crude tradesman who can never have you? Good enough for a quick fuck, but not for your breakfast table?”
“You’ve had me before, and you’ll have me again. I wouldn’t worry so much about being a tradesman — it seems to have served you well.”
He’d wanted to insult her, to draw a reaction from her. But he’d unearthed the weary, jaded woman whom he’d seen the previous night, in the instant before she had recognized him.
Ellie shouldn’t be jaded. She should be laughing.
He raked a hand through his hair. “What happened to you, Ellie?”
Her blue eyes were genuinely confused. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve changed. You used to be all fire. But there’s ice now — why?”
She pulled away from him, as though his touch suddenly pained her. “I’m old, Nick. We both are.”
“Older, but not old. And that’s not what I meant.”
She turned, walked toward the window, and peered out over the barren gardens beyond the glass. “Winter always follows summer. Perhaps that’s what happened to us.”
“You know I don’t like riddles.”
She laughed darkly but didn’t look back at him. “You don’t like explanations, either. So if I can’t tell you the truth, and I can’t speak in riddles, what’s left? Runes? Tea leaves?”
“What truth is left to tell me? Your intentions were clear when you broke our engagement.”
She leaned her forehead against the glass. Her breath fogged the window, and she pulled back to trace a pattern in it — their entwined initials, the cryptic design she had used to sign her paintings of him.
Then she turned to face him. His heart skipped a beat. His Ellie had been a pretty, well-contained fire, the kind that cheered a man on an autumn evening. This Ellie was a bonfire, burning from within as though her very heart was the fuel. Her eyes were stark, her mouth was tight. In the stormy grey of her dress and the muted light of a winter afternoon, Ellie burned for him.
He’d heard of widows throwing themselves on their husbands’ funeral pyres in India, although he’d never seen the sati act himself. Ellie was still alive in front of him — but she burned, with an intensity and a depth his Ellie had never shown him.
“Do you want the truth?” she asked. “Or do you want revenge?”
Who was she, this woman he’d bought and paid for?
“The truth,” he said.
“The truth,” she repeated. “I was young, and stupid, and would have done anything for a chance to please my father. You were young and stupid too, and thought it was all about your shortcomings rather than my father’s demands. You should have known — you knew how Father browbeat me. And I will go to my grave regretting that I let him.”
Then she straightened her shoulders. “But I will also go to my grave before I let another man force me to change just to please him. You can have your revenge. It may even make me feel better to repay you — I’ve heard atonement helps, although I’ve never found it so. If it works, I suppose I should thank you for that.”
She paused, and he saw the weight of the words she wasn’t saying press against her cheeks as she compressed her lips. But those words, when they finally escaped, surprised him. “Just…just don’t ask me to fall in love with you again, if revenge is your only reason. Not because I can’t feel it for you, but because I can’t survive it a second time.”
Her fire burned through his resolve more effectively than any tears could have washed it away. This Ellie was stronger, deeper, more mature than the Ellie he had loved — and the Ellie he had loved was dead, in some brutal and final way that he hadn’t realized until that moment. But the Ellie in front of him was alive and vibrant in a way that the Ellie who lived in his dreams could never be.
He nodded once. Really, what could he say? That he wouldn’t let her fall in love with him? That he would let her go?
He’d asked her for the truth. He couldn’t lie in
“You’ve had me before, and you’ll have me again. I wouldn’t worry so much about being a tradesman — it seems to have served you well.”
He’d wanted to insult her, to draw a reaction from her. But he’d unearthed the weary, jaded woman whom he’d seen the previous night, in the instant before she had recognized him.
Ellie shouldn’t be jaded. She should be laughing.
He raked a hand through his hair. “What happened to you, Ellie?”
Her blue eyes were genuinely confused. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve changed. You used to be all fire. But there’s ice now — why?”
She pulled away from him, as though his touch suddenly pained her. “I’m old, Nick. We both are.”
“Older, but not old. And that’s not what I meant.”
She turned, walked toward the window, and peered out over the barren gardens beyond the glass. “Winter always follows summer. Perhaps that’s what happened to us.”
“You know I don’t like riddles.”
She laughed darkly but didn’t look back at him. “You don’t like explanations, either. So if I can’t tell you the truth, and I can’t speak in riddles, what’s left? Runes? Tea leaves?”
“What truth is left to tell me? Your intentions were clear when you broke our engagement.”
She leaned her forehead against the glass. Her breath fogged the window, and she pulled back to trace a pattern in it — their entwined initials, the cryptic design she had used to sign her paintings of him.
Then she turned to face him. His heart skipped a beat. His Ellie had been a pretty, well-contained fire, the kind that cheered a man on an autumn evening. This Ellie was a bonfire, burning from within as though her very heart was the fuel. Her eyes were stark, her mouth was tight. In the stormy grey of her dress and the muted light of a winter afternoon, Ellie burned for him.
He’d heard of widows throwing themselves on their husbands’ funeral pyres in India, although he’d never seen the sati act himself. Ellie was still alive in front of him — but she burned, with an intensity and a depth his Ellie had never shown him.
“Do you want the truth?” she asked. “Or do you want revenge?”
Who was she, this woman he’d bought and paid for?
“The truth,” he said.
“The truth,” she repeated. “I was young, and stupid, and would have done anything for a chance to please my father. You were young and stupid too, and thought it was all about your shortcomings rather than my father’s demands. You should have known — you knew how Father browbeat me. And I will go to my grave regretting that I let him.”
Then she straightened her shoulders. “But I will also go to my grave before I let another man force me to change just to please him. You can have your revenge. It may even make me feel better to repay you — I’ve heard atonement helps, although I’ve never found it so. If it works, I suppose I should thank you for that.”
She paused, and he saw the weight of the words she wasn’t saying press against her cheeks as she compressed her lips. But those words, when they finally escaped, surprised him. “Just…just don’t ask me to fall in love with you again, if revenge is your only reason. Not because I can’t feel it for you, but because I can’t survive it a second time.”
Her fire burned through his resolve more effectively than any tears could have washed it away. This Ellie was stronger, deeper, more mature than the Ellie he had loved — and the Ellie he had loved was dead, in some brutal and final way that he hadn’t realized until that moment. But the Ellie in front of him was alive and vibrant in a way that the Ellie who lived in his dreams could never be.
He nodded once. Really, what could he say? That he wouldn’t let her fall in love with him? That he would let her go?
He’d asked her for the truth. He couldn’t lie in
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