Talk Sweetly to Me by Courtney Milan Page A

it.
    “I love you,” he said. “I didn’t say it directly last night, and I ought to have. I love you. Marry me.”
    “Listen to you.” She gave him a sad smile. “Have you given any thought at all to what this would mean? Given your reputation, it will be a terrible scandal if—when—you marry. Everyone will assume the worst of me.”
    “At first. It will blow over, though,” he said confidently.
    “Stephen.
Think.
Have you considered what it would mean for us to have children together?”
    His eyes softened. “At length.”
    “No, you beast. I don’t mean the begetting of them. Have you thought about what it would mean to have black, Irish, Catholic children?”
    He blinked, slowly, and frowned. He really hadn’t thought about it.
    “You told me the awkward, difficult bit will only be the beginning,” she said. “But it won’t be. It’ll be difficult in the middle, over and over. It’ll be difficult at the end. It will never
stop
being difficult, and the only reason you don’t know that is that you haven’t considered the possibility. At some point, Stephen, you’ll realize this is not a joking matter.”
    He spread his hands. “Maybe. But I’m not a worrier, Rose. It’s not in my nature to fret about the future. Things happen as they do.”
    “Yes, and four years in, you’ll realize what you’ve landed yourself in. You’ll discover that it’s not all kisses and telescopes. I give you credit for good intentions, Mr. Shaughnessy—but I don’t think you’re serious.”
    He spread his hands. “I’m not grave and sober, Rose. But I
am
serious about you. I know who I am and how I feel—and I’m not going to walk away from you simply because things may prove difficult. I don’t worry about the future not because I’m blind to it, but because I don’t see the point.”
    “Don’t see the point! How can you want me if you don’t even bother to think about what marriage to me would entail?” Her hands were shaking. “How can you say you love me and want to marry me, when you haven’t even considered what that would mean?”
    “At least I’ve said it,” he snapped. “You haven’t said what you mean at all, and I wish that you would. It’s not that you think it will prove too difficult for me. You think it will be too difficult for you.”
    “My life is going to be difficult no matter who I marry.” She raised her chin. “That’s why I need to find someone who takes it seriously.”
    He leaned down to her. “There. Now you’re saying what you mean. Finally. If you want a man who takes things seriously, you don’t want me.”
    She opened her mouth to deny it…and then shut it. Her heart was breaking. She
did
want him. She wanted his laughter, his terrible jokes about mathematics. She wanted him handing her the key to the spire and telling her to go up alone. She wanted his practiced hands on her, coaxing her, seducing her, while he murmured in her ear. She wanted everything about him except…him.
    “You don’t make me forget myself.” She shut her eyes. “But you make me forget who I have to be. You don’t need an anvil, Stephen. You
are
the anvil. And you’re right; I can’t marry you.”
    His lips thinned. He looked at her, his eyes wild and fierce. And then he turned his head away and shrugged. “So be it. I’m an amusing fellow with no hidden depths. There’s always some reason why I’m not suitable. I won’t fret over it.” He straightened, casting her a look. “I never do.”
    “Stephen…”
    He shook his head. “Tell me if you change your mind, Rose. I won’t alter mine. I may be frivolous—but I’m not faithless, and I’m not fickle.”
    “Stephen.”
    She didn’t know what to say beyond that. She reached out and took his hand in hers. She couldn’t bring herself to say words, didn’t know what she could say even so. She just squeezed his fingers, not wanting to let go. Not being able to hold on.
    “Be careful, Rose,” he said with a nod of