why he did not look at me with ————- ——— - ——- ——— —— - —- —- ——- an icy demand that I reinstate the dress at once to its rightful owner. Why he finally saw me.
I remember my body clenching ——— —— - - saw him approach, fearing how he would react. What he would —-
He stopped before me, his brows furrowing — —- - —— —— —- —- eyes moved over the length of the dress before coming to rest on me, freezing the air in my very lungs.
He looked at me as if he had realized my existence for the very first time, and I dared not move, dared not breathe, afraid to break whatever spell had hold on him, leaving me to disappear once more into the mists of obscurity.
But I did not disappear, and the surprise in his eyes must have mirrored my own as we stared at each other over the abyss of years past. Then he nodded, and left, leaving me staggering with this sudden approval I did not know what to do with.
He saw me. Acknowledged me. And the world did not shatter. - ————- - ——— ———- —- —— —— —- —- encounter, I finally came into being.
——— —- —— —— — began talking to me of small things, asking me about my day, and for my surprise - —— ——— ———- - ———- — ———- ——- ———- - — —— It was everything I have ever wanted.
I do not know to what I owe this magnificent change, but I never want - — —— I never want it to cease.
Each day I find myself yearning for more with the craving of someone who has only known starvation.
- — — - —- — the only thing keeping me alive.
As if the sun had finally shone on a withered plant, its rays granting the life it had not even known it was slowly losing.
—- - —- ——- ——- - -ear this is all too wonderful to last. I see it in the darkness lurking within Mother’s eyes when I glance at her in these happy moments, — — —- - ——- - — —- ———— with my father’s hand in hers. She thinks I do not see it, but I do. And I do not understand it.
I would have imagined her happy for me. Happy with me.
But maybe —— — —- —- ———— - — —— —- —- I am merely self-absorbed within my joy, while her own woes still rage ——— —- —— —————— into the darkness of the night, despite Father’s efforts.
And I do not know if it simply lies in the stark difference to my own newfound happiness, —- - —- her fits have worsened, her cries more terrible, and sometimes I wish there would be — —- - —- — —— some force that would finally unburden us. Whatever it may be.