Sever. Lauren DeStefano

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СКАЧАТЬ hear his breath catch. Maybe he’s as surprised as I am. I don’t look up to see what his expression is.

      “I know you think that I’m awful. I don’t blame you.” That’s it—all I have the courage to say. I fidget with the hem of my sweater. It’s one of Deirdre’s creations, of course. Emerald green embroidered with gold gossamer leaves. Since having my custom-made clothes returned to me, I’ve been sleeping in them. I’ve missed how comfortable they are, how getting dressed into something that fits every angle and curve feels like rematerializing into something worthwhile.

      “I don’t know what to think,” Linden says quietly. “Yes, I’ve told myself that you’re awful. I’ve told myself you must be—that’s the only explanation. But my thoughts always go back to the you I remember. You, lying in the orange grove and saying you didn’t know if we were worth saving. You held my hand then. Do you remember?”

      Something rushes through my blood, from my heart to my fingertips, where the memory still lingers. “Yes,” I say.

      “And about a thousand other things,” he says, pausing sometimes between his words, making sure he has them right. I get the sense that words are not sufficient tools for him to build what’s going on in his head as he stands before me. “While you were gone, I tried to take all of those memories and turn them into lies. And I thought I’d done it. But I look at you now, and I still see the girl who fed me blueberries when I was grieving. The girl who was in a red dress, falling asleep against me on the drive home.”

      He takes a step closer, and my heart leaps into my mouth. “I try to hate you. I’m trying right now.”

      I look at him and ask, “Is it working?”

      He moves his hand, and I think he’s going to reach for a book on the shelf above me, but he touches my hair instead. Something in me tightens with expectancy. I hold my breath.

      When he pushes forward, my mouth falls open, expecting his kiss even before it comes. His lips are familiar. I know the shape of them, know how to make mine fit against them. His taste is familiar too. For all the illusions and colors and sweet smells of that mansion, and of our marriage, he has always tasted like skin. His breaths are shallow. I’m holding his life against my tongue, between my rows of teeth. He’s offering it up.

      But it doesn’t belong to me. I know that.

      I draw back, gently step out of his hands that gripped my shoulders and were just edging their way to either side of my throat.

      “I can’t,” I whisper.

      One of his hands still hovers near me, a satellite. I imagine what it would be like to tilt my head into his open palm. The flood of warmth bursting through me.

      He looks at me, and I don’t know what he sees. I used to think it was Rose. But she’s not here with us now, in this room. It’s just him and me, and the books. I feel like our lives are in those books. I feel like all the words on the pages are for us.

      I could kiss him again. I could do much more than that. But I know it would be for the wrong reasons. It would be because my family is far away, or else dead, and because I miss Gabriel; in my dreams he’s something small I dropped into the ocean, and I wake knowing that I might never find him again. But Linden is here. Brilliantly here. And it would be too easy to make him a substitute for all those things, to take advantage of his desire for me.

      But then logic sets in. Logic and guilt.

      I won’t hurt him the way I did before, manipulating his affections while I worked for the freedom I wanted.

      He seems to understand. His fingers close into his palm, and he lowers his hand from my side.

      “I can’t,” I say again, with more certainty.

      He steps closer to me, and my nerves bristle like the long grass outside. Everything is rustling with expectancy.

      “We never consummated our marriage,” he says softly. “At first I thought you only needed time. I was patient.” He presses his lips together for a moment, thinking. “But then it didn’t matter so much. I liked just being with you. I liked the way you breathed when you were asleep. I liked when you took the champagne glass from my hand. I liked how your fingers were always too long for your gloves.”

      A smile tugs at one side of my mouth, and I allow it.

      “Looking back, those feel like the most important parts. They were real, weren’t they?”

      “Yes,” I answer, and it’s the truth.

      He touches my left hand and looks at my eyes, asking permission. I nod, and he holds my palm flat against his and then holds my hand between us. His other hand traces the slope of my wedding ring and pinches either side of it between his thumb and index finger. When I realize what’s happening, my pulse quickens, my mouth goes dry.

      He slides the ring down my finger, and it hitches on my knuckle, like part of me is still trying to hang on. My body lilts forward, tethered to the ring for only an instant more before letting go.

      This was it. This was why I kept wearing my wedding ring, why it never felt right to remove it myself. There was only one person who could set me free.

      “Let’s call this an official annulment,” he says.

      I can’t help it. I throw my arms around him and pull him tight against me. He tenses, startled, but then he puts his arms around me too. I can feel his closed fist where he holds the ring.

      “Thank you,” I whisper.

      Minutes later I’m lying on the divan, watching my ankle swing back and forth over the edge like a guillotine. Linden paces the length of the room, tracing the book spines.

      I look for the moon through the open window, but it’s hiding behind clouds.

      Linden says, “What’s your brother like?”

      I blink. It’s the first time he’s asked me about Rowan. Maybe he’s trying to get to know me, now that he knows I’ll give him the truth.

      “He’s smarter than me,” I say. “And practical.”

      “Is he older? Younger?”

      “About ninety seconds younger,” I say. “We’re twins.”

      “Twins?” he says.

      I hang my head over the arm of the divan, looking at him upside down. “You sound surprised.”

      “It’s just—twins,” he says, leaning against a row of paisley cloth-bound books. “That changes the entire way I look at you.” He keeps his mouth open, struggling for the right words.

      “Like I’m half of a whole?” I say, trying to help him.

      “I wouldn’t put it like that,” he says. “You’re a whole person by yourself.”

      I look out the window again. “You know what scares me?” I say. “I’m starting to feel like you’re right.”

      Linden is quiet for a long time. I hear his clothes rustling, the chair creaking under СКАЧАТЬ